Letter Writing and a Letter I wrote.

Because i'm not figuring out how to do much in the way writing be it poetic, dramatic, prosaic, expository or functional just for the sake of writing it, I discovered that I use many of those elements in letters or social media post and or comments so I decided I might should start saving them in a blog. I was thinking about how many of the great thinkers of the past have had anthologies an books dedicated to their correspondence with each other. And it is rather fortunate for us that the correspondence was kept intact and preserved because likely many of their best ideas came out of correspondence. I refer to people such as PJ Proudhon, Marx, Freud, Rosa Luxemburg, Flannery O'Connor, Franz Kafka, Simone de Beauvoir, Zora Neale Hurston, Virginia Woolf and on and on. Some of these letters are better reading than the authors novels themselves. Lol. I mean that's just a bit of snide sarcasm, I've actually no right to infer such having finished naught but one of these authors novels and having spent even less time on their letters, but now that I've thought of it, I intend to at least read letters from all of these authors. Try as I might I've not been able to get through a Virginia Woolf novel yet, but I think I'm gonna have to set it as a goal. In any case I believe it is true that the letters tend to hold something valuable that the published novels by their nature simply cannot hold. Because the letters are very likely a raw draft of writing, not something combed over by the author and rewritten. And so they have a certain beauty of novelty of pure raw thought, they are vulnerable because they are a person's immediate unpolished thinking. Or at least veritably more so than novels that have been proofread and thought over and revised and scrutinized by an editor and probably many others before they are coming to our eyes. 

So to begin, here's a letter I wrote to my son's Grandma, his father's mother, in case you're wondering, who I lovingly refer to as my mother-out-law. And is possibly one of my favorite people to write to. I used to be quite an avid letter writer before the technology age and so there are a few people who still inspire me to write more than brief sound bursts. She has always been one of them. She's also the author of two published books now, so perhaps that's one of the reasons she inspires me. I'm going to omit personal information replacing it with an initial for names like I've seen in the published letters and with [...] for anything else. I also threw in an initial salutation for effect. Since my letters nowadays are pretty much all emails rather than physical letters, somehow I don't always think to start them with salutations, though occasionally I do, this time I didn't. 

[Dear M-]

I'm glad to hear y'all had a chance to chat. He had a follow up interview with [...] today I haven't yet heard how it went, and forgot to ask what type of job it is I think to myself I hope it's not sales but who knows maybe he'd be good at that, I know I've never been but whatever it is, hopefully he'll be able to get a better income out of it. Regarding creativity, I've been eking out whatever I can hear and there, we thought the studio helped but it just turned out that we really can't afford it and easily get all of our bills paid every month, and it would definitely hinder us paying off our car as quickly as we want to. Which would prolong us getting into a better housing situation. And that has actually become top priority so our creativity which never has managed to garner an income that one could live off of by any stretch of the imagination, will have to wait. Or at least in my case it never has. And in N-'s case it hasn't for many, many years. He told me there was a period of about 1 or 2 years where he was selling enough art to pay his bills but then it stopped. Maybe that was like right before 911. Anyhow he says he's never managed to live off his art since. I've even tried all sorts of endeavors at promoting his art like setting him up an instagram account and a facebook page but then I have to maintain them and after a while it gets really hard to continue. Especially because I have my own creative endeavors I want to focus on and social media presence that I was also maintaining. Which I've become lax on. It gets hard to keep all of that up when you never see a payout or anything more than a few people liking and commenting. Those are all great but, unfortunately, they don't pay the bills. But maybe it's something I should consider doing again. He's got a mess of paintings stacked up in the attic and hanging throughout the hallways of this section of our building. I was thinking of making a promotional slideshow type video of them. So perhaps I'll do that. And it's something I definitely would do if I had a guaranteed basic income. But let me not jump on that "preaching to the choir' soap box. It sure would have been nice if our government could have passed another stimulus, eh? In the meantime, kudos to you, for all the continued effort you're putting into getting us a more progressive leadership, although I do wish these establishment dems did not have such an awful habit of leaning toward the right or lingering in the center. When I took an interesting poll about my values and then looked at a graph of where I lie in terms of progressive and conservative values or rather far left and far right, I am so far left I don't even fit on the graph, and this was in comparison to people and groups operating within the mainstream political spectrum. It basically showed me that what most people consider progressive or 'left' is not near progressive or 'left' enough for me. Hah. Who knew I'd ever get so impassioned about a thing. There is a fabulously progressive, anarchist group in Salem, Oregon and N- and I have been systematically purchasing all the books they have for sale. It's called Crimethinc. Check it out if you get inspired to ingest some radical [which is actually not a bad thing, is not the same as extremist, it is actually the same as rational in that they both infer going to the root of an issue, idea or problem] thinking within some excellent well thought writings. You can find them at www.crimethinc.com


Ok that's enough of my using you as a blog. I should probably cut and paste most of that to my blog now. But nah, i'll let you be the first to read it. 😁

love ya hope things settle down in this pandemic world and I get to visit you soon.
p.s. A- texted back while I was writing this and he said, he thinks his [...] follow up interview, this morning, went very well. The job is some kind of customer service rep, like the initial point of contact processing calls to get people where they need to go. They said he should get a confirmation or denial email within 1 to 3 business days. So that's exciting. I told him I'm keeping my fingers crossed and intentions high for him. Hah, if I were a true Catholic like they tried to make me or Pagan, even, like I tried to make me, I'd light a candle or say a prayer to a santo or one of the gods. But I've gotten more interested in researching scientific thought and using reason to form an evidenced based belief system in the past 10 or so years. Anyway I said I was gonna shut-up and now I am. Love you bunches. Also I realize you said you're not doing much creative but with any endeavors don't hesitate to let me know if you need help with anything I can do from afar.

Well there you have it. This is the raw version the way I sent it. That is with the omissions I mentioned. I resisted the urge to add clarity or polish it in any way, but I won't resist the urge to add commentary of such here as an after thought. I realize I said, "who knew I'd ever get so impassioned about a thing" which gave me cause for mirth. Of course I didn't intend to infer I've never been impassioned about any thing. I was just remembering the person I was when my good friend M- and I spent much time together which was circa 1994 to 1996 and then again in 2005 and again in 2008 for awhile and I'm pretty sure I was not even in those more recent years ever quite so impassioned about things of a political nature as I am now. 

flash prose - shit i wrote on fb - etal

Neil read me this quote from the book he's reading right now.

"He'd miscast himself in the role of authority figure. A decision made one afternoon fifteen years ago. He had to grow up fast, back then...but he sometimes wondered if he wasn't just pretending. He didn't even know who he'd be without this role. Pete Sebeck was just an idea—a collection of responsibilities with a mailing address" -Daniel Suarez "Daemon" 

Wow! For-fkn-SOOTH! I have felt this often, never quite knowing how to describe it. I would think to myself, I'm somebody's daughter, somebody's sister, somebody's mother, somebody's girlfriend. But WHO AM I, what am I? I'm a shadow person, is finally how I ended up describing it. You know how there's that thing called job shadowing? You follow someone around to learn their job, try it on, so to speak. Well I've often felt like a shadow personality. Though my personalities often came from several different people, not all of whom I've met. Many of them came from literature or film. My sister once noticed, that after reading a book we'd both read wherein the main character clutched at her necklace all the time, that I was doing that. I find myself still doing this, more often with film and television, i find myself emulating one of the characters, difference from when i was younger is that now I do it unabashedly. Because yeah, now I realize that being strictly one ideological being is not necessarily a good thing, all this right here (me) is subject to change at any fuckin moment, new information comes in, i want to be able to ingest and possibly assimilate not automatically reject it. That's what that paragraph means to me. And laws yeah, I have mistakenly miscast myself, many a time

A Short Writing done at Writing Group 6-27

introduction: In writing group Moyer came prepared with an exercise he passed around 2 small sheets of paper and asked everyone to write a sentence on one piece and a subject for someone to write about on the other. Then we threw them into his hat and everyone chose one of each. Throwing back and redrawing if one pulled their own input. Here is my piece with sentence from Sarah Heffernan and subject from Diane Dube- I am going to save revealing those til the end. As I think it makes the read much better.

☀︎ ☼ ☀︎ ☼ ☀︎ ☼ ☀︎

Singing merrily, I hopped off the bus and sashayed down the street. The sun shining down and birds keeping tune- I practically floated along. Everything was beautiful. The weather, the lighting, the smiling faces I passed. It seemed as if it had all aligned perfectly for me. I pictured ancient druids thousands of years ago setting it all in stone. Predetermining my destiny.

I was in love.
And life never felt better. 

As I rounded the corner my heart palpitating, my feet dancing I thought of my love who'd surely be at the cafe. Wait. was that thunder? I briefly noticed the sky clouding over but brushed it off. And waltzed upon my way eager to surprise my precious new sweetheart. 

Standing outside the cafe- peering in through the window; my smile faded. Suddenly it was cold and dark. There in a cozy corner of the main room, they sat. Was she whispering in his ear? How long is she gonna do that? Maybe she's being forward, and he's just trying to be polite. I proffered myself weakly.  He leaned in put his arm about her and pulled her close. 

I stopped breathing.
The rain fell in big drops. Splat, splat, splat!

☀︎ ☼ ☀︎ ☼ ☀︎ ☼ ☀︎

Line: "The rain drops fell in big drops. Splat, splat, splat. 

Subject: Betrayal.

Writing group, mini write - please pass the butter.

So I've finally started attending writing group with several local Tucson aspiring writers. Today was only my second time attending. I haven't been writing much and haven't written anything for the group. Usually, the members bring something they've written or are working on. So I got out my notebook to see if I had a poem or something to share and the first page I opened to was a grocery list, from the other day. I joked, "Well, I have this grocery list." And my friend Dave, suggested i wrote a short story using all of the items on the list. So I promptly did just that. And here is the outcome. I made only a few slight changes since this afternoon including an extra line or two having noticed I had forgotten one item on the list. If you're feeling adventurous try to guess the items on my shopping list. 

________________________________

There was coffee in the morning - fresh roasted - the deep aroma filled the air. Lucy and I sat on the patio of the Boboli cafe, catching up. She'd been on trip overseas for the last several months. Spent 1/2 the time in Europe & 1/2 the time in Africa.
"An amazing continent", she gushed.
I sat half listening to the drone of her voice and mostly in my own mind and thoughts, nodding and vocalizing when appropriate. I've gotten good at that with Lucy. She's a pseudo friend. Never much needs a whole lot of interaction. Just a willing audience.
"You know, Nora's been hitting the sauce pretty heavily..."
"hmm" I nodded, barely noticing the topic of conversation had changed.
There was a sprinkle of rain starting to fall. I thought of Portland.
Our tortellini with lunchmeat, broccoli and melted cheese arrived and Lucy's tirade was paused briefly while she stuffed a spoonful in her mouth then went on in garbled litany.
"and Kenny's wife, dear god, she's become a whiny bitch. Never stops talking about her poor feet. She's got those corns, ya know..."
"uhm hmm" i mutter as i shove some of the pasta in my face. Savoring the meats.
"I don't know how Kenny stands her... can you pass the butter?"
I pass it to her and take a long gulp of my oj then finally during a pause tell her I've gotta run. The kitty is waiting for her friskies. 

ok

I am a sad junkie.
Sitting here at the cafe - telling myself I'm being productive.  Occasionally, sighing heavily - feeling the urge to cry. Staring off into the space, letting my eyes drink in the shapes, the colors the swashes of light. Letting my ears gently take in the music, the murmur of conversation and other ambient noise. Or just drifting off - feeling morose or exhausted - yearning for something, somebody to come along and disrupt the doldrum. I thought briefly that I was lonely, lonely for something - wanting for some human connection. And imagined that someone ought to notice me - someone ought to know I'm sitting here waiting - but I realized that me sitting here
silently contemplating
insanity
hopelessness
that me sitting here quietly fantasizing
is not an impetus for action to happen. It will not bring anyone or anything
and it's not as if I have gone unnoticed
and in reality, I don't want just anyone or anything to come along, cause I've brushed
off conversation at least once since I've been sitting here
and so just sitting here
being with myself
with my thoughts
my feelings
is really ok
whether or not I want to cry - or sing along to the music - or
just let
the sights
and sounds
and sensations
wash over me.
it's all ok
it's all ok.

What I learned from Anne Willensky and her book "Pulled Over by the Cops"

I recently a short chapbook  given me by the author, Anne Willensky. She gave it to me along with two other books. One of which I've read, and liked, but this particular book, called "Pulled Over By the Cops", really wove it's way into my heart and made it feel all glowing and happy and even a little bittersweet.

It was a Thursday night, when she gave it to me. I had walked over to the Hotel Congress as I usually do on a Thursday night, to see Salvador Duran perform on the patio. I was sitting as I often do with my pal, Joseph Black Coyote when I saw my friend, Flora coming in with a few other people. It was her birthday celebration - I had forgotten. I didn't tell her that though because I am always forgetting Flora's events like her art shows and things like that. So I didn't feel like letting on I'd forgotten something as special as her birthday.

Anne came soon after, she is an older woman with a big smile and fairly loud speaking voice. She reminded me of an eccentric, dishevelled bag lady you'd find in a coffee shop in the bay area or some big city like that. I realize maybe that sounds rude. But when I say bag lady, I don't mean offense. I think their are perhaps all sorts of bag ladies.  I suppose I am thinking of the kind of woman one might see scribbling passionately at a coffee shop or feeding pigeons at the park while reciting them poetry. In fact I don't think, Anne, had many bags about her that night, but something about her gave me the impression that she would be right at home in my bag lady vision. She reminded me of Julia Vinograd, the poet from Berkeley. Only I remember, Julia as very quiet. She always seemed surprised that I knew who she was. I thought of her as a celebrity, having seen her poetry on the bus and in bookstores and so I treated her like a bit of a hero.

So I remember when Flora introduced me to Anne, she smiled big and kept rubbing my back as she greeted everyone. It annoyed me, I kept thinking to myself, "Why is this woman touching me?" But I decided not to pull away, I think I do that a lot lately. Pull away from people touching me. I also think for some reason, I inspire people to want to touch me. I used to like it, I was like a little sister or small bird that need care taking. Now, it irritates me. I am loathe to trust people, anymore, who want to take care of me.  Anyway, I remember being annoyed and wanting to pull away but Anne's smile was so big and cheerful that I couldn't bring myself to possibly offend her. She gave Flora a gift. I pulled out my jewelry knapsack [I luckily often have it with me.] and told Flora she should pick a pair of earrings for her birthday present. I think that is when Anne offered me her books. "Do you like to read?" she she asked and gave me two that she'd written and one of stories that her father had written for her on his rides on the subway home from work. He would write them down and read them to her when he got home.

Flora was deliberating over my earrings. Anne commented how lovely they were and did I make them. yes, I said. She said she wished she'd brought her money. I thought perhaps I should offer her a pair. In exchange for the books. But I didn't. I'm not sure, why.  I guess I felt poor and only had a handful made. Heck I still only have a handful made.

There were a few more moments of her rubbing my back or arm throughout the evening and my feeling slightly annoyed but pretending not to be. And I admit the annoyance did mostly subside as the night wore on. In fact I didn't really remember the annoyance, til I read, "Pulled Over by the Cops".

Anne's book was the perfect thing for me to read right then. Having, been feeling, of late, rather negative. It was simply written. Full of positive cheerful thoughts about learning to drive again, taking the bus. Observing people and yes, even being pulled over by the cops. To her credit not everything was overly cheerful. Such wanton honesty in both compassion and irritation, on the part of Anne, was really refreshing to read. She didn't seem to mind just saying whatever she was feeling no matter how it might sound. It was when the story came to Anne's day in court that I was reminded of being annoyed., when we first met on Flora's birthday.

In the book, Anne was getting nervous abut going before the judge and what she would say and if she'd be able to avoid paying one or both of the tickets. "The evening before", she writes that her higher power told her "Anne, the outcome doesn't matter, whether you have to pay or not doesn't matter. It is a great opportunity for you to go there and send love to everyone. You can bless the court by sending love to everyone. That is all you to do and that is all that matters."

I got so choked up reading that, and more so later when she relayed her fearful but determination to do just that the next day while sitting in court trying so hard not to hate the ticketing officer. My eyes filled with tears as I remembered her soft calm touch on my neck and back. She  was just trying to send me love and there I was just being annoyed about it. I stopped reading for a beat and sent her smiles and appreciation and love, right on back. I didn't think consciously that I was doing that but I realize now that I was. I I was thinking about her soft touch, her big cheerful smile and just loving her back much like I'm doing right now. But this time it's deliberate. She taught me, reminded me that kindness and tenderness are a healing and wonderful thing. I don't have to automatically recoil or distrust simply because a person is a stranger to me. I have, I think, since I met her tried harder to appreciate people, to think as compassionately and lovingly as possible including and especially concerning people who I might normally want to despise. Just as Anne did with that police officer. And even though I don't always succeed it feels really good and gets easier and easier when I do. I will keep Anne's message close as I go about the world and hope others will read her book and appreciate it as much as I did and do the same. Thank you, Annie, I love you too.

The Free World Charter

The Free World Charter: Let's make everything free.

December Forecast 2011

December Forecast 2011

This was absoloutely the best thing I could have been sent right now. big deep breath and sweet audible exhale!!! I am so ready, or so ready for getting ready and priming myself for the accelerated exponential movement and growth that is society! I am so ready for new terrrains, for wisdom for life without resentment and regret. I am so ready to shed the shallow shoulda, woulda, coulda, why didn't I mentality accept who I am where I have been and learn and grow and keep on doing it. Rarely stagnating, being at peace open to change to whatever.

Note: Just noticing this in June of 2015. Unfortunately, the link, I put goes to the current forecast. So I don't know if there's an archive. But it's just as well.  I think it's kind of nice knowing I felt like this, and not having the mumbo jumbo that made me feel it. I would that I'd been able to hold onto what I said here, more. 

you and i

Where are we now
this here forest
we're traveling through
this jungle island
lost in the middle of nowhere
the middle of everywhere
and we keep walking the same path
and the same trees whisper
something inaudible
I don't really try to ascertain
just keep assuming I know the message
assuming I hear words of encouragement
"keep on this path..."
this path with you.
I tell myself, it must be meant to be
because it seems
we've travelled it
we two
together
so long
and we've walked through thickets
of thorns
and battled saber toothed beasts
rushing waters and
deadly heat
but mostly fought those formless demons
who would rend us apart
and we've also stopped to languish
luxuriantly in crystal pools of shimmering
aguas dulces
we've shared rich nectars and savory meats.
enjoyed long nights of crickets song
the murmur of the wind amid the trees and reeds
and talked of beautiful and pleasant things
and felt our bodies strong as the mountains
our minds and hearts as connected as every
little piece of this biosphere
we have known union
we have known symbiosis
and harmony
we have known misery and discord
  truth and honesty
in splendid magnificence.
and we have also butted heads
and tarried in conflict
and avoidance
so there it is, I tell myself,
there it is.
 what the trees and rocks and birds are saying
what I'm hearing them say,
when I'm truly listening.

Darko: A comparative Review, by Pilar Mogollon and the artist Neil Collins

Last night, Neil and I watched Donnie Darko.  We had both ignored this film thinking it was a slash em up murder horror type of thing. And Neil is on this no horror movie thing.  However, our housemate, Bryan Crow, suggested it, saying it was like some trippy weird psychological thriller but not horror.

We found this to be true.  The movie seems to follow an odd non linear plot about a teen aged boy, expertly played by Jake Gyllenhaal, who is troubled by visual, auditory and tactile hallucinations, emotional turmoil, prophetic & paranoid delusions, insomnia, narcolepsy along with a very keen perception and intellect.  His family, including real life sister, Maggie, are not sure how to handle it and rely on the advice of his therapist who believes he may suffer schizophrenia but seems equally confused about his struggles. He is taking a lot of pills but they don't seem to change anything.  The family dynamics were very believable and appropriate, especially between the father and mother acted by Holmes Osborne and Mary McDonnell.  Donnie also has a younger sister played by Daveigh Chase, who we will discuss later.  The plot was finely crafted.  The supernatural occurrences made sense in the context of the film and reversals were believable.  I was pleasantly surprised with Drew Barrymore, who played a teacher who seemed to be enthralled with Donnie's intellect. Her acting was more mature and intentional than ever before.  Let it be said, that all the actors in this film were convincing, however, Jake Gyllenhaal was really the glue that held it all together.  Neil and I agree that he did an amazing job.

Moving on to S. Darko, taking place 8 years later about Donnie's younger sister Samantha, again played by Daveigh Chase.  Neil says, "I will start out by saying the most redeeming quality of the film, which is, the movie is like anti-matter.  They go through systematically bastardizing all of the good scenes and ideas, basically everything that made sense in Donnie Darko, but they do it in reverse and they do them so pointlessly and out of any context to any new plot, that it forces you to appreciate Donnie Darko all the more, it is one of those backwards compliments.  The new plot is really just the bare minimum of what you would need to get away with making a sequel, it's just a formality.  It is so contrived, it's just an excuse of a plot.  This movie is doomed for two reasons first of all because if you hadn't seen the first movie, you'd have no clue of why anything happens the way it does and if you had seen the first movie then it's an insult to anything you could have possibly liked in the first movie.  The only way that you would possibly like this movie is if you had been going through some terrible root canal during the first movie, or some other such trauma that is no longer there while watching S. Darko.  Just to get the point across, I think it's a good time to mention, I kept having deja vu about the second season of Heroes, during the NBC writer's strike of 2007.  You know, the infamous, visible blue screen flying scene, where Claire and West are soaring through the sky in an embrace and kissing to christian soft rock or something like that, as if they were Clark Kent and Lois Lane in that infamous flying scene.  Which just makes you feel like, wow, they just didn't care. In short, you could compare Donnie Darko to a good artistic, well thought out movie like for instance 12 Monkey's, American Beauty, Fight Club, etc... and then somebody tried to do a so called sequel in an attempt to follow up on Donnie Darko and they made this S. Darko, which made me feel like I was watching Howard the Duck or something."

I would like to add that any surrealistic and supernatural sense that could be felt in S. Darko was achieved only by the cinematography of Marvin V. Rush, who brought a few very visually beautifully scenes to the film, which in some ways was deceiving because the first scene being so awe inspiring leads you to believe it will be a serious film.  I suppose some of the musical score provided by Ed Harcourt also helped.  Though this also was a hindrance, as it was often like they were trying to cue you towards a certain emotion by turning up the music during specific scenes, especially the half-assed attempts at love scenes, because the movie was not effective at bringing those emotions on naturally. In the first movie they did a great job at exploring the social inadequacies of adolescents in a way that seemed purposeful and intentional whereas the second movie wherever you did see that, it seemed out of lack of good directing for the actors to say their shitty dialogue anyhow.  There also seemed an obvious but futile attempt by the writer and/or director to create sappy and overly sophisticated adolescent characters.   Be it the director or the actors fault I can't help but think part of the problem is due to a major difference in the two films and that is that Donnie Darko had seasoned and gifted actors.  Sadly, including, Daveigh Chase, herself, who delivered adeptly in her sparse amount of screen time in the first film but fell pretty flat as the title character of the second.  This seems to be an effect Hollywood has been known to have on child actors, they are pure and gifted then hit adolescence and suck.  [Note: Anna Paquin was brilliant in The Piano, comparatively she sucked as Rogue in Xmen.  Natalie Portman

In closing we would both like to reiterate how the supernatural scenes in S. Darko were simply milked for some vain dramatic effect. They milked it until it was raw and then milked it some more. We also both wanna mention one more redeeming thing and that was the obvious eye candy decision of the costume director to have Chase and her friend running about in short shorts, pajamas, and skimpy sundresses throughout most of the movie.  As for Donnie Darko, the only complaint would be that the movie did not use the very engaging and rewarding acting talent of actress of Mary McDonnell, who really shows her grit in films like Dances with Wolves and Grand Canyon.  However, actress Maggie Gyllenhaal, in just a few small scenes was very convincing as Jake's older sister, but maybe that's because well she is.  Overall Donnie Darko was finely orchestrated.  A perfect composition where each note built toward the next one.  It flowed wonderfully and the supernatural occurrences were within the context of Donnie's mental problems and also were used in just the right amount to add the element of mystery to the rest of the fleshed out story and scenes.  Back to Neil's points A & B: the supernatural was like the sauce that compliments and completes the spaghetti. Without the noodles could be boring but you definitely cannot parade the sauce around all by itself.