out of the shower***

Conversations at the Wartime Cafe anthology and marathon reading

2011-10-28T15:15:00.000-07:00

I snuck a peek at a copy of the Conversations at the Wartime Cafe anthology (edited by Sean Labrador y Manzano) and it's gorgeous. I'm honored to be among so many great writers, writers who not only convinced me to finally write about my experiences in NY around the time of 9/11 - despite my cynicism - but writers who are capable of restoring one's faith in the act and art of writing itself.While that may seem heavy-handed, I stand behind it because it's true.

Check it!

CONVERSATIONS AT THE WARTIME CAFE

6:30pm - midnight.
all ages.
$5.

http://www.dnalounge.com/flyers/2011/11/03.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch

Conversations at the Wartime Cafe: reading and signing. 30 writers marking the 10th year of the War on Terror.

7:10pm:

Sean Labrador y Manzano
Stephen Ratcliffe
Christopher Bernard
Liana Alvarez
Teresa K. Miller
Elmaz Abinader
Siamak Vossoughi
Melissa Eleftherion

8:30pm:

Genny Lim
Dodie Bellamy
Kevin Killian
Margaret Rhee
Michelle Puckett
Katie May
Gillian Conoley
Aimee Suzara
Kathryn l. pringle

9:45pm:

Leonard Chan
Daphne Gottlieb
Robert Lindsey
Hugh-Behm Steinberg
Alan Kaufman
Alexandra Kostoulas
Genine Lentine
Keely Hyslop
Miranda Mellis

10:45pm:

David Brazil
Estee Schwartz
Gina Goldblatt
Neil Uzzell
Marissa Bell Toffoli
Sara Larsen
Evan Karp
Arisa White

The book, Conversations at the Wartime Cafe: a Decade of War 2001-2011 is an anthology of poetry, fiction, memoir, journalism, and essays.

birthday bow

2011-08-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

Notice any similarities?

2011-08-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

poem a day project

2011-06-13T13:59:00.000-07:00

Hi out there. It's been awhile. I've been asleep (code for sleep-reading school assignments) for a long time. Good morning to you, blue birds. Thanks for checking in despite my overwhelmingly long silences.

During my brief summer interlude between spring and summer semesters, I finished several poetry books in my swollen stack of "current reading", which was a relief considering I have been stubbornly reading some of them since Phoenix was an an infant (4.5 yrs ago). Reading poetry creates a wellspring and I want to make homes for the chipped and tattered sentences, to make poems from the bits I have been toting like so much mind flutter over the years. Subject headings and cataloging codes also spurn writing energies for me, but that's another story.

Wait, let me back up. I am usually engaging with poetry in some way even when I am ass-deep in creating PowerPoint presentations or writing research papers. It's not something I can ever turn off. Which is why I try to write down the bits (even when they piss me off, even when I am pushing my son's trike up a hill)because that's when it comes, that's when I need to write it or lose it.

So, I have bits. And fragments. And effluvia. And cloying word yuck clutter. Notebooks full. I'm tired of it. So, I'm shifting again. I called out to poets on Facebook to engage in a poem/prose swap and received a handful of responses. As people's availability shifts, poets are starting/leaving/rejoining the project. We have just begun, and it is currently just one other poet and I. This one on one exchange has been a unique experience as it differs so completely from a group MFA crit with all its requisite politics. We are exchanging poems via virtual means on an (almost) daily basis. This instantaneity has been an interesting form to work with. I am excited to continue the conversation and see how far it can go. We're open if you want to join in.

this is yesterday's poem:

The ardor a suture a wake
We shook the bones we carried your leaves

The song an insect choir a homicidal chanting, algae stirred
Even the grass of a brushstroke developed a hankering

After sex we washed the parts, we parted
Rubbing alcohol handshake, my shower curtain.

Later your remains on the freeway, disco fries and milkshakes.
Later your phone booth residue, habitual larvae jumping.

Shutters Shut so Open

2011-03-30T12:34:00.000-07:00

Others have posted links to this extraordinary dance performance set to Gertrude Stein's portrait of Picasso. It was with the help of others that I watched this yesterday. I'm not entirely comfortable with linking to it here, since it feels too much like tailgating other people's opinions of what serves poetics at certain points in time. But, I'm doing it anyway.

I can't get Stein's cadence out of my head. This often happens when I read or hear her. It's transformative. Yesterday, I took advantage of my desk job and wrote on company time in Stein's voice. This morning, I woke from a sticky charcoal dream and thought of Shutters. In the shower, I imagined her oneness, her vitality, her poems experientially felt to be the act of living on the page. I feel free when I read her.

I invite you to experiment. Write in Stein's voice. Write in anyone else's voice. Lose yourself in it. Come back. Tell us.

celestial body gallop

2011-03-23T13:13:00.000-07:00

space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space space

Fall Out Song to Replenish By.

2011-03-21T10:50:00.000-07:00

What the Library of Congress' cataloging classification system has to say about the US's funding priorities

2010-12-15T15:34:00.000-08:00

The Library of Congress Classification System(LCC) lists 128 classifications under the heading of "Law" which while including many regional territories including the fifty states reads as rather excessive in juxtaposition with the other headings.

The heading of "Education" lists 11, "Music" lists 3, and "Visual Arts" 8.

I find these numbers curious given the United States' priorities in terms of allocating federal funding. Or, perhaps to properly reflect our country's priorities, the numbers should read way lower.

Lately more frustrated than ever about the choices we are making. We say we care about for example, the future of libraries.Then we compile Amazon wishlists and feel gleeful at the thought of insouciantly spending money instead of worrying every dollar and click click to concatenate consumer regret. I am also talking about myself. Guilty.

I hereby vow that - despite my current and seeming future position of straddling the poverty line - I will make every effort to avoid buying books from Amazon (even textbooks) and will reinvigorate my passion for local booksellers by showing up like I used to - before I started grad school for the second time and became an MLIS/IT techie drone.

Robots unite!

Go buy paper books!

"YOU WILL NEVER OWN YOUR E-BOOKS."

Here are some links to get you nice and pissed and fiery plus some links to fave Bay Area bookshops.
If you wish, I am also glad to pass along many resources concerning libraries, the future of libraries, e-books, etc. Backchannel for biblio.

A library without the books

High school seniors are worse readers than in 1992

It's not your parent's high school library.

Libraries reinvent themselves.

Library Job gets Update - The Future of Reading.

Growing up Digital.

Libraries struggle to remain relevant.

The physical book is dead

Friends of the Berkeley Public Library bookstore

Book Zoo

Books and Bookshelves

seaglass poem

2010-11-24T15:31:00.000-08:00

You can smell the freshness

A lunar space-out

Broken glass in the alley

Every green breathes

There's some new way of arranging

Our hairy spherical particles

We want to digitize everything

in the magic domain.

Unpublished Song Titles about MOLD

2010-11-23T10:16:00.000-08:00

I just found this list I compiled last year to amuse myself whilst being chased out of our former apartment by mold, green slime, ants and a callous landlord. Ah, nostalgia.

_________________________________________________________________________

We're sleeping on the couch because our bedroom wall is mossy and expanding.

Mold ate my kid's expensive eco-friendly wooden toys

He's under the moldy stack, fast asleep.

My son and I made a songbook.
I'd show you but the mold ate it.

Mold for breakfast, fleas for dinner

Maybe the MOLD ate yaw baby!

There are now ants frolicking in the mold.

1,2 the mold is coming for you...

2010-10-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

i want to always be making poems

2010-10-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

space to take martians down
want the poem to supercede living
want the poem to be living
want to live in the poem

2010-09-13T15:21:00.000-07:00

LIS

2010-08-31T21:54:00.001-07:00

"only the bibliographic universe can be controlled."

thirdspaces

2010-08-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

i am at work pretending to be good but really accumulating screen pollution along with the many self-inflicted arm shots of information. i yank myself back and fro when my phone bitch duties call but during slow work periods, i am disengaged and only wake when someone needs petty cash or i have to cut checks or eat birthday cakes. where do i go when not dreaming not liminal not present but screening through, toggling through the bits and binaries? and does this constitute a thirdspace, or an interior anterior mezzo place where one feels ghosted?

also, i have begun to remember my dreams.

Georgia, it's a Brain.

2010-07-24T21:55:00.001-07:00

2010-07-24T00:02:00.000-07:00

"The artists of the survival wet the animal stones to reflect their faces."

Robert Duncan
from Structure of Rime XIX
Roots and Branches

we flesh perch

2010-07-09T16:12:00.000-07:00

Summer and time to complete dormant creative projects. I started this piece about two years ago. Simple glue and sticking. It's fun. The sticking.

Fun to collect scraps and shards and DNAs and juxtapose to make other.
Was dulled and bored for long while by own process. Finding this necessary and enlivening.

Thinking of collage lately in poetry making. How when compiling words book, it is not vocabulary I seek but definition. Also how definitions are malleable. How the pieces can be rigid or slide in effortlessly to make new meaning, or new poem. There's some promise there, some feeling of infinity. This is also new.

2010-06-14T17:57:00.001-07:00

The busy stellar nursery in nests protected by its thick bark.

We are filled, radon, ethylene, pump matter over matter.

If you can see my body glimmer from where you’re standing,

My internal organs may be affected but isn’t that the point.

Stick figures from the hair you left in the shower drain.

I attempt reconciliation with electrons.

Nevermind the comets, buy more hand sanitizer.

Glycine and corn syrup in everything even breastmilk

Kicking up modest solar flares, we are all just pieces of fire.

Leaf mimics crawling, chasing, bursting.

huminsect series - new poems

2010-04-30T14:18:00.000-07:00

Lycra.
Boobs in Lycra.
Lady paint when the bug juice drips.
Spider Labia.

__________________________________________

Spinneret, lining up the beams,
"Get out of here, i already own this leaf"
The energy gained,
A lot of work before collisions,
Dragging coccygeal around the dirt lot,
Balloons tied to a shopping cart,
Birds crossing intersections.

2010-03-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

This sunshine is goddamn leaping in my chest and I find myself excited for no reason. Keep thinking about spring break as though I am going to some beach with a camera crew and bikinis but really, I will be making catch up and googly faces and tickle toes with my homework. THIS SUN THIS SUN AAHHHHHHHHHH..

I reassure myself with a bike ride to Coney Island but then I remember that I now live in California. You'd think after NINE years I could stop reminding myself I live here. Dreams. My legs are shaking just thinking about the Cyclone. Again, leapeth heart and smashes particles. The grime of the boardwalk between my toes and during Mermaid Parades, always a lesbian dance party. Topless in the living room at Pride super sunbeam collider.

Sunny sideup sidewalks and the threat of burning during a game of jacks. Marbles and Manhunt. The summer is coming and I miss getting sprinkled by the fountains. The junk labyrinth shop that is no longer there where I bought my first erotic novel. The sea the sea the maw of it.

2010-03-22T11:56:00.000-07:00

There are two pattern headings for parts of the body:
Foot and Heart. Biopsy appears under Heart.

Bones a problem for living. Meat shrink-wrapped my Formica.
Vegan failure.

Ants, ants, ants, and a broken tooth.
Flesh wounds. Spiders. Learning to sew.

Pull up, then pull down.
Pull up, then pull down.

An olive branch.
A leafy face settling to sleep.

Bouncy rocker step his potato patch
The chickens! They're brushing their teeth!

Dustin' off my Docs and Tights

2010-03-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

I am going to see Faith no More's reunion show at the Warfield! Holy happy day! I can't stop exclaiming!
This has pretty much made any conversation, any studying, any reading, any working activity pointless.

Here's an example of my brain on FNM:

The precoordinate terms must be assigned for the indexer "tossed into my mind, stirring the calm, you splash me with beauty, and pull me down" please remit to Pixpay at the following address "the sacred song that someone sings to you....it's the jewel of victory, the chasm of misery" preschool application due date child services child abuse fears is their license valid "i deserve a reward cos i'm the best fuck that you ever had, man if i tighten up my hole you may never see the light again..."

The first time I saw FNM was on the Real Thing tour in January 1990 at the New Ritz. I still have my ticket, omg. They played with Voivod and Soundgarden, and I danced with my mom and (aunt) Theresa. I was fifteen. That show was followed up by two more at L'amours, one with VV and SG, the next with Circus of Power.
Since then, I have been among the throngs of fans at Tomahawk, Fantomas, and Bungle shows digging the music, pining for FNM.
TWENTY YEARS have passed. I am 35, a wife, an almost librarian, a MOM.
I am going by myself and busting out my DMs and tights. What up.

2010-02-08T11:40:00.001-08:00

most of the time, if you look at faces, they are smiling.

baby mold journal

2009-12-16T10:45:00.000-08:00

No, the mold did not eat my baby.
Yes, the mold ate my journals and some poetry books.

Dear Weather,

2009-12-07T10:49:00.000-08:00

________________________________

A little consistency, please?

spill

2009-11-30T11:56:00.000-08:00

writing a children's book, reading fiction, a compass, collaging, first overnight with Grandma, sweet washable wall paintings, librarian cattle call, finishing a 3 year old project, latitude, beginning with the new, finishing additional three-year-old projects, walking in the wilderness, teaching my boy, playing in the dirt, longitude, cleaning up the backyard, franz ackermann's mental map series, alice munro, women, women, women, knots, the 25, the 300, the 800, arithmetic.

ugh.ill.yuck.

2009-11-09T15:59:00.000-08:00

At work, there's a gnarly, black sink drain hole that I keep accidentally jamming my index finger into.
I know it's there, I try to avoid it, but I jam my finger in. This should be a metaphor for something or many things but really, I can't take much more analysis.

2009-11-06T14:12:00.000-08:00

Be Sunflower Tall

beefcrotch

2009-11-04T13:58:00.000-08:00

Woman grabs her crotch and yells
"I've got your BEEF RECALL right hea!"

WOOFing

2009-11-04T13:56:00.000-08:00

I daydream I fall and give that laughing, entreating look like Chrissy Snow in the opening credits. I see a wolfish dog on the street, with piercing blue eyes. I turn my head away and imagine he is mauling my leg like a beef shank. But really, it is just something in his eyes.

this is why i never blog.

2009-10-28T12:36:00.001-07:00

EL:ele

2009-10-09T17:25:00.000-07:00

Rats. Hyesoon on Bart. Almost skating open toed on shit sidewalk.
How vulnerable the toes.Trucks five inches from. Vectors and other sharp stray teeth. Suddenly, glass/Transparency of the broken, refracted, stained. I miss you in sleep, Brooklyn with your myopia and sunburns.

forest parts

2009-07-31T21:41:00.001-07:00

i had fun making it. collaging makes me want to write more. writing makes me want to collage more. the two forms that i formerly considered to be diametrically opposed are working together. ain't that cool?

purge II collage

2009-07-20T12:48:00.000-07:00

I'm finally collaging again. It feels wonderful.
Why ever the dance of abnegating?
This can be so frustrating.
I collect bits and parts and strips and they sit in boxes.
Well, the time has come to purge.

Thought I'd post some old collages to help with the necessary letting of the old/begetting of the new.
(Speaking of new, did you know that the sign for new is a scooping motion?)
I love this.

I may post other collages in weeks to come, as I feel motivated to decongest the creativity particles.

Woman Triptych
Mixed Media, 2005

REMOVE THIS STUB was made for a Mixed Media and the Photographic Image class, which was taught by Gillian Spragens, also in 2005.

something like autobiography

2009-07-15T17:00:00.000-07:00

My memories are of street fights.
Milk glass.
Gummy blobs on the sidewalk.

Errant urchins.
A wish frustrated.

Brother and sister tag teams in front of "our" house.
Agonal gutter rainbows.

Sidewalk made cheeks and knees rubble.
Landscape for pretending.

Why were we always fighting.
Filled up with breaking light.

Sometimes we played stoopball,
sometimes we rollerskated,
sometimes we punched each other in the face.

xes and oes

2009-07-08T00:22:00.000-07:00

why would one try to diagram ecstasy?

2009-07-01T14:35:00.000-07:00

Every body is sweating on the bus but no one is complaining.

35 about me - which I never got around to publishing on FB and now it would be an annoyance and so i'm thinking it's a way to reenter the wilderness.

2009-05-06T16:47:00.000-07:00

a context, a culling:

I was tagged a few times and decided to use the form as an exercise for writing a memoir. i was also reading my life by lyn hejinian, and became very interested in the idea of telling one's story by way of alternating perspectives.

i feel that we are by turns insects, birds, idiots. we are pieces of songs scribbled in journals, pieces of family, memory, yesterday's breakfast, gas station signs, and gashed knees. we are bits and parts and effluvia and heartbreak and so much more.

this is an attempt to capture some of that so much more.

1. “Conceived in the idiom of the instrument.”[i]

2. Sound of arm or wing flapping.

3. Toys under couch cushions, dirty ashtrays and silenced music.

4. Getting her adult feathers. Picked on, plucked off.

5. Lots of stares at my tiger umbrella.

6. My plant-life fell off the back of a truck.

7. Simple, green bean.

8. Egress, dotard.

9. Herky jerky heart parts.

10. Acacia leaves.

11. Ant parts in the soap.

12. In the shower forgetting my dance moves.

13. Afraid to become her.

14. Bells of an ice cream truck.

15. I’m being self-indulgent and I like it.

16. Tube feet, whoosh whoosh.

17. I’m 35 and I have never owned a car.

18. Ambidextrous, slanted writing.

19. I am going to die before I finish.

20. No patience for chitchat.

21. I just ate a whole bag of pita chips.

22. High school dropout, failed cheerleader.

23. Pillbug, echinoderm.

24. Also, her and her and her.

25. Three or four a day fat during punchball.

26. Woe, bluebell.

27. Gun, Wing, Skull.

28. Eco-friendly collision center.

29. Pink Floyd and french fries.

30. I’m not going in there. There’s responsibility in that room.

31. Deciduous, show enough face pattern to separate.[ii]

32. Radiolarian when exponent.

33. The elephant stepped on the molasses.

34. Crumbling irascible.

35. Mountain a silly dress I wear.

[i] Gizzi, Peter. The House that Jack Built: The Collected Lectures of Jack Spicer. University Press of New England: 1998.

[ii] Robbins, Chandler S.; Bruun, Bertel; Zim, Herbert S. A Guide to Field Identification Birds of North America. Golden Press: 1966.

Welcome friends, to the sounds of insects.

2009-04-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

yesterday at lakeside park, i lay in the grass for a rare, calm moment.
opened eyes, grass, humming and buzzing, itching but happy.
on the walk home, a tick on my shoulder.
next time, i must remember to spray MYSELF with the insect repellent, not just Phoenix.
anyway, i take it as a reminder to further my insect studies.
o, coleoptera, how you break my heart!

things get both too ugly and too lovely sometimes

2009-04-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

gilded gets grating
everything becomes something

bugbird poem as memoir (a beginning)

2009-04-16T12:22:00.000-07:00

1. Usually lamellate, sometimes flabellate.
2. Call is an ascending whistle. 3. Tegulae present. Body flattened.
4. Deciduous, show enough face pattern to separate.
5. All killing jars should be wiped out occasionally.
Wingbeats slow enough to be counted.

1. (superfamily scarabaeid)
2. (common loon)
3. (achilid planthopper)
4. (bridled titmouse)
5. (mockingbird)

...porch...

2009-02-20T00:56:00.000-08:00

It must be my vitreous humor, this myopia the meatus of our cave dwelling.
We rant in posterior chamber, suck carbon through filters, acquiesce to searing conjunctiva.
I worried the daydream so belligerent I breaked it.
Clenched shell to palm shards.
We sit and draw, accuse, and sometimes look one another in the eye.
Sclera in orbit.
Can't you see it.

:::::________:::::: SUN

2009-01-12T11:48:00.000-08:00

All this effort is exhausting my esophagus rattle.
I am lapping around on forelimbs breathing patient white but gray on the inside of molting. What the center, what gallop rides in on the night when night is not real,
A bubble rocketing star (head) light, shooting like some wild cracked celestial pelvis.
The oceanography of cellular bodies.
Free fall no will, adrift effluvia
Gather might, danger near to the stillness of the bole growing.
Not the branch but the bole is growing, onward the leaves now trifoliate, gather water on their green tongue, their winded epiglottis, nearer to going than seeing.
What wind is the whoosh of a willow a reed a toddler discovering dirt and sticks and wanting to keep them. Wanting to make the outside a part of his cellular – no, knowing it is already a part of him. Recognizing. How beautiful that is.

wilderness voice

2009-01-07T14:39:00.000-08:00

hi, faithfuls.
will you be witness to my energy-scattering distracted whore revelry?
i've decided some explaining is in order. only i am already truncating myself.
focus, self.
for some time, i've wondered whether i would continue this blog, and if so, where the hell do i want it to go or be. that said, i think i must bifurcate in order to disseminate. forthwith, babies will be whispered of in another atmos. i will post word here when/if i create a mama green blog. for now though, i need this space to be clear for the aggregate of incoherent consciousness streams. this is a spam filter of sorts for my serial poem-in-progress, wilderness brooklyn.
i welcome any comments/suggestions.

thanks for reading...

meatus for jelly

2009-01-07T13:24:00.000-08:00

What kind of meatus is this – ignored, remastered in colonial sparkling huts, remember?

I knew the wild would getchu one day, knew the wind gentle as a reed tickles the air would be all sunshine on the barbecue, family picnic rock trivia incest lice and chicken wings.

The helios of summer and I burned my nine year old forearm on the metal hot dog stand.

ego er stumble breaking.

2008-12-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

hi there, winged, winging it deadon moving sustainable. how's that again sourpuss dawdle bilbo. what's up motha break it we don't need no stinking, how's that for yo grill, you make my life a living, so beautiful this starlight a caress a tumbling, bell landmine, how's that gonna play, what the motha eff, dear dearest daring love, you rock.

crazy baby time

2008-11-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

Where Phoenix once woke with a cry that often incited stomach lurching and something to break, he now wakes silently. In the last week, he has taken to stealthily climbing off our bed, creeping into whichever room I am in, and scaring the crap out of me.
Last night around 11, four hours after I had put him to bed, I was washing his tub toys in the bathroom sink, when from my periphery, I saw movement. I looked and there was Phoenix SKIPPING in the damn hallway.
My first thought? "TERRORIST! MINI TERRORISTS!"

So, I compose myself and say "Hey buddy, whatcha doin?"
Motherfucka breaks into a two-step do-si-do, and resumes skipping.

toddler animal soup

2008-10-29T16:45:00.000-07:00

Hooted at owl graffiti this morning,
Giddyup, Giddyup, Giddyup, MOM.
My back a horsie whenever bent cleaning.

Collarbones jut now when I wash my faceparts,
Shoulders at computer remember stroller pushing,
Toddler leaping on leaping, then on the cat sleeping.

Excuse me, where is the goldfish store,
Lingering feet and a snapping neck,
Accumulation is silent.

it's here.

2008-10-27T11:39:00.000-07:00

yet another reason to oppose plastic and bottled water.

2008-10-15T09:37:00.000-07:00

Bottled water has contaminants too, study finds

By Jeff Donn, AP National Writer

Article Last Updated: 10/15/2008 08:51:28 AM PDT

Tests on leading brands of bottled water turned up a variety of contaminants, including cancer-linked chemicals three times higher than California's health standard, according to a study released Wednesday by an environmental advocacy group.

The findings challenge the popular impression — and marketing pitch — that bottled water is purer than tap water, the researchers say.
However, all the brands met federal health standards for drinking water. And most of the detected contaminants are common in tap water, too.
Lab tests detected 38 chemicals in 10 brands, with an average of eight contaminants found in each kind of bottled water. Tests showed coliform bacteria, caffeine, the pain reliever acetaminophen, fertilizer, solvents, plastic-making chemicals and the radioactive element strontium.
The two-year study was done by the Washington-based Environmental Working Group, an organization founded by scientists that advocates stricter regulation. It bought bottled water in California, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland and Delaware. The group has an office in Oakland.
Researchers tested one batch for each of 10 brands. Eight of those did not have troubling levels of contaminants. But two brands did, so more tests were done and those revealed chlorine byproducts above California's standard. The researchers identified those two brands as Sam's Choice sold by Wal-Mart and Acadia of Giant Food supermarkets.
The other eight, which researchers didn't identify, carried legal levels of many contaminants. Some of those chemicals, like arsenic and the solvent toluene, have been tied to health risks. Some of the contaminants apparently came from pollutants often found in tap water, and others probably leached from plastic bottles, the researchers said.
In the Wal-Mart and Giant Food bottled water, the highest concentration of chlorine byproducts, known as trihalomethanes, was over 35 parts per billion. California requires 10 parts per billion or less, and the industry's International Bottled Water Association makes 10 its voluntary guideline. The federal limit is 80. In the Wal-Mart and Giant Food bottled water, the highest concentration of chlorine byproducts, known as trihalomethanes, was over 35 parts per billion. California requires 10 parts per billion or less, and the industry's International Bottled Water Association makes 10 its voluntary guideline. The federal limit is 80.
Water researcher Dr. David Carpenter, director of the Institute for Health and the Environment of the University at Albany, who had no role in the study, singled out trihalomethanes as the biggest concern because of strong research links to cancer.
"These are levels that should not be in bottled water," he said.
Giant Food officials declined to comment. Instead, company officials released a brief statement asserting that Acadia meets all regulatory standards.
Acadia is sold in the mid-Atlantic states, so it isn't held to California's standard. In most places, bottled water must meet roughly the same federal standards as tap water.
The researchers also said the Wal-Mart brand exceeded California's limit by five times for a second chlorine byproduct, bromodichloromethane.
The Environmental Working Group said it notified California's attorney general of its intent to sue Wal-Mart. The group wants the company to label its bottles in California with a warning of cancer-causing chemicals. Wal-Mart did not respond to a request for comment.
Joe Doss, president of the International Bottled Water Association, said he would not defend any company that is exceeding the standard in California. "If they have exceeded it, they should meet it," he said.
The chlorine byproducts, which studies have also linked to birth defects, presumably come from chlorine used as a disinfectant, which ends up in public water systems. Tap water is often repackaged and sold as bottled water, and the researchers say that was true of these two brands.
"In some cases, it appears bottled water is no less polluted than tap water and, at 1,900 times the cost, consumers should expect better," said Jane Houlihan, an environmental engineer who co-authored the study.
The researchers recommend that people who are worried use a carbon filter for their tap water.
Copyright 2008 The Associated Press.

the first breastpump?

2008-09-05T14:06:00.000-07:00

Miraculous radio-controlled milking-machine of 1931

With only a five-foot length of copper, it was possible for the farmer of 1931 to milk his cows by radio control!

THERE seems to be no end to the versatility of radio in these days of electrical and mechanical miracles—not even cows and street cars are immune to the influences of its radiations. As a curtain raiser at the annual radio show held recently in St. Louis, a street car was operated from a distance by a mere man with a radio transmitter in his hand, and a Holstein cow was made to dispense her milk by the medium of radio waves, whether she liked it or not.
The mechanism of the trolley car and the mechanism of the milking machine were hooked up to a specially constructed radio receiver using only a five-foot length of copper pipe as an antenna. At a distance stood the operator, holding a portable radio transmitter using a similar antenna, as shown in the accompanying photos. When the key was pressed at the transmitter, the distant receiver in both cases set the machines to operating.

there's a party in my tummy.

2008-09-05T12:52:00.001-07:00

9/3/08

2008-09-03T13:16:00.000-07:00

my horoscope today:

Your intuitive side is out in force today and you might pick up signals you wish you hadn't! You'll still be able to put them to good use, though, so don't worry about tit all too much.

i zap you with my supa-kryptonite letuce head.

2008-08-22T11:56:00.000-07:00

holy shit, they're fucking poisoning us!

you look like you just seen rocky.

2008-08-22T11:49:00.000-07:00

phoenix after some breastmilk.

from Paracelsus:

2008-07-28T21:57:00.000-07:00

"There is always some remedy, a herb against one disease, a root against another, a water against one, a stone against another, a mineral against one, a poison against another, a metal against one, something else against another."

"You should look upon man as a part of nature whose end lies in heaven. In the heavens you can see man, each part for itself; for man is made of heaven." ... "Heaven is man, and man is heaven, and all men together are the one heaven, and heaven is nothing but one man."

Morning Commute

2008-07-28T15:16:00.000-07:00

What are YOU looking at, ARTHROPOD?

through my head but not out my mouth.

to my old friends: sadie, big red, and my redline BMX

2008-07-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

The first time I rode my bike through Times Square with Critical Mass, I had this feeling that freedom was possible. It was wonderful, effervescent, dolce; muah, I smack my lips at it. I am so excited to read this in the news today. Thank you, Mayor Bloomberg, I always liked you.

the boob situation

2008-07-13T15:39:00.000-07:00

i am afraid, yes, very afraid, that phoenix will NEVER stop breastfeeding. the boy is HOOKED on the boob, fo sho, never gonna give that shit up, rick astley style. i am starting to fret. i am starting to worry, just a little bit, that i may be BFing this kid at his damn wedding.
it's gotten to the point that i may just drop (in casual conversation, say, perhaps to a coworker) "i'm great, but my nipples are killing me." in response to, like, "hi." i also feel very selfish, naturally, cos what other emotions are moms "supposed" to feel when they consider themselves in the slightest bit. again, with the bitter comes the guilt. wtf chuck. guilt follows me like one of those invisible fucking dogs on a leash we had when we were kids. do you know what i am talking about, those "pets" that were actually just a leash, not really pets of any kind.
i don't know how they sold us that crap, but its insidious as hell, just like the guilt.
i am very desperate to go out and get drunk sans guilt. i am very desperate to shower, shit, shave, load the dishwasher, eat lunch, etc. sans guilt.
i was raised catholic but this is bullshit! i gave that shit up for lent when i was 14!

back to the boobs. it is not as if i even feel the kid is benefiting a great deal anymore from drinking my milk. i question whether he is, whether, in fact, anything the AAP says is true, or just a ploy to keep women busy.
maybe i'm looking for a way out.
it may be time to wean. it may very well be time.

ipod shuffle is clairvoyant part 2

2008-06-27T09:51:00.000-07:00

is this a movement yet?
it should be.

feeling very proto-feminista this am, while walking to work, heard "sweet jane" (velvet underground), "no man's woman" (sinead o'connor), and "she's got a way" (billy joel)

yay, i like women.

i would like to:

2008-06-23T12:11:00.000-07:00

sleep the sleep of youth, with no threat of alarms or schedules or pokes or death.

record my dreams that prevent me from waking "on time." it is this morning sleep that sends me tumbling down the well of labyrinths and portals, which causes me to be late to work. this is very frustrating, as you can imagine, as i am late AND i am not recording these dreams. enjoyed, experienced, but lost, until parallel forces and wormholes and chrysophrase bring me back.

stop agonizing over silly shit. that said, i would like to eradicate judgment altogether. gather it all into a massive hulk and cast it off somewhere (wherever. somewhere utterly ELSE) where it would not affect any other being.

also, guilt. you're out too.

poems at the press gang

2008-04-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

i am tempted to fake nonchalance here; however, i will not. truth is, the sun is out heartbreak is settling and the wind has swept the flies from our patio. the lovely press gangsters have published two of my poems. i want to keep writing, despite letters from stanford and the academy of american poets to cease and desist and please send your shit elsewhere. just send us your money, friend and keep smiling. if i were terrance and philip, i would shout "I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND, GUY!" from an adrift raft but i am not so will not. i am here in oakland abstaining from lament and feeling the need for a pedicure and a job offer.

through the.

2008-03-28T21:54:00.000-07:00

Looking Glass Sidewalk Sale Sat & Sun March 29 & 30

We have combed through the catacombs and looked through the lofts to find an unusual assortment of items that we have accumulated over the years. These are selling for bargain basement prices that are in many cases just a fraction of our original cost. And to add to the excitement, we are discounting many items from our regular inventory at our best prices of the year, including digital cameras from Nikon and Canon, memery cards, inkjet paper, as well as every Holga and Lomo camera in the store. So come on in this Saturday and Sunday, look around, and see if there isn't a bargain with your name on it.
Here is just a small sampling of the items we have for sale:

Canon D2000 Digital SLR	With battery, charger/ Originally $9999	$249.99
Olympus XA	W/ tricky aperture lever, works though.	$10.00
Canon EF 55-200 f4.5-5.6	autofocus does not work, works in manual focus.	$8.00
Graflex 22 Twin Lens Reflex 85mm	f3.5, functions perfectly.	$50.00
Canon Battery Pack E.		$20.00
Spiratone 400mm f6.3	requires T-mount	$75.00
Nikon D1	Nikon's oriiginal pro digital SLR w battery and charger	$249.00
Nikon F-301/N2000 .	w/ Elicar 55mm f2.8 1:1 Macro	$40.00
Nikon D100	Digital SLR w/ battery and charger, instruction manual.	$269.00
Nikon FM10.	w/ 35-70 f3.5-4.8 - great student camera	$35.00
Nikon 200mm f4 Ai Lens,,	super tight focus ring	$10.00
All Holga and Lomo Cameras	Save 10% every camera plus accessories	Save 10%
Nikon 80-200mmf4.5	Non Ai Lens.	$45.00
Nikon 85mm f1.8	Non Ai, focus is jacked	$5.00
Minolta AF 70-210mm f4.5-5.6		$20.00
Contax GA-1	Allows limited use of Contax SLR lenses on the G series contax rangefinders	$100.00
Minolta Power Grip 2		$65.00
1 GIG SD Card	Delkin, Lifetime Guarantee	$10.99
Sunpak Auto 555 Thyristor	Potato Masher Flash	$75.00
Nikon Semi-Soft Case CF-60 for N80		$5.00
Nikon Semi-Soft Case CF-57	for F100	$10.00
Kodak Bantam Rangefinder Camera	126 film, FULLY serviced	$50.00
Vivitar 285HV Zoom Thyristor Flash		$50.00
Hundreds of Books	Save 50% or more!	Save 50%
Nikon D40X outfit w 18-135	Save $100 on this really nice outfit.	$829.00
Beseler 23CIII enlarger	Brand new color enlarger	$199.99
Nikon D200 outfit	Store demo, new with 3 year warranty, Originally $1899	$1249.99
B+W and Hoya Filters	Buy one, get one free on selected filters	Save 50%
Savage Background Paper	Certain slightly damaged rolls	Save 50%
Eye One Photo Calibration SYstem	The Ultimate Calbibration system for creating monitor and printing profiles	Dealer Net Cost
Photo Wipes	Versatile lint free cleaning clothers	$3.99

premonition

2008-03-14T02:30:00.000-07:00

Phoenix spoke his first sentence today:

"Dada's stinky."

a lift from feeling grounded.

2008-03-14T02:02:00.000-07:00

my carbon footprint. ( in relation to the average American's)

		tonnes of CO2
	House	2.071
	Flights	0.000
	Car	0.000
	Motorbike	0.000
	Bus & Rail	0.000
	Secondary	1.496
	Total	3.567

insert TOOL cd.

2008-03-10T12:32:00.000-07:00

Friends,

Today, less than one week after discontinuing my time-suck of obsessive news reading, I returned to my yahoo page to discover:

1. a real Death Star could strike Earth

and

2. prescription drugs have been found in our drinking water.

(i think i'm switching to whiskey.)

2008-03-10T00:52:00.000-07:00

yay! more light!

poem postcard to maxine which became final poem in from granite to the oyster

2008-03-07T00:43:00.000-08:00

To hum into.

Human is the hymn
of vertebrae snapping.

Tendons and Leaves
the noise of grassy measure.

To begin to humming
is to bubble grassy.

How wet the plain with dew.
How muscular.

melissa eleftherion
3/7/08
_____________________________

thank you to sara larsen for reminding me via her blog to post some postcard poems.
i love your brontosaurus poem!

pretend, sleep.

2008-03-04T02:20:00.000-08:00

i should be sleeping as i promised kevin i'd come to bed before 3 am, but. but. i want to pretend for a minute that i am not tiptoe psycho dread of phoenix's middle-of-the-night cry that he is teething again or sneezing his snot river in his sleep for his sweet cold he's been nursing . that i can sleep on my back tonight and not have a kid hanging from my tit. that i didn't spend all my free time today cleaning the kitchen. that i can read until 5 am and not have to get up at 8 to make phoenix breakfast. that i can go grab my lightbox and scan my slides. or work on the collage or the bird poems in my head, that for the last week i have heard and seen racing past me. i love all these things. all these responsibilities that come with parenting. parenting. wifeing.
but right now i need to pretend.

my blackheads are zombies

2008-01-17T02:34:00.001-08:00

on the narcissist tip, i am compelled to share this.
as i age, i have accumulated blackheads where i once had fair, fine skin. mostly, on my nose.
this happens. however, now said blackheads have aggregated to the extent that they have unionized against me. if i squeeze one, they all want to be squeezed and start oozing ropy goodness on my shaving mirror. i'm thinking, zombies.
this mostly happens in the middle of the night, after the little one is asleep. this is also the real reason i am not sleeping, despite my vain and desperate attempts to pretend otherwise.
to return the zombies to their graves.

old car seat / new car seat

2008-01-17T02:04:00.000-08:00

ocean something (in-progress)

2008-01-15T15:50:00.000-08:00

ocean hematoma,
a cloud's heartbreak.

there was a swan
in that nuclear dust,
a chorus of sticking.

memory shards. vengeful planets.

ocean's tumult,
emotion of a "brand-new" something.

2007-12-28T04:42:00.000-08:00

Radiolarian the message. You call back and I don’t hear hoof beat. Why not the dance of aster yonder. Sunrise delirium epicenter. You say the words but I can’t hear you. Let the scream render blueberries the garden grow thick with worry. a whirring. Light the vigil quickness. Calibrate mainland linea alba. the waiting. Cellular hop on one leg dandelion. Limit the in-between carousel. Milkish the gem stone - lily the canter doorstop. Chalcedony for nightfall and the moon does not think. Greying face but upturn of mouth. What pygostyle dust what heartbreak.

Mom's 50th birthday slideshow

2007-12-28T03:54:00.000-08:00

2007-10-14T01:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm feeding Alex from Clockwork.

i'm compiling a map of places to change your kid

2007-10-14T00:38:00.000-07:00

We fed the kid pears today. Then I took him to a poetry reading. I don't recommend this. Grunt, grunt. Loud.
I have to say though, the kid had good timing. Sorry, pseudo Bay Area-famous poet-editor-guy.
I wonder what my chances are of getting published in THAT magazine.

Since Pegasus does not have a changing table nor a table without 900 toiletries in their bathroom (which they are kind enough to let you use, however), I changed him on the floor. From Sean Manzano, I have learned this fine art. I once questioned his reasoning. He showed up at my house and pooh-poohed my offering of our bed. Now I understand. You get used to this. It's better this way. You can't expect Peets or Starbucks to install changing tables in both women's and men's bathrooms, after all. This would be too much. Parents don't drink coffee. No. I say do not use their convenient crappy dirty plastic tables. Boycott the changing table. The floor is usually cleaner.
I draw the line at Moe''s though. They bathroom floor nasty.

notes from lopsided orange

2007-08-21T15:58:00.001-07:00

here, take my handful of worries

2007-06-28T00:18:00.000-07:00

i left phoenix alone with his dad for the first time tonight.
and - although kevin is a wonderful dad, i felt intense separation anxiety and guilt about leaving him - to attend a writing salon, i mean, how dare i pursue writing, after the baby? waah!

so, when i called to check in, you can imagine the haunt i felt when kevin didn't answer the phone. the three times that i called him. i stood around while the group exchanged goodbyes wishing i could teleport or at least be like Evie from Out of this World and freeze time.
(for those of you who were there tonight, i was in my head for the last hour. my humbling crumbling apologies. )

i arrived home in near panic and this is what i found:

safety and your balls

2007-06-05T15:02:00.000-07:00

This morning in bed:

Kevin: Having a baby has made me feel so much happier and safer.

Phoenix: (excitedly kicking up legs, kicks Kevin in the balls)

Do the Right Thing - Sesame Street style

2007-06-04T11:44:00.000-07:00

sun in my movie

2007-03-31T21:38:00.000-07:00

Phoenix and I walked to the mailbox today.
GOOD DAY sunshine!

2007-03-26T04:05:00.000-07:00

The Shriek of the Phoenix

At the ninth month mark, I still had four remaining weeks of bloat, GERD, swollen limbs, carpal and carsal tunnel syndrome, and had already gained over 45 pounds. My feet, ankles, ass, legs, and belly had swelled to marshmallow meat. At 4’11”, and over 156 pounds, I felt enormous. In order to leave the house, it took me fifteen minutes to don the one pair of shoes that still fit me, and supported my weight, my 12 yr. old steel-toe Doc Marten saddle shoes, which I had completely stretched out five years ago.

On Saturday, February 24^th, I could barely muster the energy to shower. Despite my physical limitations, I felt compelled to clean my bathroom from top to bottom, which I had not been bothered to perform nor give a shit about for several months, and by proxy, the task had been bequeathed to Kevin, who had been fulfilling it dutifully (see notes on how to get your man to clean the bathroom well enough to suit your standards, section four)

The following day, Kevin and I went to BabiesRUs, on the advice of Parents magazine’s checklist of necessary items every first-time parent must buy before their baby is born. By the time we arrived, I was so tired I needed to lie down. I spent the next hour hopping from foot to foot, complaining and looking for anything I could sit on that wouldn’t break. When we returned home, I began compulsively organizing Phoenix’s dresser, and compiled a list of thank you notes to write, for his presents, while Kevin made dinner. We ate and watched Finding Nemo. Kevin passed out. The movie ended, I cleaned up the kitchen, and returned to compulsively organizing and compiling. Then, I packed my hospital bag. At one thirty, I sat down at my desk, and reread my thesis. I combined and recombined parts and bits of stems and cells and organisms from previous poems, letting the form present itself on the page, as it were, with each new poem, from the superimposition of words crowding into and onto one another, to links of spiraling text, which spawned, finally, a conch of sorts. It was two thirty a.m. I dragged my ass to bed. At 6:22 a.m. I watered my bed:

Me: Ughhh

Kevin: Did your water break?

(Cut to my feet in a puddle, as Gypsy our cat walks around in it, wide eyed.)

Kevin: (lifting head from pillow)

Who should I call first, the doctor or your mother?

We arrived at Alta Bates, and were brought into triage, which is essentially labor purgatory. There was some confusion as to whether my water had indeed broken, as several nurses disagreed about the viscosity of my amniotic fluid. We were there for four hours, during which time seven other women were admitted due to rupture of membranes (some prematurely, like me) to the two nurses on duty. We found out later it had been a full moon. They took pity on me, though and let me eat. I asked my mom for a roast-beef-and mozzarella hero from Whole Foods, and wolfed it down in a minute and a half. It would be my last meal until Wednesday morning.

At 11 a.m., they declared that I was in early labor and had me committed, I mean, admitted me to the hospital. A nurse showed us to our suite, which featured a Jacuzzi and television. I turned to face her, grinning and she said: “Of course, you should not use the Jacuzzi, because you ruptured your membranes, and you will want to prevent infection.” Fuck. The first words out of my mouth at the registration desk had been: I want a room with a Jacuzzi. After all, this was Alta Bates’ main attraction. This was what Kevin and I had heard countless childbirth instructors boast about. Most unfortunately, no Jacuzzi also meant no water birth. Which meant no Kumbaya natural-pain-relief. So much for my attempt at hypno-birthing.

For the rest of the afternoon, the three of us sat around pretending we were in some hotel room, on vacation. My contractions had all but disappeared, and had not been consistent since I had arrived at the hospital. At 3 p.m. my ob. (Dr. Yvette Gentry) called in to request a dilation check. One and a half centimeters. At 6 p.m. she prescribed Cervadyl. The first dose was administered at 7 p.m., and was to be monitored for twelve hours. At 7 a.m. I was still only two centimeters dilated. Inevitably, they prescribed Pitocin, to speed up the contractions.

After one hour, I was experiencing regular, strong contractions. By 1:30 p.m. I was in excruciating pain. At 2:30 p.m. I asked for an epidural. At 3:30 the nurse on duty, Jennifer Spahr, casually billowed into the room and asked if we had found her pager. No mention of whether the anesthesiologist was on his way. No mention, either, of the Jello and grape juice (which I had found out from her intern earlier that morning that I could eat) she had been promising me, since 11 a.m. This was when my mother went on the warpath, and chased another nurse down the corridor, to find out what the hell was going on. Apparently, Dr. Gentry had informed the nurse that they could not administer an epidural until I was at least four centimeters dilated. No explanation was given. Nor had they bothered to check my dilation since seven that morning.

I sat doubled over in agony while Kevin and my mother argued with just about everyone. It was now 4:30 p.m., over two hours since I had requested pain relief. The new nurse on duty, Jen offered me Fentanyl. I did not want to take it but I felt like I had no choice. Whereas I had had zero hesitation in asking for an Epidural, I felt that I did not know enough about this drug to take it, especially since I have a history of epilepsy. However, the contractions had become so acute that I wondered how I was going to make it through. It felt like I was trying to separate my upper half from my lower half and neither would budge.

The Fentanyl lasted for 45 minutes, during which time I drowsily slumbered, all the while hearing everything that went on in the room. What a shitty drug. It renders you useless for 45 minutes, and then you have to wait another 45 minutes before taking it again. I was desperate, and no longer gave a fuck. At this point I was just buying time until the candyman came in his white lab coat, to shoot up my spine. I continued to take Fentanyl until 8 p.m. when Dr. Gentry’s associate, Dr Chan showed up to insert an I.U.P.C. (intrauterine pressure catheter), in order to determine how intense my contractions were. Because this hadn’t occurred to anyone sooner. The results came back, and suddenly, the nurses and doctors began to pay attention. Apparently, my contractions had been inhumanly intense, from what Jen, the nurse told us. Around 9:30 the anesthesiologist finally shows up and gives me an Epidural. Sweet, sweet candy.

I was much nicer to everyone. Things seemed to calm down. There was no mention as to the next step; we assumed there was to be more waiting. I told my mom to go home, and get some sleep. Around 11:30 Jen comes in to tell us that Dr. Sandhu (whom I have never heard of) will be calling to discuss the need for a c-section. (What? I thought we were waiting for my cervix to dilate; why the hell didn’t someone suggest this earlier? I’ve been suffering all fucking day) Suddenly, alarms are going off, the phone’s ringing, and Kevin’s packing all our stuff while still in his pj’s. Dr. Sandhu calls from the road to tell me that “she’s coming to get me.” Hallelujah. She swoops in like Athena’s goddamn owl[1], and reassures me that everything will be fine. She is my queen; she is my light; she is Dr. Sandhu. They gave me a stronger dose of the Epidural and morphine (I’ve never taken this many drugs in my life, I’m starting to like it), they put me behind a green curtain, and fifteen minutes later, Phoenix was born. Belligerent and wailing.

Our son, the brave little bugger, spent two weeks and one day, in the NICU, during which time he broke many nurse’s hearts and learned how to feed and grow on his own. He is my hero. He is home.

Phoenix James Carr

Gestational age: between 34 and 36 weeks

12:36 a.m. February 28, 2007.

[1] There is, actually a reason for this reference to the Greek goddess, which makes for an intriguing story. Perhaps some day, over tea?

my MFA earned me a free baby and all this food!

2007-03-19T12:37:00.000-07:00

Like many post-
existentialites, I entered grad school looking for a community of like-minded folks, who ideally, wouldn't sell me out for an A grade or a Snickers.
Apparently, the key is to open up and actually trust people. Who knew?

We've never been so popular. Babies are great.

Thank you, dear, dear people.

from Baby World to Bed, Bath and Beyond

2007-03-19T12:09:00.000-07:00

Nursing bra saleslady:

Now, you want a bra that will grow with you during your pregnancy, that you can continue to wear postpartum. How many months are you?

Me:

But, I AM postpartum! I had my baby last week!

Cashier:

Aww, how cute! I love babies! How many months are you?

Me:

Girl, I DONE had that baby!

my Mom:

Sister, it takes a long time to lose that baby weight.
It ain't like in the movies!

new mom milkblood

2007-03-19T12:04:00.000-07:00

nobody told me this cycle percussively propagates itself.

fuck you Medela,
i'm a woman. not a machine.

fuck it i'm havin' more cupcakes

2007-02-13T20:47:00.000-08:00

my ole lady made 'em
and i'ma enjoy that silly delicious frosting.

your cankles and you

2007-02-13T20:41:00.000-08:00

am i alone in this newfound realization about my body, or is there a self-help group that i can join?

this is a photo of my brother helping me on with my shoes and socks, the act of which was referred to as "like stuffing sausages into their casings":

poor big bird, man.
see his cute little feet?
he's the only chair left in my house that i can sit in to don my shoes.
poor, poor big bird.

phoenix's baby shower

2007-02-13T20:11:00.000-08:00

womb is live

2007-01-15T15:42:00.000-08:00

i have three poems in a new e-journal named womb.
that's what you get when you become a neutral milk hotel.

~~Womb Poetry Vol.1 : Hives & Covens~~

dedicated in memory to kari edwards

* t h r u m *

: kari edwards : Eileen Tabios : Barbara Jane Reyes : Elizabeth Treadwell : Ann Bogle : : Alison Cimino :Susan B.A. Somers-Willett : Amy King : Kristy Bowen : Julie Choffel : : J.B. Rowell : Ebony Golden : Jenna Cardinale : Juliet Cook : Susan Morrison-Kilfoyle : : Holaday Mason : Toti O'Brien : Jessica Schneider : Karen McBurney : Sunnylyn Thibodeaux : : Sarah Mangold : Meagan Evans : Jennifer Bartlett : Marcia Arrieta : Michele Miller : : Priscilla Atkins : Anne Elezebeth Pluto : Marie Buck : Michalle Gould : Anne Heide : : Susan Meyers :
Melissa Eleftherion : Susan Settlemyre Williams : J. Elizabeth Clark :

* s p a r k l e *

: Danielle Pafunda : Kathryn Miller : Julia Drescher : k. lorraine graham : Karen McBurney : : Michelle Caplan : Marcia Arrieta : Ashley Smith : Annette Sugden : Christine Bruness :

* c h i m e *

: a chapbook by Julia Drescher :

--
~*~W_O_M_B~*~
http://www.wombpoetry.com

young workerbee autosodomized by her own boredom

2006-11-22T15:26:00.000-08:00

i have no right to complain.
i'm getting paid twenty blocks of government cheese per hour to sit here and look busy.
no one is breathing down my neck to do work.
they paid for lunch.

but this is friggin retarded.
i'm getting secretary spread, tunnel vision, and carpal tunnel all at the same time.

this morning i was so numb from the past three days of this sleepworking, that i farted at my desk.

loudly.

then i overflowed the toilet.

yum. pregnancy.

oracle / auricle

2006-11-16T22:03:00.000-08:00

In craft class yesterday,
Will Alexander told us
to remember that we are oracles.

gorilla bee oyster (flower human)

superciliary arch compound eye ___ anther eyebrow

mouth mouth gills stigma mouth parts

wrist spur ______ sepal wrist

knuckle antenna accutor __ finger

thorax thorax stomach stem belly

fur exoskeleton shell epidermis skin

toe wing labial palp ___ phalange

auricle ______ auricle ____ auricle

jasper the jewish sock-eating grandma

2006-11-16T21:53:00.000-08:00

it's official.
i've blogged the kitties so much, we're starting to look alike...

peeking out of my cave

2006-10-21T20:13:00.000-07:00

r.i.p cb's

2006-10-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

The following talk was delivered at the closing-night
party for CBGB's Gallery, on Saturday, September 30th, by Jason Flores-Williams. (If anyone knows him personally, tell him there is a pregnant woman in Oakland, with a big kiss for him. But try not to scare him, or anything...)

I want to honor this sacred hall of resistance by rallying the troops
against the gentrifying herd turning NYC into a corporate theme
park. But there are no troops to rally. And if there were troops, we'd have
to attack ourselves. Because when you get past the hipster packaging, we're just yuppies without the cash.

Going to Burning Man, masturbating to anime, reading zines and voting
Democrat doesn't make you different from Todd, Ashley and their future
banker in the baby stroller. Looking radical but being apathetic
makes you a poseur. Doing art for commerce makes you a sellout. And acting
smug and pretentious about cultural bullshit makes you an asshole.

You think it matters to a Dominican which version of Whitey moves
into the hood? Why should anybody fucking care that you can't afford an
apartment in the city? What have you done to make anyone give a shit that you lost your apartment to a stockbroker or your favorite cafe got replaced
by a 7-11?

Hipsters are to gentrification what fluffers are to the porn biz:
we get the area ready for the big pricks to come in and blow their load.
We make everything cute and furry. Our communities, our culture, our
country and our world is being exterminated and what's been our response? We've run from the challenge and regressed into adolescence. Oh the joy of being around a 35-year old who acts more smug and sullen than my 12-year old
cousin! Oh the joy of hanging out with a 34-year old who talks
constantly about cartoons! Oh the wonder of pretending that the world doesn't
exist outside of our little kickball scene! Oh the fabulousness of
sarcasm as we step over a homeless man on our way into the book launch party!

We are at the end of a cycle. We're imitating people and things that
happened 40 and 50 years ago. Hipster culture today is harmless
culture. And that's an epic tragedy because being hip used to mean that you
were heroic and dangerous. That you waged war on soullessness and greed
through art and resistance. That you were passionate and not afraid to show
it.
Being hip meant that you had dirty sex in dirty bathrooms and wanted
upheaval in society. Being hip meant you were intense lower class, not
detached upper class. Being hip meant being revolutionary.

But now hipsters have succumbed to the fear and apathy same as the
rest of the country. Now we hide in safe and exclusive MFA programs, rather
than staying on the outside and creating art that speaks to the
disenfranchised streets. Now we wear t-shirts that indirectly mock and in a thrice- removed way comment on the gentrifying, SUV-driving, consumer capitalist yuppie pigs, rather than simply hitting the streets with a banner that
says: Go Fuck Yourselves You Sold Out Scum!! Get Out Of Our Neighborhoods
You Make Everything Boring and Ugly!!

I question what economic class the subculture comes from these days!
Because the first thing you learn in the lower class is that if you don't
stand up and fight, then you get beat down and shut out. That if you choose
smug bullshit over passion and sincerity, you get slapped and pushed
around.
That if you choose trivial abstractions over serious thought and
action, then you get marginalized and railroaded. Fantasize and identify
more with cool magazines and the elitist art world than you do the evicted and
dispossessed, then you yourself will be evicted and dispossessed.
Fail to stand up and defend those things that are important to you, then those
things get co-opted and destroyed.

Look at tonight. This isn't a metaphor. You don't have to draw
inferences or study media ecology to see what's going down. This is the death of hallowed ground. I got off the Greyhound bus from Albuquerque in '88,
walked straight here from Port Authority with my taped-up suitcase,
scored a hit of acid and sat right there on the sidewalk tripping for four
hours before a shitfaced sculptor from the Rivington School said I could
come to their party and crash on their floor. This is where Richard Hell
and Joey Ramone took on The Man. The punk rock values that came out of
CBGB's made me who I am. And now it's gone. One more chunk of our lives handed over to bourgeois jerks who think rebellion is doing a line of blow in the
bathroom on a Friday night.

They say the '60s exploded because the draft directly affected its
youth. Doesn't losing our living spaces, our jobs, our venues, our
communities, our culture and our identity directly affect us? Doesn't unjust war
directly affect us? Doesn't the pain of living in a plastic country
of lies and hypocrisy directly affect us? What are we clinging on to? Was
it your dream to be a temp worker in the Financial District, taking the
train in from Edison, New Jersey every day because that's the closest you can
afford? Was it your goal in life to collapse on the couch and watch TV
every night because the day kicks your ass so hard? Was this how you
envisioned your adult life? Did you ever think that you'd be here
at the closing of CBGB's? What's it going to take for us to mobilize?
What's it going to take for us to engage? And I'm not talking about endless
meetings, boring collectives and lameass political correctness because that
kind of uptight political activism has reached its end as well.

I'm talking about getting brutally weird again. I'm talking about
doing art that's beyond co-option. I'm talking about forging new myths. I'm
talking about creative resistance that scares the shit out of the rich
robots, Sex in the City slaves, stockbrokers, cultural gatekeepers and pigs in
power. I'm talking about dangerous expression that'll make Todd and Ashley
think long and hard about moving into the hood and exposing their little
banker to the new hip warriors of the American night.

a bitch on a sunday

2006-10-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

(in Cartman voice)

AYE!

I'm not pregnant!
I'm pleasingly plump.

(yeah, tell that to my uterus)

kittie porn

2006-10-07T19:30:00.000-07:00

2006-09-22T10:22:00.000-07:00

vitamin
prenatal
my
on
choked
almost
i

2006-09-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

the quick will eat the early

solar and burn awake

this sun smacking our quiet

from mystery protrudes

claw / an opening

clamshell awakes uvula

waxes wet like night

sparks tongue stars cartooned

by emission / cracking

tough jelly the light

said to be dawn body

it/ is lifting

first sonogram

2006-09-20T23:14:00.000-07:00

doctor says our projected due date is 3/26/07, but we're thinkin' 4/20/07 cos c'mon, of course our kid will be born on 4/20, but also, this is the day my thesis is due.

****out of the shower*******