More Fu

Oh, you want to know the LYRICS to the song. Well … uh … HERE …

LYRICS ->
“RAIN”

It’s pouring outside / I’ve got it bad as the weather
It’s all damp inside my mind / I don’t have it together

But some people like to live like this
Because the rain makes all the waterfalls into rainbows around
And I laugh and make appropriate sounds
But you can’t hear what I’ve been dreaming about …

I hold tight against myself / like a human umbrella
Yes sir … the shoe fits, but I ain’t no … Cinderella
I’m just filling up holes in the street with these pools overflowing
I’m late to the dance
And my roots are showing

There’s water everywhere
Are you gonna drink it?
Or will you just let it trickle down politely
when we could just throw down in the rain
-like we mean itI

The clouds move secretly, faster – I’m poised for disaster
wondering illegal things
I’m thinking about all the shining
realities

And the rain makes a pretty parade
I see you, shove up my glasses / double-check the subtleties I made
and they’re much too subtle … I’m afraid

You know it’s not quite like all that
But I could drink you down right now
I guess this is kinda hard for you to understand
I guess the weatherman could declare me legally mad

There’s water everywhere
Are we gonna drink it?
Gulp it down like we mean it
I don’t believe you can’t see it clearly!
We’re steaming / and we could throw down like we mean it
in the rain

You can look for the root of my crimes / in my past life
Put on galoshes, wade through my present time
Trip right to the flip-side then slip down to your never-mind

This is not about you
It’s about what I go through
when you and all the you-and-me too-s
come marching through
my stormy parade …

*As for specifically what/who it’s about or referring to … it’s complicated and not entirely consistent. But I do have some ideas. Or maybe an idea.

 

Song Fu

Well. I am in Song Fu Six. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the tune either. But I think it’s growing on me. It’s been a hell of a week, I can tell you that much!

Afterward, I indulged myself a little bit. I stayed up here and just kind of … hung out. I thought that I’d try to maybe summon up some courage to come out of my shell even more about some of my .. stuff – and I almost did. But I think that submitting my Fu and sitting through the listening party and doing all that was quite enough adventure for one day.

 

on a hideous personal note …

On a hideous personal note:

1. I just went back online. I guess it’s like riding a bike. Hell. Soon I’ll be twittering again. Lord help us. I don’t have time for this crap.
2. I accidentally had photo booth open on the mac. When I got offline, it was open. I looked like a Hutt. If I had started speaking Huttese, I would have been Confused and this does not Bode WELL.
3. I get to do Fu. And I have looked at that statement and all of a sudden I am a little concerned because … uh, what?
4. I have chosen to do Fu. Because Fu is important, and gosh-darn-it, people like me
5. If I get through this week, and make a Watermelon video, that will be my victory signal that it is time to go back to martial arts.

Altho I think I heard my name mentioned somewhere in relation to some videos … I would do that. Yep.

 

A Dangerous Liaison…

This has been a frustrating week. I’ve spent much of it staring straight ahead like a zombie or on my back with a pained expression on my face. I did figure out some things.

1. I spend too much time online, and it’s kind of freeing NOT to be online all the time. I’m not so freaked out by having written a song called ‘Incognito’ anymore. I may drag it out and examine it and see if it really is a co-write or not …
2. I am easily dominated.
3. I have a HORRIBLE immune system.
4. Under pressure, I fold like a cheap fan.
5. Sometimes, I treat my own hard work as though I take absolutely NO pride in it; even when I have been up to it for a long time.

I’ve spent most of this week with my neck wrenched into a ball of something I’m not really allowed to describe. I described it to a person that I’m in a complicated relationship with. I don’t talk about this complicated relationship, because I’m not allowed to have it.

That is a complicated concept that I don’t talk about. I don’t like to talk about a lot of things because rocking the boat and getting riled up (even justifiably) has proved disastrous and risky for me. Almost without fail. So I don’t do it.

I really want to finish my song for Fu. I’m trying to finish some other work too, then I guess I can get to my own stuff. But I’m pretty excited about my song, which I stole a luxurious half hour out of my Tuesday to write the lyrics to. I wrote them furiously in five minutes while very upset … then perfected them in the half hour that I had.

The song is about something I’ve been wanting to write about for a long time. It alludes to a certain type of woman. It’s like that courtesan who lived in a very rainy city. She aspired to be the lover of great men. It’s also a little bit about the female characters in Dangerous Liaisons. Or in that movie about the Marquis de Sade. The reaching up into service of these great men, women even. Great places. And the sexual in this.

But it is never enough, and this is so shaming. One feels as though there is much explaining to do. But what is the point? There are the powerful … and the not-so-much. Caste politics. And the secret yearnings of women moving in frightened corridors of history. And loving strongly into other humans, wanting to make love despite all of this distressing maneuvering. It all moves smoothly and distressingly in and out of itself, over-and-back on itself. I see so much of it in life. All the pretty pictures of it. Tiny little nuances. I know little things. A bit here, a little more there. And really, it all reminds me of books and drives me so crazy. So this is what I can do, I suppose.

So what does a woman do, trapped in silk, thwarted and shamed in a rainy city? What is she even talking about?

 

I’m not doing terribly well today.

I’m sure I’ll get over it.

That’s what I do.

Mike’s good. I’m a lucky girl

 

a tough blog

today I am going to write about mental illness because I knew I was going to have to do it eventually.

 

marriage … or the internet. Hmmmm …

I’m getting dressed.

More later.

 

Anger Poem

I wrote this poem several years ago. I was mad when I wrote it.

ANGER
I cannot use the words
that have always been there
like a constant friend that
you could always bum a tampon from

The verbs and nouns
and adjectives! –
that I have customarily
relied upon
are late without a phone call
They are back home, pressing snooze
and are very unconcerned
about my need to now express

All I can think to do
is grasp for one intrinsic word and say
“I feel …”
And all that now remains
is the ellipse floating in mockery afterwards
The blankness of this waiting page
is not the comforting computer screen
of new idea
It is the desperate heaving
of nauseating redness,
as I struggle to articulate
the ANGER
that has been my consort
for as long as I remember

Description rides futility
and urgency is married to the caveman
The “ums” and “ahs” are all I think
to orchestrate my life from
And how to then, move on …?
when I cannot box the surge of oceans up
and place ribbon around them
How do I feel?
– the Tiffany glass that smashes the far wall
– the axe gashing through a spitting unconcerned mouth
The pillow seems too soft
to make a satisfying shatter
The text of p-o-i-s-o-n or a-n-n-i-h-i-l-a-t-i-o-n
seems too tame
beside the dammed up Mississippi
of emotion

 

Another poem

Here’s another one. Two (maybe more if I feel like it) in the same day.

I’m thinking about doing a series on intimacy. It’s one of my favorite topics. Maybe it’s the social skills thing. How I get really attached to people. How it’s weird. I wrote this one long ago, when I just got really FASCINATED with this random guy’s eyes at a cafe. He had these really strange dark blue eyes and his female companion had the most beautiful wrists. But I tried not to stare, because even though I feel like I have a god-given right to stare at the other humans (because I’m a songwriter, so I think that all people have been given as my personal inspiration fodder-eye candy-subject matter I-know-I’m-horrible!) … even though – well … it’s RUDE.

So I just wrote a poem instead. Because if I’d been abducted by a hostile alien ship, and so had my anonymous blue eyed dishy friend … well, he certainly wouldn’t mind me staring into his interesting eyes and even hearing me talk about these things. Whereas now all I can do is bore my husband and close friends with this crap. Or make you read about it. That is if you’re still reading. And not thinking perhaps this poor woman’s husband should institutionalize her and find a nice girl who can successfully make soup.

Ha, ha. Just kidding. I don’t belong in an institution, and I make AWESOME soup. At some point, I will post an entry called ‘Tomato Soup Night.’ You will LOVE IT!

For now, here is the poem …

STRANGERS

If you and I
were stranded
on some desert isle
-or absconded with
by aliens
who only thought of
recipes –
of human meat …

If we were trapped
inside their spaceship-kettle
would you cling to me
as desperately as you now cling
to your precious
anonymity?

If we were in a
prison –
awaiting execution
would we bind together
in our commonality –
discuss a revolution?

Or would we look away
as on a subway
or a street
and think that universes
parted us?
would we hold each other
in a subway’s
uncommitted, stern embrace
-the one-night stand
of forced proximity
enforced by traveling space

 

At least one poem

I’m going to put down at least one poem a day. Just because. I don’t want to get lost. I have to say something. Here’s one I found. I wrote this a while back, but it spoke to me today. Perhaps I feel a little alienated. I think I felt sort of connected to something for a while, and then … I wasn’t. It’s strange how the universe works … I will try to finish all my projects though. I am a professional.

THE LITTLE GIRL

The little girl
told the crying boy
who looked at the mess
on the floor

“It’s your heart –
so pick it up.”
He told her
“I don’t know why I cry.”

She tried to hold his hand;
and he loved her empathy.
But then he snatched it back, because
he didn’t understand

And she cried out
inside the crowd -
not knowing that he cried
inside his eyes

She hates him
for his apathy …
He hates her
for her loss of pride

The little boy
no longer cries
He gets a broom now;
lives his life

The little girl
mourns for her heart,
then mops the floor
and then, her eyes.