koi shaq?

 

I blame you for everything we cannot help, and everyone we must. for this night and the day that will tamely follow. would it be the last steered past life that I am hurling at or just this moment, this helenic statuette of rose and ebony, this brevity of motion like a womb, closed and unknowing. the quick brown decision jumped over the striped meaningless life. did it clear the fence or was there none. check blows with your arm and block dense pattern shawls with a churning loss of control, so much detail to hold it all in, confounding. was it simplicity or sheer autistic fervor. who made life this space without sight, who made love when war was still sound. there are a few murky secrets between you me and the sink hole between, it will clench one day and take us with, then your eyes will fill up and a feeling you thought never existed will surface. with a woman who keeps her depths secret and her shallows deeper, you cannot hope to gain quarter with hope, the choice my dear, was always mine

 

bloodline

 

borrow borrow
take on
sport
suffer
serenize
enjoy
be
give lend
or leave

 

I remember …

 

your smile. The way you used to look when you looked at me. It used to make feel so undeserving that look. But it made me too. I remember college and how wild I used to be. I remember being the only girl in a line of guys, I was being punished for being me. All of them had to take their shirts off and I was allowed to keep mine. I rather think I would have taken mine off if they dared ask. I remember only one moment before the grand finale of our humiliation. You peeped out of the line and yelled at me across the whole college watching, across a line of semi naked terrified boys “M how do I look with my shirt off?” Very sexy actually, I don’t remember if I told you that.

I remember the first smell of the sea, the first sunset beside the ocean. It took so long. I remember lights. Highlights, soft lights, dim lights, dark lights. Lights where I could barely see myself. Lights when I couldn’t bear to look at me. I remember my first gray hair, so much before my time. I remember thinking about my future just before I went for a seven year spin through a quasar. I remember the future of my imagination. It was not half as much as I was capable of, yet it blew my mind.

I remember when all I thought about was the weekend all I worried about was a Monday. I remember amost breaking my brothers leg when we were fighting. I remember my first ever doll, a blonde blue eyed little thing I got from my uncle in Sweden. My best friend immediately got her own doll which was twice the size of mine. I remember rainy days when I skipped work faking a cough. I used to curl up in my big wooden couch bed with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. I remember my mom who used to talk in a constant litany of criticism that still rings in the back of my head constantly. They sounded like a prayer to me. She didn’t forget to set me free before I stopped listening to her

I remember sitting in C’s house, in his tiny room with the giant boom speakers, five of us with our legs stretched out full length in the already cramped space. Yet we had so much room left. We talked about life and his current girlfriend.

I remember Diwali at 2 am smoking black skies and pure excitement. I remember playing Gilli Danda, I was terrific for a mere girl. I remember learning to ride a bike without falling off even once. I was so afraid of falling, and yet so utterly dismissive of breaking tradition. I remember the first time I was up all night. It was a book I had to finish. I remember the ash on the agarbatti that added sandalwood to my first lending library

I remember the day I discovered I could write. I never wrote for years after that day

 

the inevitable airplane analogy

 

It was all ocean when we were far enough away. Wateresque graves navigated with primitive magnets and sheer will, but still the late settlers like the early, dream of a beyond drink it and drown. But is it the crossing of this endless sea we dream of or is it the other side. Have we seen within the land beyond? What exists, where our hands reach. Journey or destination or passing thought, what have we dared to be? Did we give free reign to the spaces we do not fill, let them confluence inside their own shortcomings and complete what does not exist but could?

The Runway – This place does not speak of arcing across giant chunks of Lego Land, it speaks of rest. The Rest. This acreage of concrete with bold yellow lines and tireless labor is but preparation for the big yellow bird that will take a running jump off it. The trees lining it blaze with every sundown, delighting the untrained eye. But the assistance to edgy living cannot be held closer and warmer than the sky. And we build runways because our magnet is so primitive and we admire our own handiwork

The Flight – But this is every bit what we were born for, and we affect boredom, barf bags, idle chitter chatter and virtual diversion, the heart has not forgotten, why must we prevaricate to our minds and magnets?

Wish you a wonderful 2010 full of magnetic inevitabilities

In a sky full of people only some want to fly
Isn’t that crazy
- Seal, Crazy

 

paranoia

 

They’re replacing me. They found one world they want, now they’re collecting bits of me to emulate it. They are building their dreams from my eyes and closing new sights to me. There’s a mocha espresso with hazelnut where used to be my fingertips making electricity with your curls, singing slowly through your skull. There is a wide screen swinging plastic soldiers and control dead between our crazy mood fights, they are making angry that didn’t snap from my mind and vents I don’t fit in. They’re building canals with my tears and putting on a flow show to fascinate you as I dissolve a little faster. They’re making scents that hold whole conversations between us and only talk about themselves. They’re writing about my heart as if it is transplanted into their words and estranged from you and me. They are cutting my wild free bounty and planting weeds, they grow thick and green and call it survival. They are stretching my dead skin across their dead wood and pounding out heartbeats so much louder than mine. Then they build a stage and call me to compete. They keep moving you around and now whenever I look at the center of the universe, I see nothing, anything. Like you have been pulled out carefully wrapped in ginger bubbles and stowed away for special occasions. Their occasions just never seem to get special enough. I feel afraid. Regretful, sad, unsure, unavailable. I wonder if they feel the same, or if they succeeded in freezing who I used to be.