Dedicated to Voices Merging

You are
bleeding scarlet red
an undulating flame
the beat in your veins
loyalty in your skin

You are
drumming for the world
spitting at the sun
grinding down the mountains
making love to this microphone

You are
shimmering gorgeous
mesmerizing
melting salty sweet

You are
bleeding scarlet red
for that is your voice
the razor point of your story

I am
hardly pink
faint vanilla
hint of cinnamon

I am
in love.

By the Light of My Father’s Smile

This is the loveliest book I have read for some time.  Alice Walker does what I always dream Toni Morrison or Margaret Atwood will do.  She writes the most difficult things in the most honest language, but she makes it beautiful.  Her books fill me with a quiet hope, a peaceful belief in goodness and beauty.  The apex of this book is not the moment of tragedy, but the moment of renewal.  There is no denying (nor any wish to deny) that this book is about sex and that quite explicitly.  My respect goes to any church-goer who finishes the first chapter.  I couldn’t do it myself without pouncing on my husband.  For all that, I feel like it’s a book I would like my children to read, when they are old enough to appreciate it.  Because I would like the world to believe that sex is beautiful, and that it is good.  The world would be a better place for that belief.  So I thank Alice Walker for this book, a book which I will surely read many times and treasure in my heart.

I haven’t been able to keep up with the book reviews, because my goal to read 50 books this year has required that I read rather quickly.  I’m also still working on a schedule that accomplishes all my goals and maintains my sanity, so wish me luck on that one.  If you want to really keep up to date on what I’m reading, and books I’ve already read and loved, please check out my shelf on Shelfari.  A lot of my quality time waste goes into that website.

For the Riverview

I am new here

And you don’t know me

I could be self-important

untalented

brilliant

But I am new here

and so I am unknown.

You are folk artists

Aging beautifully

Carrying your twangs and wandering rhymes in your pockets

tucked in jackets

stuffed with memories

“Remember when we were here?

We loved these mornings

and we wrote this song”

You have clung to your principles

eating your organic chocolate

wearing your second-hand clothes

devoted to your instruments

The calluses on your fingertips speak for you.

I am new here

but I know I don’t belong

My work is blank of memory

My poems babbling infants in this quiet room

My principles are still untested

Laptop keys leave no mark on my skin

but I’ll stand up nonetheless

I am here now

And among your other virtues

I believe you will be kind.

When a Microphone is Open…

I have noticed lately that I have no spoken word performances on my calendar.  I’m not sure how this happened.  It seems that over the summer and into the fall I had performances all the time, sometimes several in a week.

In an attempt to get over this hump and into some new opportunities, I googled open mics in Minneapolis.  There are a plethora of open mics in Minneapolis, several for every day of the week.  I could go to one every single day for a month without visiting the same one twice.  At first I was overjoyed, so many chances to perform!  So many new connections to make!  Then I tried adding some of them to my calendar, and I quickly became discouraged.  There are SO many of them!  I don’t even know which ones to pick, and so much of my time is devoted to things other than open mics.

My dear friend Alice suggested that I try to go to one every week.  There are an awful lot of things I try to do every week or even every day, but this is not a bad suggestion.  My problem was that it will be hard to go to an open mic every week without going pretty frequently by myself.  I like to have a buddy with me at performances.  No matter how well it goes, as soon I step off stage I’m convinced that no one has ever said anything so completely moronic into a microphone.  If I have a friend with me, when I sit down the friend says, “That was great!” and I remember that there are much worse things that have been said into microphones.  But when I’m by myself, I end up just sitting with that feeling.

Alice, genius that she is, suggested that I bring a piece of paper with me that says “That wasn’t the dumbest thing ever said in a microphone.”

That said, I’m going to an open mic tomorrow at the Riverview Cafe in Minneapolis at 7pm, and you should stop by if you’re able.  No obligation to reassure me after I perform.  I’ve already conscripted a couple friends for that.

Bad Guy Theory

After my house was robbed, one of the girls I nanny asked me why someone took my things.  My explanation involved cycles of addiction, poverty, and prejudice, and lasted far too long.  It would be a lot easier to say that the robbers were bad guys, and a three-year-old would understand that.

I discourage “bad guy” theory.  I think identifying people, any people, as “bad guys” (male and female alike) sets the foundation for losing compassion for whole groups.  Despite their possession of beating hearts, those guys in the black masks, those guys with mustaches, those guys in turbans, aren’t real people.  They’re bad guys.  We can injure, imprison, or even kill them without thinking about it because they’ve been identified as inherently bad.

On the other hand, binaries are often touted as useful for rearing children.  We want to teach kids the difference between right and wrong.  Telling a child, “those are bad guys; they are taking things that aren’t theirs” can instill a sense of justice.  Not to mention, discourage toy grabbing during playtime.

What do you think?  Do you find “bad guy” theory useful?  Dangerous?  Something else?

Haroun and the Sea of Stories

Yesterday a friend suggested that I post book reviews of the 50 books I plan to read this year.  Since I also would like to blog more often in 2011, I thought this was a good plan.

The very first book I read in 2011 was “Haroun and the Sea of Stories” by the great Salman Rushdie.  I read a little bit of Rushdie in college, but I fell in love with him last year when I read “The Enchantress of Florence,” which remains one of my all-time favorites.

“Haroun and the Sea of Stories” opens as the tale of the son of a renowned story-teller.  This is a challenging premise, as it requires a higher level of expertise than a book that opens as the tale of a cobbler or bank accountant.  There are elements of magical realism in the first and last chapters; a city that has forgotten it’s name, factories that produce sadness, and rain that bathes the city in ecstasy.  These elements caught my interest at the outset, because I love magical realism and I’ve seen Rushdie do it very, very well.

The bulk of the book (that which takes place between the first and last chapter), takes place on a mythical second moon that orbits the earth too quickly to be detected.  Because it takes place off of the earth, involving alien peoples with different physics and such things, I would have to classify it as pure fantasy. Probably a lot of people are delighted with that development.  The fantasy section is imaginative, interesting, and stays true to the boundaries it sets for itself.  That is impressive.  However, the fantasy world is too simple, containing only two peoples who represent light and dark, speech and silence, so the entire thing becomes a binary.  The world, despite being a moon, comes off rather flat.  It lacks the color and depth that I expect from Rushdie.

The characters are similar in their construction.  They are interesting, and they interact in a believable way, but they don’t feel dynamic by the end of the book.  They don’t change, they merely press into their original molds and become more sharply who they were to begin with.  One of my favorite characters, Mudra the Shadow Warrior, is introduced in a most intriguing way.  The creativity that is involved in the concept of a shadow warrior is stunning.  But like other aspects of the novel, the introduction of Mudra is the most interesting part of his character, and what follows feels predictable.

Perhaps the really unfair comparison I’m making is to “The Enchantress of Florence,” which was the reason I was so quick to pick up another novel by Rushdie.  That book wields its magical power right here on earth, interweaving with historical events, love, lust, war, and all the greatest and most terrifying aspects of life.  “Haroun,” by comparison, feels somewhat shallow.  Yet, it is a funny, imaginative, and interesting book that is most likely meant for a much younger audience.

A Marriage Conundrum

So I have noticed lately that wives in books, movies, and television shows are often portrayed as a little bit nuts.  They’re over-structured, anal, or irrational.  I thought this was sexism until I noticed that husbands in the same media are portrayed as inherently stupid, unreasonable, and inadequate.  I don’t think it is sexist, I think it’s anti-marriage.

We hear a lot of negative things about marriage.  Marriage is boring, marriage is limiting, marriage is doomed to failure.  As far as sex goes, it seems that once the vows are taken, women don’t want it, men can’t get it, and no one enjoys it.

Despite these cultural messages, if you decide to remain single into your 30’s and 40’s, it’s assumed that there’s something wrong with you.  I’ve heard this complaint from singles both male and female, combined with a wracking self-doubt.  I hear this even from some of the greatest people I’ve ever met.  People, I would posit, who are a lot more balanced and less damaged than, say, me.

So let’s review.  Marriage sucks, but you’re somehow damaged if you don’t get married.  What is up with that?

Efficiency Overload

I really want to take my writing time more seriously.  I am aware that I periodically re-commit to taking my writing time seriously, and I’m okay with that.  It’s hard to stay focused with zero accountability, and so I have to knuckle down once in a while when I realize it’s gotten out of hand.  In an effort to do that, I’ve made some changes to my routine (also a repeating occurrence).  I’ve decided to write in the guest room instead of the living room.  I almost never go in the guest room, because it’s used mostly for storage and I try to keep it nice for unexpected guests, so it just kind of sits there.  I like the idea of doing my work somewhere different than where I do housework or where I take my days off.  Thus reinforcing the notion that this is a work day, not a vacation.

I make it a habit of doing little tasks right when I think of them, assuring that they actually get done.  This becomes a time suck on a writing day when my mind wanders and I just happen to think of a million little tasks that I then do right away.  So a second change I’ve made is to keep a list of little tasks that I think of while I’m writing, and then do them during my breaks.  I take 2-3 20 minute breaks during the day to eat, and that’s when I do the little things.  If I have any time left over, I work on my very ambitious reading goals.

This being the first day I’ve tried these changes, it seems to be going pretty well.  I’ve done about three times as much writing as I have in a typical day in months past, I’ve still sent several important e-mails, and I even took my dog to the vet.  I worked out this morning, I’ve done morning and midday prayers from the Celtic Daily Prayer book, I’ve read my allotted bible reading for the day, I’ve read about 25 pages of a novel, and I’ve eaten five small meals.  Later I hope to do evening prayers, do three hours of housework, and eat three more small meals before I go to bed.

This is all great.  And yet, even at 4:30 on the very first day, I’m a little concerned about how sustainable this level activity will be.  Sometimes I think this is why I have whole weeks that go by without a lot being done, because I’ve overloaded on efficiency and my brain needs a break.  Or maybe not, I don’t know.  Is it always a struggle to see how much more you can accomplish in a day?  Or is there some optimal range for production that we should be shooting for?  What’s your practice?

Let’s Go 2011

So this is a little personal tradition of mine.  I like to set a few goals and hopes for the coming year, and review the goals and hopes I set for last year.  Generally, I’ve tried to set goals that I can work on, but that require some divine intervention to bring to completion.  I’m getting away from that a little bit, because this year I’ve seen how making a few small changes can have a dramatic effect on my life.  I want to focus on that for this year.  So here’s last year’s stuff.

1. I would like to finish the book I’m working on, and possibly do a draft of my next project.

I did finish the book I was working on, and I’m now on the second draft of the next project.  I have recently discovered some changes I want to make to the old book, and I’ll be working on that this January.

2. I would like to get pregnant this year.

I did get pregnant, but unfortunately we lost the baby.  Perhaps I should have been more specific.

3a) Take a sabbath.

I did take a sabbath every week this year, and it was awesome.  I found that I can accomplish a lot more when I take a day off, because I’m free to schedule more stuff on the other days if I know I’ll have a day off.  This has greatly improved my quality of life.

3b) Make a date night a priority again.

This went awesome.  Ben and I had 50 dates this year, and that has made our busy schedules much more bearable, and I think brought us a lot closer too.

3c) Keep to a 40 hour work week between my nanny job and my writing.

I stuck to this most weeks, and I definitely spent more time writing.  Whether I got more writing done or not is hard to tell due to the nature of my current project.

3d) Make no more and no less than one appointment to connect with someone every week.

I suck at this.  But, given the other goals in this category, the appointment thing was kept somewhat in check.

4. I want to work out three times a week.

I was doing okay at this until May, when I started P90X.  Since then I’ve worked out six days a week and stretched on Sunday.  This also has helped a lot with my quality of life.

5. I would like to get published this year.

There were no books published this year, which is what I meant.  However, I have been paid on several occasions to perform my poetry, which has been awesome.

So here we go with 2011.  Wish me luck.

1.  Read 50 books, one of which will be the Bible, and one will be a Russian novel.  I read 22 books this last year, and I’d like to challenge myself a little in this area.  I’ve been working my way through the great Russian novelists for the last few years, and I think this year will be devoted to Gogol.

2. Go through The Artist’s Way.  This is a 12 week book on opening creative pathways.  I’ve heard great things about it, and my good friend Kim said she’d do it with me in April.  I’m super excited.

3. Since three was the magic number last year, I’ll do it this time too.  I have several goals for my current project.  I want to do a national tour with it, and here’s what I have to do to make it happen.

a. Research and apply for grants to fund it.

b. Put together a packet of info and promotional materials to present to anti-human trafficking organizations.

c. Research and connect with anti-human trafficking organizations in major US cities.

Other steps will depend on how I decide to pursue publication/printing.  But those steps would get me a lot closer to where I want to be.

4. Complain about other people less.  I usually like these to be measurable, but this is something I really want to work on, so I might as well write it down.

5. Have sex 365 times.

Getting Closer

I was driving at night, over a bridge in the dark, and at the other side of the river, I saw a large white diamond shape. It was dim, but I could tell that it was diamond shaped and that it was lighter than its surroundings. I thought it must be a funky-shaped billboard. But I remembered there is a church with a large diamond-shaped window, and that might be what it is. Or it might be something completely different, and I can’t tell. On this side of the bridge I couldn’t see if it was a piece of cardboard or a grand cathedral or some mystical third option. But I knew there was something there, and I knew it was getting closer.