today I am going to write about mental illness because I knew I was going to have to do it eventually.
Archive for January, 2010
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
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
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.
Apparently, I have the social skills of a wumpus. So I’m just going to speak in poetry and song lyrics (and maybe videos and perhaps some cover tunes and/or other projects if you are nice to me and okay about my clumsiness of word and speech in your universe of cruel numbers. Heartless!). Verse for now. Explanations later … if it is safe …
Now I have thirty minutes to get home and load my drum and get to the cafe. I’ve got good internet on me at all times though now. And I found my bad-ass mascara 
In four minutes, I would like to leave here to acquire some grilled cheese of some kind because my house smells like odd cat. Like a foreign cat from a desperate land. Not sure why.
So anyway. What am I supposed to do about the Donut Thing?
What is the Donut Thing?
Well, it’s something ridiculous I typed. And then repeated in chat. Which is a terrible place at Too Much Awesome where wonderful things can happen or you can freak out and have nubile teens watch you talk yourself into ever shortening corners. Mine are donut shaped. Because you CANNOT MAIL A DONUT. I looked into it. You can if you’re, like, a donut shop.
Here is a photo of a donut wearing sunglasses for your viewing entertainment:
(not rocking the shades)
Ha, ha. Very funny. I was thinking about sending PICTURES of a donut. And right now, I think I’m just going to have to save this and go.
Earlier, I tried to EAT part of the donut, before giving up on it in disgust.
I’m sure you all think I have a lot of time on my hands. I don’t. I’m actually in the middle of a LOT of things, and I’m doing all these OTHER things in the meantime to keep the Snow Leopard upgrade from driving me crazy (I dislike and fear change). Notice I did not say I Hated change this time. This is because I am Growing.
One thing that I am going to have to do before I leave the house though is get dressed.
I know that it is not going to be acceptable to send Rhod
1. A mere photograph of a donut. Particularly since he is a better photographer than me, and he can take pictures of donuts any time;
2. A drawing of a donut, for I cannot draw
3. An ice sculpture of a donut, because there’s no ice here, and it would totally melt.
I also would feel bad about sending more donutty fun to Rhod because I have not finished my TOTALLY DONE watermelon video. I need to get the cord to that FRICKIN camera. I am a PSYCOPATH! ACK!
The cool thing about being psycho though is that you can think of many things at once. And I have pestered my duo partner (who is very secretive) to allow me to put a cut of our rehearsal demo (which he has shown to no one) on some of my sites to promote our regular thursday gig. So I’ll do that right quick at TMA and then Tweet about it. Then I’ll get the hell out of my PJs, because to still be maniacally typing in your PJ’s at 1PM is just ASTOUNDING!!!
So. I was showing people the Godz Poodlz video. Which is very, VERY funny. And in which the Poodlz both look like serious, SERIOUS stud muffins. Or stud donuts. What the HELL is a stud donut? Anyway …
So Rhod Durre (the guy in the glasses we all wish we could get away with who resembles a fighter pilot) just became my 101st FAN ON FACEBOOK today.
This is a BIG FAT HAIRY DEAL because if you know me you know how it has been …
We will take a short break now to celebrate with a tiny celebratory poem
This is the beginning of a poem that I actually thought that I was going to try and PUBLISH. Go ahead. Laugh. It’s funny. There is no place to publish a poem that I was going to enter into a contest that was supposed to be kind of like a literary Song Fu and which I did not complete.
I was to write off three prompts. They were Flower, denouement, and something else I can’t remember but that made me think of murder. Or produce. Since everything naturally makes me think of murder, even something like pairs figure skating – I of course thought about murder at the farmer’s market. Because we can’t just go quietly and get our Kombucha Tea, now CAN WE????
I didn’t stop there. No … I wanted to put it in IAMBIC PENTAMETER
TROUBLE AT THE FARMERS MARKET
(a mysterious tragedy)
PAPPIO
I have uncovered tragic tragedy
Among these vegetarian delights
O! Such a shocker as has ne’er been seen
RANDOM MARKET GOER
at least not since last year’s Kombucha fights!
RUFFIO
What say you rabble rouser, what is this
Disturber of treasured organic peace
Although it’s true something is yet amiss
Your un-coolness of energy must cease
PAPPIO
The gentleman, correctly he did shout
And his past truths they cannot be denied
But although although cultured tea was thrown about
Not even one brave market-goer died!
PAPPIO
What say you sir? Is something now awry?
RUFFIO
Assure you I, good sir, the trouble’s nigh!
…
It was gonna get really good, I promise you. I was gonna have knives, and a flower poisoning (à la White Oleander, and a thwarted romance, and … and …
But I have a rehearsal at 2 … and the best laid plans of conga players and donuts …
So I woke up this morning at 7AMish because it was all hot in my room. Gross-sticky hot. I think it’s all these central heating things we’ve been dealing with. And the cedar.
Everyone in Austin is wildly allergic to cedar, or at least they have strong opinions about it. It crawls up the nose and makes you sing badly. It provokes reaction. It makes everyone crazy in some way.
Sure, I could blame it on that. Whatever. Really I’m just feeling random. When I do this I make lists. So here’s another one. UNLIKE yesterday’s which was a BITCHY list; and an excuse to freak out because I was afraid of something happening which I Cannot Control and which will Eventually Happen Anyway – THIS list will be fun. This is going to be a list in the spirit of what my lists are meant to BE!
And since people are reading this, I may put a list of QUESTIONS, and see if anyone will answer them. If NOBODY does, I may post them in other fun places until I get my WAY! Just beause I am curious about people.
RANDOM THINGS ABOUT MOI YOU MAY NOT HAVE KNOWN
1. I used to call myself moi from time to time, until someone (don’t remember who) told me it was pretentious, and that Miss Piggy did it. I think it was just a diary thing.
2. I’ve been keeping journals on the computer since 2001 other than blogs (and possibly longer on the 3.1 machine), and re-reading them is REALLY strange.
3. There is a really SAD looking apple on my coffee table in front of me which I will not throw away because I hate to waste food. It won’t get eaten. I will intend to cook this apple, but never will – and Mike will end up throwing it away behind my back.
4. I don’t like the scent of Patchouili and (alas!) I cannot spell it, so why did I get the soap and consent to keep it from the stocking stashes for Christmas?
5. I got the Beatles re-masters for my birthday, and they RULE!
6. If you let piano sightreading go, even for a MINUTE – and it’s not your thing – it will slip like bad elastic.
7. It doesn’t bother me about the religion of a famous writer whose stuff I like (as per a post I saw in one of my feeds) because I fully expect famous people to have religions that don’t fit in with my world view – plus I can’t really talk, can I?
8. The UT Longhorn football under the TV kind of annoys me, but I’m glad my husband found something he enjoys doing with the guys.
9. If I ever lost my hearing, I wouldn’t be like Beethoven, I’d just complain.
10. I love my UT LHB drumline jacket because of the way it fits and because it says my name on the left lapel (like the Pink Ladies or something )- but I wish it didn’t say “Longhorn Band Drum Line” or whatever on the back, because even though it looks cool and I can’t wear it anywhere. I was in the pit, for crying out loud!
11. I miss writing in CAPS and only going to numbers 11 or 13 because it doesn’t make sense. Because I’m too lazy to type in italics or whatever.
THREE QUESTIONS FOR YOU and ONLY THREE, for I AM LAZY
1. What’s the BEST salty snack in the whole WIDE world, EVER???
2. You’re on a deserted island. You brought something you’re REALLY thankful for, but you also FORGOT something you really need. What are these items?
3. Do you like perfume or smellynice stuff (yes, this works for boys too) and if so what is it / are they(these items)? Or is it a secret? Because if it is that’s totally okay. Some of my nice smelly stuff is secret too.
(You don’t have to answer these questions publicly. You can just answer them in your SOUL if you want. I’ll know they are there. This could, of course be preemtive because I don’t think that people are reading my blog … not really (parenthetically burried pity party) … but whatever) .
I’ve typed about seventy entries. And erased them. All.
Just a little list then.
1. I’ve got to start booking. Tomorrow.
2. I’m going to make a press kit. IMMEDIATELY. I’ll be hitting up EVERYONE who EVER said anything nice about me. Especially if they’re doing well in “The Biz.” I need this now.
3. Everything that I’m in the middle of doing for other people (or even my own other projects!) needs to now be finished by the weekend. Middle of next week TOPS. This includes all videos, charts, rehearsal practice, recordings, little demo-type things, dah-dah-dah …
4. I have to do Song Fu. It’s not a luxury anymore. It’s not a choice. If I don’t stick around Song Fu, and TMA, I WILL BE FORGOTTEN ABOUT and OTHER PEOPLE from Austin will hear about all this stuff in a way that does not involve me. It will be exactly what happened here before. If I think that I fade into walls now … (let alone why …)
This means that I cannot afford to get sick again. And it doesn’t matter that Mike’s having surgery. I’m just going to have to be perfect, that’s all. And it doesn’t matter who just might happen to sign up for Song Fu 6.
And I will just have to trust that all my trial runs at this will hold. That practice makes perfect. And that I am NOT neurotic.
