Monday, October 6, 2008

Lunatic

Image result for moon sliver

Lunatic
I see
her eyes
reflecting
from the quartered
moon shining on
my grinning
forehead
as I trudge
around long
suburban
blocks thinking
of nothing
nothing
nothing
but her

I laugh
aloud
at how silly I sound
in silence, in
darkness broken
only by pinpricks
poked by stars
& that inimitable
grin reflecting
her eyes
upon me
I fear
that I will wave
my arms like mad
and be dragged
away: a lunatic
whose love
for the moon
is mistaken
for madness

October 5, 2008



Thanks to Christine Stewart for her help in editing this poem.


Friday, September 26, 2008

Orange Eye

Inspired by a butterfly bush outside the kitchen window during a vacation on McKay's Cove Beach in Southern Maryland. Beautiful vacation! First time I saw a bird dive into the water and come out with a fish, in person. Also met a McKay!

Hummingbird Clearwing Moth



















Orange Eye

I don’t have to write

this poem;
it writes itself;
how could it not?
At ten,
the monarchs come to feed
on the purple orange eye
outside
the kitchen window
as I wash dishes,
monarchs & moths that look
like little hummingbirds,
fan tails and all,
buzzing bud to bud
to suck on the sweet
nectar.

At three

their brothers come,
butterflies wearing tiger skins,
with iridescent blue
spots for wings,
dangling upside down
with their black
winged cousins,
to catch
the undersides of the buds
that previous bug
gourmands have missed.
The tigers patiently probe
each bud
with their probosces,
while the jet
butterflies flutter
frenetically before moving
on, looking for the easy meal.

I could wash this dish
for days.

I don’t have to write

this poem.
The Universe wrote it
for me
long ago.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Memory

memory

memory
A young boy watching
through frosted glass,
an icicle in pain,
an insensitive sun,
tiny tear after tiny tear;
men don't cry,
an icicle is not a man.
memory
A young man staring
at broken glass,
that lost love pain,
"You're too sensitive son.
She's not worth your tiny tears.
Men don't cry."
I am not a man
memory
A young male watching
though a fresh pair of glasses,
so-called men feel no pain;
millions of insensitive sons,
haven't shed a tear in years;
men don't cry,
I'm glad I am not a man.

(1992)

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A Poem a Day: Day Three

So here we are. Day three. The editing is going well enough. I've noticed, however, that the poems I've posted so far have been, shall I say, a bit on the dark side. ¿What can I say? I am the kid that sees the things most refuse to see—the dark cloud to every silver lining. But just to show I'm not just a harbinger of gloom, I trawled through my hard drive to find something a bit more uplifting. The poem I had in mind wasn't there. I'll have to dig through my hard copies and post it another time. I did find an unfinished poem with potential. I polished it up a bit, but methinks it still has the patina of rawness to it. It'll have to do, for now.





the Bigger the Bang
You walked
in from the next store,
& I was happy
it was you, having
eyed
you myself earlier
that day—that day
I noticed I didn't know
you but wanted to,
that day I tried to catch your eye
& caught nothing but your crown,

That moment you
stepped
through that door I was sure
that our atoms had once
brushed
against each other during
the birth of the Cosmos,
my electrons momentarily
pulled
into your outermost shell,
our quivering quarks trying
to touch,
our strings trying
to bind.

I had been waiting to feel
you again, ever since.

Our near miss at the record
store—separated from you by nothing
more than pressboard, veneer
& 12 inches of new order
true faith
(the morning sun)
,
closer to you than I
had been since we first
poured
forth from the stars,
too far to see you,
too soon to matter,
too lost to care.

It should be no surprise
that once we finally did
collide,
the sparks spread like raw rice
at our feet, the power
of the impact shaking
the roots of the universe
with enough force left
to unseat the world and have it
succumb to Our gravity.

Could we expect anything
less once Destiny,
set
our orbits on
converging trajectories?

The Universe should
count
its lucky stars
that our power
didn't mar Creation,
but only
tested Its
fluidity & flexibility.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Ceremony













Ceremony

Winter slithers its ice-blooded
reptile belly over my feet,
slices at my toes
I do a little
dance, my Ritual: tight fists balled
around my thumbs, thrust
deep in my pockets, shuffle
left, shuffle right, shuffle left,
throwing my face at the
drizzling spittle
of a malevolent sky.

The sky has a grey soul
today. No mercy.
I understand the winter
sky for I, too, have been separated
from my sun; I know her pain,
her fury, burning frigid. I too
have spit on the world.

It is a bone brittle
winter day on a bus
stop in SoWeBo,
and I wish I could feel
my toes again. I wish
there was snow on the ground
to calm me. I wish
I were blanketed
in someone's embrace.
But I do not wish that
the sky would cease.
The sky has her rites
& I have mine.

Monday, September 22, 2008

soular eclipse

soular eclipse
can your eyes not see the tragedy that my eyes see or are they too caught up in your tv's, your dvd's, your psp's, your facebookies & your i-phoneys that they are blind to what surrounds you, or are you just too afraid of the truth you'll see? our metropolis dreams turned necropolis screams, where the dead prowl the streets scavenging for bits of eat, blowing gravel off our half-chewed gutter discards, drinking that flat backwash contaminated splash of tepid pisswater we tossed into that trashcan, numbing their minds with that poison they buy with the few pennies we provide if only they will hide again from our sullied sights, retreat to their cardboard palaces, their city heated steam vents, their billboard park benches coated in newspaper they can't even read; where the dying left behind child runs wild on our meanest streets spying for his dope and gun slinging paper heroes, fouling out on concrete coated rock courts, holy grail blazing a path he hopes leads to our white castles that ignore his plight, not knowing that he is in a labyrinth leading only into the very walls that separate the dying from the dead he will join in his ghetto mausoleum without our hands to pull him free; where the falling fall for the freedom they sought for themselves, freedom now forced & foisted upon foreigners too afraid to fight for or find for themselves, our young falling for lies of free rides to higher education & higher living when their only guarantee is a free ride as air freight in flag-draped corpse boxes back home where they can be forever free to rot under our feet! can your eyes not see? or are you too afraid to stare at the eclipse too long, afraid that your eyes will melt in the bright white hot glowing pain shining through our soul shadows, blocking our sons, our daughters, our fathers & mothers, sisters & brothers, dead & dying as we reap & eat the fruit that grows from the slow flowing clots of their blood?
Look!
Open your eyes & see.
If you do go blind, you go blind with me.
Otherwise, ignore the plight;
& in the end
we
all
lose
sight.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

¿Who Aborted The Spirit of Compromise?

This posting was originally published on my MySpace blog on March, 2008 and was inspired by a blog entry posted by Jon Platner, managing editor of plannedparenthood.org. I decided to dig it up and repost it since it's an issue relevent to the Presidential Campaign.
http://media-files.gather.com/images/d319/d202/d745/d224/d96/f3/full.jpgFirst off, let me start by saying that I'm generally against the act of abortion. In my experience (as limited as it may be), it's usually a grisly form of birth control for young ladies that either don't know or don't care enough about effective, non-invasive, birth control; or for those who accidentally get pregnant when their birth control of choice fails. I think we can all agree, ProChoice or ProLife, that abortions offer a sad look at the state of contemporary society. I do, however, believe in the right of women to choose an abortion if they deem it necessary.

That said, I also recognize that banning abortions at this point in history would be an utter and unmitigated disaster. Returning to the a time when women have to travel to states where they were legal, where doctors have to break the law to help a girl in need, or where abortions are performed by potential quacks in underground operating rooms is unwarranted and cruel. Fortunately, even with today's more conservative makeup of the Supreme Court, the majority of justices currently seated would not strike down Roe v. Wade.

(Cute joke:
Q: What did Bush say when asked what his feelings were on Roe versus Wade?
A: Well ummm
I don't care whether people row OR wade to get out of New Orleans, as long as they get out safely. )

The real question is, what can we do about abortion that can be effective in reducing the sheer numbers while not criminalizing an act that is so personal and, in many cases, traumatic for the woman having one? There are some simple answers.

First, the government has to promote an age appropriate Sex Education program that teaches the big picture, both birth control and abstinence. Our children need to understand that they do not have to give in to the pressures of having sex at an early age, but they need to know that if they do they should be armed with the knowledge of what birth control is available to them and its effectiveness.

Second, the government has to guarantee that ALL women have access to ALL forms of birth control. That means the morning after pill. That means RU486. And if that means passing laws stating that Walmart or whatever pharmacy CAN NOT turn away any female requesting birth control, so be it.

Ultimately however, reducing abortions in this country really comes down to a joining of minds from both sides of the issue. Lifers have to realize that abortion is a reality that may never be deemed immoral by all aspects of society. Choicers have to realize that the reduction in the number of abortions, still a risky procedure, is a more noble cause than the protection of such a sad right. Imagine the progress that could be made if we put our signs down and lift our voices, in unison, for a better way.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

¡Money, Money, Money!

Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's need, but not every man's greed” Mahatma Gandhi
http://ndn.newsweek.com/media/25/71014_MoneyHappiness_vl-vertical.jpgNow, I’ve never claimed to be an economist. To be honest, I’ve never claimed to be much of anything except a debatably talented writer. I am, however, an ardent observer of all things—a trait necessary to become, I believe, a great writer, which I do hope to become someday. So I understand that writing about Our economy is wrought with potential pitfalls for me. Nevertheless, I feel it’s part of my responsibility to share my ideas about what's going on. After all, while many may not see me as qualified enough to write about these things, as I’ve recently lost my job, and my family’s retirement is tied directly to the stock market, I feel obliged to offer my perspective.

From what I’ve gathered, a lot of what has been occurring lately is a direct result of years of Conservative led deregulation. For those of you incapable or unwilling to check out the Wikipedia link I provided, in short, deregulation has been a trend taking place since the 1970s whereby the rules, regulations and laws controlling various markets have been stripped away with the idea that markets need little to no regulation as they will eventually correct themselves. I’ve always doubted how effective deregulation would be because while markets as a whole will eventually regain their balance (i.e. the tech market, which collapsed in the 90s and has since rebounded), deregulation does not take into account the collateral damage that occurs in its wake—and by collateral damage, I mean Our jobs and savings.

Let me begin with the easiest example I can think of: energy. Many of you may remember a time when energy utilities were ALL government run. It guaranteed that all those who required energy (ALL of Us) would have access to it, and that delivery and pricing would be consistent and fair. The ideas behind deregulating the Energy Utilities Market were solid. Private companies could run these utilities better and more efficiently, and it would open the market to competition, eventually leading to lower rates.

If you, like me, keep up with the news then you remember what happened with Enron, particularly when it comes to California’s Energy Crisis which, as it turns out, was more a result of the greed of companies like Enron and Reliant than it was about any real energy shortage. Even in markets like mine the competition has never arisen or is still overpriced, and prices continue to go up (about 70% in MD over the last five years).

So, what does energy deregulation have to do with today’s economic crisis? Well, the trend to deregulate all markets at all costs, the idea that markets could provide better oversight than government agencies, has led to the recent atmosphere of oversight so lax that we now find the country in crisis, not just where the real estate market is concerned, but in just about every American financial market. Every report I’ve encountered says that it will take at least another 18 months to finally see the light at the end of this tunnel. My wife called me today to let me know that her bosses IRA lost $8000 in value IN ONE DAY.

You may not be frightened. Maybe you’ve got more than enough to retire on. Maybe you’re doing well enough that you don’t need a retirement fund. I’m happy for you. But most of Us in this country will be feeling the ripple effects of this economic quagmire for at least the next year. And I’m not implying that we should go back to the 60s and re-regulate everything. However, we do need to examine what regulations are going to be needed to prevent the greedy who want to heat up their $10,000,000 salaries into $100,000,000 salaries even if the rest of Us are the ones getting burned—something else to consider when you make your choice at the polls

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

¿What's God Got to Do With It?

 I know I haven't been posting much about this year's contest for POTUS lately, but as most of you know I'm in the tank, as they say, for Obama. There's really not much I can say without the risk of sounding like a little schoolgirl who just made it onto the cheerleading team. That's not to say I'm not perturbed by some of the goings-on during our most recent attempt at picking the Face & Voice of Our nation. Take religion. Really, take religion. I'm not using it. Seriously though, I've seen some frightening things going on in our country where religion is involved. I'm talking about now, not the good old days where people died daily for their beliefs. Wait. That's still happening. I meant the good old days when untold numbers of our fellow human beings were brutalized for their faith. It still astounds me some of the foul things done in the name of a deity. I hesitate to even bring this up. Religion's one of those things you're not supposed to discuss as the discussion usually breaks down to a pissing contest about who is "closer" to God. However, certain things about this campaign have gotten caught in my craw so deep that I fear I risk a stroke if I don't get them out. Besides, it might be nice to hear from a recovering Christian who's evolved into agnosticism (my version of agnosticism: in short, I believe in something but don't give it a face or a name, nor do I make up a personality, nor do I believe It consciously controls Us.) Nevertheless, I apologize in advance if anything I say offends anyone. The muslim thing bothers me. Not that so many people actually believe Obama’s a muslim, but that if he were, that it would make a difference. How can a country that was founded on the guiding principle of Freedom—Freedom of religion above all else—allow itself to care whether any candidate is a muslim or not. I'm ashamed. I don't behoove anyone their right to worship as they like, as long as they respect my right of doing likewise. However, If anyone out their genuinely believes they couldn't vote for someone because they don't pray to the right god, then that individual vehemently opposes what America stands for. I was a devout, if meandering christian until I was 17 or so. At one time or another I've attended church with Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses and Baptists. I was less than a year away from my mission when I escaped the Mormons. I've also worshiped at a couple of synagogues, have been to my fair share of Passover Seders and have even been present at some Wiccan rituals. My father-in-law is muslim. And I haven't even mentioned the Santeria rituals I've personally performed (and I won't mention more since that's a topic I'll be tackling in my second novel, Chango Crying). A result of my religious travails was my ultimate decision that choosing any specific religion was tantamount to damning a good deal of my Friends & Family to some kind of painful afterlife they didn't deserve. That was one of the reasons I had chosen mormonism in my teens. They always seemed to have the answer for every question, and as a precocious fourteen year-old, I had lots of questions. When I questioned the idea that only by faith in God through Jesus could one earn the much vaunted paradisical afterlife, the mormon missionary drew a star in his little book of potential converts and proceeded to let me in on the ritual known as Baptism for the Dead. Everybody would have the option of getting to heaven if they simply accepted this ritual initiation posthumously. It is a beautiful ritual that I’ve had the honor of participating in on a few occasions, but I'm a sucker for rituals. I even cried at the hours long Good Friday Procession that paraded through the streets of San Miguel de Allende in Mexico during last spring break. When personal problems with the mormon church led to little action besides continual pronouncements that while the members were not perfect, the religion itself was, I took it upon myself to see it as a challenge to prove or disprove the veracity of that statement. It didn't take long for me to discover that the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints did not allow blacks full membership until 1978. I heard plenty of excuses, from the idea that black folk just were not ready until then to bear the full responsibilities of mormonism to doctrine stating that blacks of African descent were descended from Cain therefore blacks were unworthy of "full" worship. I could never accept a religion that excluded folks based simply on the color of their skin as "perfect." It was enough to put me off organized religion for good. Now, I didn't exclude Romney, today's most famous mormon next to Donny & Marie, from those I felt might make a decent POTUS because he was a mormon. I do have a problem with a leader who's continued membership in his church implies that his church was justified in curtailing anyone's ability to worship for decades, but mostly it was his republican affiliation that I found repelling, not his faith. Mormon or not, if I felt Mitt was the best choice to lead Our country, I would have endorsed him regardless of his ontological choices. I can sense I'm starting to lose some of you, so let me get back to the gritty of the nitty, so to speak. I suppose what bothers me the most about where Our religious beliefs have led us as a Nation is the idea that Christianity holds some kind of trump over other faiths here. First off, it's bunk. Our wise founding fathers, many of which eschewed Christianity for more universal Deist beliefs, recognized the fact that pushing any faith as Our National Faith was a dangerous proposition. They used all the blood uselessly spilled in the European struggle of catholicism against protestantism and the tragedy of the Salem witch trials as proof positive that religion should be left up to the individual, not government. This ideal stuck for a while. At least until the Christian Revival movements that arose in the mid 19th and early 20th centuries. Now things have devolved to the point that many Christians believe that we were founded as a Christian Nation. The Communist scare of the 40s & 50s prompted the government to insert "God" into various aspects of Our lives like our Pledge of Allegiance, sadly, without ever realizing how it infringed on the rights of Our fellow citizen Atheists. Now we're at a point where there seems to be a religious test for the office of president, and you CANNOT pass said test unless Christ is in your equation. And now there’s talk about Sarah Palin being a Dominionist /Kingdom Now follower , one of the neo-charismatic sects whose goal it is to turn Our nation into a Christian theocracy. You may be familiar with the movement if you’ve ever seen the movie Jesus Camp. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have a Islamic POTUS who respects diversity than one who believes Christianity should be Our official religion and approves of training our children for some upcoming spiritual war. Now anyone who has trolled my profile should know that Jesus of Nazareth is one of my personal heroes. I view him as one of history's most benevolent iconoclasts, opening the best of Judaism's principles for all to follow while railing against some of the faith's most antiquated and hypocritical tenets. He opened up the belief that we could all be chosen, if we make the right choices, and that no one is lesser than anyone else. Unfortunately, Jesus was assassinated before truly realizing his vision, and as typically happens after such a tragedy, his followers chose to venerate the Man over his Message. Like Buddha, Jesus was elevated by his followers to the point where living by his ideals of Love of ALL and that belief in God need not be bound by region or nationality meant nothing unless one also added Jesus to one’s pantheon. I believe this is antithetical to Jesus' teachings, and continues to corrupt Christianity to this day. So not only is it troubling that we question Obama's faith, but more troubling is the fact that being Christian has become a litmus test for Our highest office. It's not just imperative that a viable candidate be Christian, but We've now gotten to the point where it's important how "good" and "devout" of a christian one is. Not only is this antithetical to Jesus' teachings, but it runs counter to Our nation’s ideals. If you don't believe me, look at the recent study that shows an overwhelming percentage of Our fellow Americans no longer believe there is only one path to salvation. Sadly, I can do little but watch as a very vocal minority (those who adhere strictly to the idea that the U.S. is or should be a Christian nation) continues to push its agenda and denigrate those who oppose them or may stand in their path. Worse, they perpetually prod Our nation frighteningly closer to theocracy. Even with all that, I continue to hold on to the hope that, as usual, common sense will eventually prevail in our fine nation. Then I can look forward to the day when even a simple agnostic like myself, one who truly respects Everyone's right to worship as They see fit, can successfully run for Our highest office.
KEEP HOPE ALIVE (that means donate)

Saturday, September 6, 2008

What I Hope For

When discussing issues the media usually refer to the more popular ones—the meat, as they say. And sure, I get why everyone’s always talking about the economy. Things are still rough out there. I was one of the new numbers on the recently released unemployment figures. Then there’s Iraq, and National Security which, of course, is very important—something We can get back to when our Boys (& Girls!) come back from Iraq. However, you shouldn’t forget that even seemingly smaller issues can mean a lot to many of us.

Take Our drug policy. I know, we don’t really have much of one. The number of impoverished crackheads and heroin addicts I see everyday on my way through Lexington Market in the heart of Baltimore hasn’t dwindled much since the beginning of The War on Drugs. (Funny how throwing the word war around has become the standard way to show Us how to solve Our problems.) But Our government has been fighting the same War for a generation now, and other than making a few small dents in the supply and warehousing a lot of people in jails that continue to overcrowd, not much has changed—at least not on the federal level.

At this point I should make it clear why this issue means so much to me—other than the fact that I live three blocks away from Lexington Market. Those of you who might have read My Letter to the Superdelegates, which I wrote when it looked as if things might come down to them, or my flash fiction Bus Stop, or many of the other things I’ve blogged already know that my family has been ravaged by drug addiction. For those of you who don’t know, I lost my mother to AIDS in 1991. Although a loving and courageous woman, a woman who helped new arrivals from Puerto Rico and other Latin American areas settle and adjust to life in Baltimore, she battled with heroin addiction most of her life.

A few years later, I lost my uncle. He was a character, in and out of jail for a lot of his life, hustling when he was out. But sometimes he was the closest thing I had around to a father. He was usually very good to me. Like my mother, he was a heroin addict and ultimately succumbed to AIDS.

My baby brother was barely 17 when my mother died. Although he became a hard worker and a loving father, he suffered greatly after the death of our mother. He also turned to drugs—crack and heroin. On the day after Christmas, 2006, Joe became the latest in my family succumb to AIDS.

The rest of my family has been more fortunate, but I see the ghosts of what my family has been through every day I step out for lunch. And it’s not just the poor. I’ve been privy to the same sad excesses within Our wealthiest families; and other than more and better recovery facilities and less law enforcement scrutiny, their stories are no less tragic than mine.

So when it comes to drug policy, perhaps it’s not as much of a priority as National Security, but certainly should be close behind when you stop to consider how drug abuse continues to destroy Our lives, Our families, Our children, Our schools and Our neighborhoods. What else has to be destroyed before drugs do become a matter of National Security? Bottom line: one of the myriad of reasons I will NEVER vote for them is because that would mean my lunch breaks will never change. The faces will, but the same problems will still haunt me, along with the memories of everything drug addiction has taken away from me.

Maybe a President Obama will not be able to fulfill my dream of a nation where addicts are getting whatever treatment they need, and where we initiate programs to eliminate illegal drug trafficking intelligently instead of with the brute force that has been so ineffective for so long. There’s a lot of work to do and to undo to get there. However, he is the only hope I see of getting Us on that path.

Friday, September 5, 2008

¿Got Hope?

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2373/2498897122_1fd4f03213.jpg?v=0It's been a while since I've written. I guess I've been living in the afterglow since I realized that Ob had clinched the nomination. But considering I've since lost my job, I figure there's no longer any excuse not to write, especially after peeping in on the folks that have been allowed to run ram shod over Washington for the past eight years.

Personally, my instinct tells me this is a lock. I genuinely feel that folks won't allow another four years of our country in the hands of those who nearly ruined it. However, I also felt we had a lock in '00 & '04. Of course, my instincts weren't THAT far off the mark.

Nevertheless, I refuse to sit idly back while the opposition whittles away the best bit of hope we've found so far during this yet young century. I've done more. I've supported Ob with my words and my wallet. I've taught others of the importance of voting–that not voting is actually a vote for the status quo. I don't know about you, but the status quo hasn't done much for me lately.

And those wily republicans will try to whittle the hope away. They derided community organizing as if it were meaningless. It wasn't meaningless to the children I used to deliver supplies to with the Education Based Latino Outreach(EBLO) before their first week of school–children who would have otherwise been unprepared for learning. And after all this talk about experience they make this about personality. Issues came in 2nd to "lLook at me! I'm ready to be your next Whatever."

This time they won't get away with it. They can't. We can't afford it. I'm committed to do more. I hope you are too.

¡Help me pimp Hope!

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

The Speech

http://llnw.image.cbslocal.com/0/2008/01/09/320x240/McCainObama.jpgI pulled this off HuffingtonPost. I don't know about you, but for me this excerpt sums-up exactly what I want (¡and don't want!) out of government—the type of government that helped me get to where I am today. Barack Obama delivered the speech at Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois in June, 2005.

Like so much of the American story, once again, we face a choice. Once again, there are those who believe that there isn't much we can do about this as a nation. That the best idea is to give everyone one big refund on their government--divvy it up by individual portions, in the form of tax breaks, hand it out, and encourage everyone to use their share to go buy their own health care, their own retirement plan, their own child care, their own education, and so on.


In Washington, they call this the Ownership Society. But in our past there has been another term for it--Social Darwinism--every man or woman for him or herself. It's a tempting idea, because it doesn't require much thought or ingenuity. It allows us to say that those whose health care or tuition may rise faster than they can afford--tough luck...It let's us say to the child who was born into poverty--pull yourself up by your bootstraps...

But there is a problem. It won't work. It ignores our history. It ignores the fact that it's been government research and investment that made the railways possible and the internet possible. It's been the creation of a massive middle class, through decent wages and benefits and public schools that allowed us all to prosper. Our economic dependence depended on individual initiative. It depended on a belief in the free market; but it has also depended on our sense of mutual regard for each other, the idea that everybody has a stake in the country, that we're all in it together and everybody's got a shot at opportunity.

¿So what do you think? ¿Do you disagree? ¿If so, how do you think government should work? & if you do agree—well maybe you should spread the word...

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

¿The State of My Soul?


State of My Soul Address
I find myself
thinking,
as I walk
back and forth
and back to work,
spying the smack
addicts drooping
on the bus stops,
the dried shit dripped
to piles in alcoves
long abandoned,
the 30something
black medusa
schizo woman
shouting obscenities
& tossing her fists
at the sky as if the sun
itself had cursed her...

I find myself
wondering as I weave
within and without
construction zones
scheduled for so-called
urban renewal—brand new
bricks stacked & set
to re-cover the sidewalks
currently coated by crack
vials & used syringes,
I think & wonder
& ask myself:

Can you revitalize
the neighborhood
without revitalizing
the neighbors?

How do we unite
states hell bent
on long destruction
and self division?

Are there enough
shoulders to carry
the weight of this
world?

& how do we find
enough shoulders
if we only ever
preach to our own
choirs?

My soul is sick
with these questions
and the realization
that souls sicker than mine
continue to spread
CONTAGION.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Exploding Judases in San Miguel

Executing Traitors

Easter Sunday—San Miguel morning
watching locals exploding Judases
near the square. The air is thick
with brimstone & black
powder, and the joyous shouts
of children as the newest Judas
detonates. The children run about
in squealing glee, snatching limbs
from the sky—the biggest purse
the traitor's head, of course.

A young brown boy glows
as the gueros encourage him to pose
for them—head held aloft
or playfully placed
in front of his own face—
as if he understands that we
are all capable of betrayal.

& then the whizzing
starts anew, and attention
shifts to the newest Judas
spinning for his sins—ready
to be obliterated in all his
papier-mâché guts
& ingloriousness.


Friday, May 16, 2008

¡The Word Pimp Reads @ Barnes & Noble!

If you're going to be in Baltimore tomorrow, come out and watch me read an exerpt from my novel, Forever, Lilith. Plus you'll be supporting the CityLit Project, a wonderful organization.


Hosted By: CityLit
When:
Saturday May 17, 2008
at 3:00 PM
Where:
Barnes & Noble Power Plant
601 E. Pratt Street
Baltimore, Maryland 21202
United States
Description:
Fernando Quijano III reads


Click Here To See More Info About This Event

¿Who is Lilith?


Who is Lilith? 

Lilith is the rebellious and spiteful daughter of an ultra-conservative Orthodox Jewish clergyman who gets disowned when she escapes to the other end of the country and marries outside of her faith. 

Lilith is the once dutiful wife to a celebrity lawyer who hits the breaking point when she discovers her husband's illicit affairs. 

Lilith is the once-loving mother driven to the edge by her spoiled, drug-addled children.

Lilith is the savvy internet vixen who cruises the web to enjoy cybersex, seduce young men, and trawl through the darkest databases seeking out images of death and destruction.

Lilith is a dark angel that tempts men with offers to fulfill any fantasy, no matter how sinister, if one of them can commit to torturing and killing her.

Lilith is the woman who willingly dives into a self-destructive spiral that leads her into the arms of the enigmatic SlowHandSlowHand, who promises to help her carry out any desire she has, including her desire to die in his arms.

Who is Lilith really, and can the love of the one man she respects be enough to save her from herself? Read my novel (You can read the first chapter by clicking on the title), Killing, Lilith
and see for yourself. Warning: This novel is strictly for adult minds.

The First Hour (Prologue & Chapter One of My Novel, Killing Lilith)

This is the most recent version, completed in Baltimore on January  30, 2012:
3:17pm

this is the day the universe opens up to me... the day that i throw off the chains of gravity and bound around my old home. earth. california. october 12, 2006. i remember my first, but i will never forget my last. slowhand will kill me while i come, & i will go to god.





3:18pm
First hour’s the longest. Waiting. Forty-five minutes in the parking lot of El Pollo Loco staring at the opposing arrows flashing on the dash of my Infiniti. Onoffonoffonoff. Not too late, I whisper to myself; if I turn around now I can go home, start dinner, pretend nothing happenedwould ever happen. I look at the dashboard again; the blinking blurs. Nothing. Fear. Been waiting too longmost of my damned existence. No more. Desire is finally stronger than fear. I turn off the hazards, twist the key in the ignition, and start driving towards Sacramento.
Guilt. It should be weighing me down, keeping me from achieving escape velocity, but I don’t feel much of it. Two children and a husband left behind, left to fend for themselves. I can imagine the confusion when they come home hungry and expecting. Haven’t I been blaming myself long enough?
Maybe they deserve better. Not really. If they did, I would have provided it. I did provide it for the past twenty years without much complaint and gradually diminishing expectations that any of them would ever truly appreciate it. I’ve bottomed out.
I know what people will think, tooanother cruel and insensitive bitch abandoning her litter. I can already hear the cries: But those are your children. They didn’t ask to be brought into this world. YOU are accountable for how they act.
Bullshit! In the end, we all have to be accountable for ourselves. They’ve had everything they ever needed and most of the things they wanted.
I know I’m not free of all responsibility, but I was barely the moisture in the clay that formed them. The earth itself is the problem. It comes from this society we’re trapped in. Gray. Fetid. Epidemic. If I’m corrupt, it’s because the earth has stained me as well. I too am its waste.
Sure, parents should be the hands that mold the clay, but we’re much too busy working hard to maintain this contrived sanity we build around ourselves for even that job. We’ve long since passed on the responsibility to their teachers. Of course, they don’t want it either.
No, usually it’s our children’s peers, other children, providing the indelible hand. But what guides their peers? Spongebob, Pokemon, MTV, America’s Next Top Model, Eminem, Lady Gaga. Jersey Shore. Snooki? Really?
At least we have the Oprahs and Dr. Phils of the world to solve our problems in an hour minus commercials, right?
We start the kids off on Sesame Street and Barney while we get some dishes done, and before we realize it, Emily’s skipping breakfast and having nothing but a Diet Coke for lunch so that she can try to maintain her Olsen Twin figure. Is it still Barney? I suppose today our kids’ first fix is Yo Gabba Gabba!
Jacob got his first tattoo last spring at that music festival in IndioCoachella. He hadn’t even turned sixteen yet. My father, The Cantor, would have waved Leviticus at himrailed on for hours about how scarring the flesh prevents one from being buried in sacred ground.  But coffee-stirrer figures and indelible skin art are the least of my children’s problems.
Emily wanted to hang out with the “cool” girls at Brentwood during her freshman year. She started smoking pot with them. By the end of sophomore year, she was snorting Ritalin. Bumping Rit, she would tell her friends thinking the lingo would fool me, not realizing I had sources. Not even halfway through her junior year and she was bumping Ya, cocaine.
My useless excuse for a husband Jack and I did what we could, put her in a twenty-eight day program over Winter Break and cut off the generous allowance that had financed her drug use. Little good it all did.
She became so fascinated by the kids in recovery addicted to heroin that she had to try it for herself. We convinced the counselors to let her come home for Christmas. They sent her with a sponsor, someone to keep an eye on hersome skinny little thing named Sara.
We found both of them passed out on Emily’s bathroom floor, the needle still poking out of Emily’s arm like an enormous wasp stingerline of blood tracing her elbow. Poor Sara. She’d been clean for nearly a year. Her parents ended up emptying her college fund to send her to a residential recovery community in Florida. The average stay is three years.
When we wouldn’t give Emily money, she started dragging Jacob with her with the promise that he could hook-up with some of her friends so she could mooch from his funds.
When we caught on to that and cut him off too, my infinitely innovative children came up with new plans. Last spring, they used the gas card, the only one we still let them keep because it would only work at BP stations. They maxed it out buying cartons & cartons of cigarettes at station stores on their way to Coachella. They were able to make enough selling cigarettes at the show that they could spend the whole weekend fucked up on mushrooms & crystal meth with enough cash left over for Jacob to get his tattoo and for Emily to get her tongue pierced.
I gave up after that fiasco, after getting the bill for their experiment in Capitalism. I realized that we’d gotten to the point that they didn’t care what we thought of themwhat any body thought. Not that anyone else cared. Brentwood still takes our money.
“They’ll grow out of it,” Jack had said. “Remember all the shit we did when we followed The Dead?” They were just typical children testing their boundaries. Let them test their boundaries. I’m breaking mine. If they’ve stopped caring, why shouldn’t I?
As I head onto the freeway, (I’ve already been on & off twice, doubting myself because we are taught to doubt ourselves from childhood) I can’t help but wonder about everything I’ll miss. Emily’s prom this year, Jacob’s the next. Graduations. Weddings. Grandchildren. Stints in and out of rehab. Abuse. Divorces. Bitter loathing. The ever-penetrating hatred that spreads across you like a California wildfire until it consumes you and there is nothing left but scorn and ash.
Maybe they can grow from my death, avoid my mistakes. Regardless, the years they’ll spend in therapy, if they’re smart enough to turn to therapy, won’t hurt.
Will they even miss me? Think I didn’t love them because I abandoned them? Blame themselves? Screw them!
Children think all life revolves around them. That’s their greatest faultwhat separates them from the barely sane adults. Like early Christians, they imagine themselves the preeminent Earth, the absolute center of their universe. Everything else is supposed to revolve around them. Nothing’s personal, nothing’s private, and parents can’t have any aspect of their lives that doesn’t encompass theirs.
Well damn it, this is mine, and if they can’t accept that… accept my decision… Well, I suppose they need the sudden reality of losing their mother to blow them sober. I am Copernicus, Galileo, & Newton at once, the new perspective. Evolution. I am gravity, force & friction.
 Let them decide.
Jesus Christ! Can’t stop sobbing. Can’t even get a grasp of all the shit that’s ricocheting around my head right now. The over-intellectualized byproduct of a liberal arts Berkeley education mixed with years of guilt, angst and self-loathing. Twenty years wasted climbing the social ladder with Jack before plummeting off the top. The twenty years before that spent living under The Cantors shadow.  Is that who I am? Or am I something else? The demon that has reemerged with SlowHand’s guidance? Lilith come forth one last time to face God and demand a reckoning!
Jack. What about Jack? My dear-in-the-headlights husband. A part of me believes he loved me once. The rest of me knows that I was just a chance at another notch on his belt at Berkeley when he first saw me walking across the campus. I don’t have many questions left regarding Jack. I know he won’t miss me. I’ve become a burden to him of late. He’ll mourn, but he’ll eventually appreciate being unencumbered by my absence.
Will he blame himself? Probably not. Jack’s too self-involvedtoo self-righteous to accept blame for anything. If anything, he’ll blame me for ruining his life.
He may wonder, for a moment, if he could have done anything to prevent this? No, Jack. Postpone. Maybe. I hope he’s ready for the new reality. But if the prick can’t take care of himself by now, he deserves a life more painful than the death I have planned for myself.
We met in an auditorium at Berkeley. Ginsberg was howling, one of the last times toorest his soul. As I walked in, I was distracted by Jack’s eyes. I could feel them on me, scalpels dissecting and analyzing. I wouldn’t say I was flattered, but I was definitely intrigued. The sharpness of his eyes matched his face: ragged cheekbones, jutting jawline, a crooked rook of a nose. They all looked like they could cut glass, snip tin, pierce hearts.
"What’s the matter? Don’t like Ginsberg?" I asked as I took the empty seat next to him. He avoided my gaze when he realized I had noticed he had been ogling me. I could see the sweat breaking through his skin, the thought that I had caught him lost in my tits setting his face aflame. He was coy. I wasn’t.
"Well…" And that’s Jack! All hesitation and uncertainty. He plays it off as wisdom, claiming that he likes to mull things over, think about how best to answer any question. Bullshit! It takes him that long just to understand there was a question. But he’s charismatic and it comes across as charming, at first. He hides his narcissistic ignorance well. Better yet, he uses it to his advantage.
He was Pre-Law back then. I was an English major, minoring in Religious Studies, with the same aspirations to write that bestseller most English majors share. It took an effort to find some common ground.
"God?" I asked the next evening over coffee.
"Sorry?"
"Do you believe in God?" I clarified. I often found the topic a useful barometer of where a relationship might go.
"Well, no. I can’t say that I do. I think God is a product of the past. I like to think we live in a more enlightened time. We don’t need gods to explain our mysteries; we need Louis Pasteurs and Immanuel Kants. How about you?" He didn’t seem certain. Any relationship with him would prove precarious at best, I thought.
"I don’t know God. Who does, really? There’s only one way to be sure, and I’m not ready for that, yet." I was certain that nothing was certain.
We started dating, enjoyed what little common ground we were able to find or create. The one thing we truly shared was a sense that artists and their art, always under attack by those who understood them the least, needed to be protected in order for society to thrive. We figured that we had enough brains between the two of us to do something about it.
We got married after he passed the Bar. I taught English to middle-schoolers while he tried to establish himself in the field. After a year of marriage, I got pregnant and he got a job offer in Los Angeles doing what he was destined to do: Lawyer to the Stars. What a shame he got lost in the glarebeen blind ever since.
It didn’t take long to forget that sense of idealism we had shared. I can’t even imagine why we’ve stayed married this long. I suppose we used the children as an excuse for that, too. No, not really. We were both just a bit too comfortable. I was well kept. The house was well kept. We both wanted something different but were too afraid of change.
The dynamic was altered when I caught him having his little virtual affair. Now we’re still married because there are things I know about him that would humiliate him if they became public, things that would send his clients running like hypocritical cockroaches. Fear no more Jack. I’m leaving and I’m taking your dirty little secret with me.
We did thrive for a while, though, enjoying the first child, the first house, the first decorator, the second car, the second child, Jack making partner. Mutual Funds & IRAs. A second house in Aspen. Living Wills & Trust Funds. Corporations & Foundations.
We were worth more than many of his clients until the dot-com bubble burst in ‘01. But we managed to survive that. You never run out of celebrities fucking up.
Of course, things have changed since the real estate market crashed. Lots of our money was in derivatives, basically bad loans. Too much. Lately we’ve been getting more bills than checks. Most of our Beverly Hills friends have recovered just fine, but Jack’s afraid of the market, nowtoo shy to let our money make more money.
Our lovely little chalet in Aspen has been on the market for three years, now. Nobody’s buying. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was foreclosed on by next spring. At least we had it all for a while. Life seemed perfect.
Life, by most accounts, should’ve been perfect. Life should be perfect, shouldn’t it? I never did write that bestseller. The ideas filtered out as fast as the children and money filtered in. It looked like my fate lay in more domestic domains. Martha Stewart became my God, and I worshiped her willingly.
Now, if I were to turn around, I would go home to three days worth of dishes piled in the sink, mold feeding on the grout in my bathroom, and my compost bin infested with rats. Not a good thing. Martha would be very disappointed.
Unlike Ms. Stewart though, I won’t see the inside of a jail cell. SlowHand however… He deserves betterbetter than being relegated to acting as my handpicked executioner followed by the rest of his life under incarceration, a fate I doubt he can escape.
Fear again. Doubt again. If I hurry, I might get back and have dinner ready before Jack gets home. Maybe I can just blame it on hormones, get a couple of family meal deals from Carl’s Jr., and tell Jack I was just out running errands, doing some early Christmas shopping, finding a new therapist. He thinks I need a new therapist. That would make him happy… happier.
Dayenu. Enough. There’s not going to be a third time. I’m done turning around. I drive. As the last Los Angelic palm disappears from my rearview, I know I am never coming back.


 [FQ31] 3:18pm Chapter One (Los Angeles, CA)