Spring is here and colors are taking shape everywhere you turn. Today I must of passed 300 tulips, just on my way to run errands. Such a lovely scene. I hope everyone is enjoying the season.

I have been so backed up in my email and messages - sorry for that. I plan on taking Saturday morning and writing everyone back. :)



That is a photo I took in the Poconos - such beautiful creatures.

preghiera serale

[ a small pleasure of birds, (preghiera serale) ]

I'm suddenly older
I mean, of course, how wily silence and nothing else
has happened. Like everyone else, I have only a first
few scattered thoughts out there in front of me
so starkly, wanting, to soften beyond the heart's
invisible, never obvious, reaches. I think of bedsheets
not quite warm, I think tables full of dirty dishes,
I think my legs are tree trunks sunk in grass
each time my heart is broken. Behind the grocery store
there's a mountain of bruised peaches. Slovenly present
with evening upon it. Bones, I feel my bones. You said
I have vanished under fingers, sublimated, and I've lost
a scene set in brooklyn, hours ago, when I fell asleep
and started to dream. There were distant sirens, drifting
like leaves through the streets I don't know the names of.
Suitably I might have asked you for a glass of water. You'd say,
the future of rain is river. But tonight the rivers are black.
I think entrapment comes up as a metaphor. We've never met.
Still, there is a prayer, like the night, it whispers
through the poplars, it is the color of my throat:
we love & we love & we love & we love & we love
but it turns out there’s nothing much to say
or translate into italian at the end.
* * * * *

how i

[ how i love you... ]

     madly.
some moments, increasingly,
 all sorts of,
     in    a
           haze

(lungs) drowned in the little room
with tears a night field.

are can: to make unbearable
   wishing we are we can; and, any turn,
   any any turn, this here, the as grassy
 as quiet,
       the hours in the sea

the poem was cloud, an impossible sing

pulled under unseen being some
 moments wishing sitting together
have like, all sense
       pulled under flat, pulled under
    under, again, some moments, pulled

irrational, even irrational
    breathed windows, most
 a blush. whole thing     forgive (me)

again but your absence
suffocates      a lacey turned little
body putting my mind to room, silently

   hearing your eyes
in the photograph, at the ceiling
 even kissing you up to your chin

your hum is flung from a tuning for –
tulip in mis shapen dark, flickering after
     growing

inconsiderable morning. to the whirr of daft
up forced the nigh
     a little her to hand, the ah ah of room burst light
always i scream
       i imagine lips
    lips enough, lips touch
   candles your all      always i imagine
to eat out of your
    empty hands. of your mouth, quietly, wearil

to make you feel madly        could is i think
much, anyway, i stand very still.

i will unveil you, passively, in the breathing,
     come, a long pause
               wishing

One of my favorite places to shoot

Flesh-notes

O lover,
O sweet boy -
I sit beside myself for hours, tremulous,
words or breath, moist, palms open as if
                     to say "I am yours."

        I think of you when I see
Khan 's painting — a woman, a man,
her hair twisted in his hand, lilies strewn
skillfully across
a marble floor.

'The Kiss' either beneath the window
or against the wall—
it does not
matter:
           your tongue slips and I col     lapse,
taste confection on the wire.

The flat of my belly, dark hair, poised lip,
and finger— ex posed,
                   for you.

Seated now, along the rail, I shift, bend,
open, like a river to sea and I oh, oh,
the look in your eyes,
                 the ache of your hand—
         I am seamless, sweetened with
                        each new touch.

Nails shape your back in red, map out where
we have been -
a fetish — dramatic pierce,
a maddened
kiss,
swept in a moment, like O'Hara or perhaps
the way Neruda might after a night of
                               poetry—
how a woman taught him devotion in spring,
left his hand
ashen against paper.

For you, my dress on the chair,
shadowed in the night, movements, soft,
unrehearsed
beneath the crest of your body.
I am brilliant, a silhouette on the backdrop of
Italy, where your storm sweeps me to reverie,
where I am stret ched,

                              like winter snow.

You brush a curl from my
cheek— your fingers tremble. I could lose
myself now,

become adrift in your thoughts.
I could escape the heated air, the scent of flesh,
the bloom
of beauty before me,

to run toward the open sea, where I would
sink transparent on the sand, where my will is no
longer my own.

            And as dawn arrives, night slips out
—left are two lovers inside a painting, quiet on
canvas, exhausted and in love.

Draft II 

Photos I took in b&w

The Meaning of True Love

Being a photographer, this video holds a place in my heart - brings tears to my eyes. Please push play. Nite. xo

Sad Patrol - Metallica

Ever since I can remember I have liked 'Sad But True' by Metallica. I always sang it loudly and confident. I esp loved the 'Sad Patrol' part! I thought it was
very creative. :)

Yesterday I find that it is not 'sad patrol' but, 'Sad but true'. I actually thought it was called 'Sad Patrol' as well. Eh - what do I know.

So, it came on today while out shooting and off I went... "I'm your eyes when you must steal, I’m your pain when you can’t feel... sad patrol."

I like it better that way. ;)

Stats

I get a lot of traffic here each day - from Canada to Australia, even further. Perhaps, I should ditch the whole chicken story, yea?

As if By Sea

O love, speak to me—
should we end as quickly as we
began?

I slip past your lips tonight, find myself
inside flesh and each second, I witness
you for the first time.

And I know now that it will not be you
who catches my fall: there is nothing
connecting us anymore, but space.

For a moment, I rest in the deep of
your throat— beautiful and low, I pull
each breath with a stern finger,

voice impelling from your chest—
nothing pushing nothing [nothing].

And there is no frame to this leg room,
no fervor free of reluctance—I wish
you were really here.

A plea is not enough—you are built like
stone, these two hands cannot get past
the water that rises, splits words

to a scatter—soon it will be against the
nape, its salt thickening my own tongue
to a silence.


-not about anything in general. xo

Carmel, Ca

This was taken in Carmel - such a lovely place to be.

Creep in the comedian's eye

I was looking for a photograph on Google to go with Radiohead's "Creep' for something over at Live Digital and ran across a photo of this guy crossing the street. The title of this photo was, "Some Creep"— I had to giggle, but felt bad—here was this guy just stolling along and he gets tagged with a name, like 'Creep'...he had no idea.

Reminds me of some comedy show like Frasier (sp?) or Jerry Seinfeld. (Something they might say?) Shrug. I never got into either show until the re-runs began, I think. Well, I did see Jerry's last episode (or partly). I remember coming home from work and Fraiser was on... it was such a funny episode! Fell in love with it then and there. Not to be mean, but Jerry seemed like he could not act well or like he was on stage. I dunno. Rosanne acts the same way, I think, yea?

It is odd how some things make you laugh...

I wonder, "If I ever did a comedy show..." but I suppose it has all been pretty much done.

On a side note---I have got to give that Soup guy a try. (He has a real place in N.Y..)

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys the week. Ciao.

Me

Just a questionnaire I came across.

1. I am 5ft 7 inches
2. I hate big jewelry
3. I feel loved more than unloved
4. I love chocolate - mounds are my favorites
5. I like peanut butter & mayo sandwiches- wait,
not mayo (would be so sick) miracle whip :) Actually,
I rarely eat them, but thay are very good.
6. I love Yankee Candle Co.
7. I love the smell of fresh cut grass in summer
8. I love watching the clouds pass by
9. I believe everyone has a good side
10. I think everyone can be anything they'd like in life
11. I feel rushed 99% of the time
12. I hate messes
13. I miss my grandfather
14. I love hair products - esp Biolage
15. I make too many typos
16. I can rarely make up my mind. No I can.
No - I really cannot. Can I?
17. I have a huge shoe collection
18. I want a home beside the sea
19. I love flower gardens
20. I love to write poetry and prose
21. I like having people close to me
22. I love a good sense of humor
23. I dont wet the bed
24. I dislike liver and most fried foods
25. I like a guy with a tattoo
26. I love romance and spontaneity, like a kiss
or warm hug without warning
27. I believe you should be able to talk about
anything with your partner
28. I'm not afraid of needles
29. I dislike the scent of blood
30. I love Autumn
31. I enjoy neruda, petrarca, sullivan, noto, gordon, and sobin
32. I enjoy opera
33. My favorite book is The Mouse and the Motorcycle
34. I love salads with cottage cheese on top
35. I love San Francisco Music Box Co.
36. I dislike some super, tiny dogs with silly bows
37. I want my man to be my equal, nothing more,
nothing less
38. I read "Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret."
39. I am a good cook
40. I have no favorite color
41. I listen to ocean sounds on CD
42. I love Spring
43. I miss my familia
44. I do not like mean people
45.I love laughter
46. I like photography
47. It is hard for me to trust
48. I have never had short hair
49. My cats are named Michael & Christopher
50. Sometimes I speak without thinking
51. I do the wrong things a lot
52. I once broke my wrist hitting a palm tree
53. My favorite scents are coconut/lime & lavender
54. I love Neruda (again)
55. I am bad about keeping in touch
56. I let things get to me
57. I love Starbuck's Caramel Machiatto
58. I dislike people to chew gum open-mouthed
59. I dream about quiet things
60. I am afraid of losing people
61. I like to swim and crash waves
62. I used to be track captain in school
63. I used to cheer and did most student activities,
like student council etc
64. I love San Francisco. No - I LOVE San Francisco!
65. I miss someone right now
66. I dislike someone right now
67. I love lilies
68. I love N.Y. in the fall
69. I play keyboards
70. I have been published for photography and poetry
71. I sometimes dislike myself
72. I love the ocean air
73. I love chocolate milk, but cannot drink plain
white in a glass
74. I find I drag my feet
75. I like being outside
76. I have too many books I haven't read
77. I type with my left hand, but am right handed
78. I now realize what true friendship can be
79. I love the city
80. I dislike sugared gum
81. I wish I was better to myself
82. I own a telescope
83. I love going for drives
84. I love Godsmack to Darren Hayes
85. I love kickboxing
86. I'm easily pleased
87. I don't like people who scream
88. Looks do not matter
89. I dislike girls who dress sleezy
90. I love the colors of a sunset
91. I hate to dust
92. I have 1000 products in my bathroom
93. I have too many shampoos in the shower
94. I love tomato soup
95. I love to dance
96. I make my cats talk
97. My cats think I am nuts
98. I love to volunteer
99. My blood sugar is high and low at times
100. I like Baily's, but rarely drink
101. I love piano
102. I love rain storms
103. Age is just a number
104. I can be bratty
105. I could not live w/o q-tips

Looks fade. In 50 yrs from now - if I still look
lovely to my partner - he is the one for me.

Radiohead

PUSH PLAY

Daylight fades—almost aqueous as we plan
an evening to honor hands, to die in, expose
ourselves, distance to love.

The sequence of breath: a sole strength
un- tethered, softened as it seeks harvest
that swells— fertile beneath the air.

And it is written on the map—white breast
in the palm, a string of moisture on the brow,
tongues that thicken to please.

It is certain, a void that becomes, in turn,
plentiful—the taste and scent of nectar
still sweet on the lip.

First pomodoro and garlic followed by
peppers - then,
                in a string-of-events,
the room lit up with summered
scents of pasta and sauce: aromas
that filled nostrils, lingered sweetly
on my dress.

The gifts that grew in mother's garden;
pleasures I sampled with snips
of provolone.

        She sat me down, taught me
tradition, prepared
with warm hands and love.

        She pulled fresh flowers to cool
the evening: a touch of berry and vine,
spread linen, delicate, and called
us one by one.

We washed our faces in gratitude as
the sound of papa at the end of labor,
worn-out and empty, filled the door.

Flesh-notes

O lover,
O sweet boy -I sit beside myself for hours, tremulous,
words or breath, moist, palms open as if
                to say "I am yours."

        And I think of you when I see
Khan 's painting — a woman, a man,
her hair twisted in his hand, lilies strewn
skillfully across
a marble floor.

'The Kiss' either beneath the window
or against the wall—
it does not
matter:
        your tongue slips and I col        lapse,
taste confection on the wire.

The flat of my belly, dark hair, poised lip,
and finger— ex                posed,
                for you.

Seated now, along the rail, I shift, bend,
open, like a river to sea and I oh, oh,
the look in your eyes,
        the ache of         your hand—
        I am seamless, sweetened with
                each new touch.

Nails shape your back in red, map out where
we have been -
a fetish — dramatic pierce,
a maddened
kiss,
swept in a moment, like O'Hara or perhaps
the way Neruda might after a night of
                poetry—
how a woman taught him devotion in spring,
left his hand
ashen against paper.

                For you, my dress on the chair,
shadowed in the night, movements, soft,
unrehearsed
beneath the crest of your body.
I am brilliant, a silhouette on the backdrop of
Italy, where your storm sweeps me to reverie,
where I am stret                ched,

                like winter snow.

You brush a curl from my
cheek— your fingers tremble. I could lose
myself now,

        become adrift in your thoughts.
I could escape the heated air, the scent of flesh,
the bloom
of beauty before me,

to run toward the open sea, where I would
sink transparent on the sand, but my will is no
longer my own.

        And as dawn arrives, night slips out
—left are two lovers inside a painting, quiet on
canvas, exhausted and in love.