The Lilith Legend

Only thirty more pages to edit, as of 1:00pm today. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Editing is actually moving at a fairly quick pace, which is a great sign. It means that I'm not finding anything blatant that I think I need to change. We'll see. the true test is a week from tomorrow when I meet with my critique group (¡Hi Barb, Holly & Tracy!).

Anyhow, my brother, Carlos, was talking about Killing Lilith yesterday, and he referenced some of the legends of the mythological Lilith. So I decided to post this small excerpt for him. Don't forget to check out the Killing Lilith Facebook Page and click "like" for news, updates & more excerpts!

Artwork by Kara T. Wells

 My father considered himself the consummate bible scholar and student. “You learn until you die,” he would say, “What you learn is up to you.” Obsessed with origin myths, he would use my misbehavior as an opportunity to expound on the legend of Lilith. “There are those who study the secrets of the scriptures that believe, before Eve, God made another woman for Adam.”

These same secrets are now sold with a red bracelet and a bottle of blessed water to any celebrity looking to ride a new wave to enlightenment.

“Certain students of Kabala believe that lost versions of the B’reshit (or bear shit as I would joke about the first book of the Torah behind his back; ‘bear shit, smut bear shit and smut,’ I would mock once he left the room after one of his lectures) tell her story—Lilith’s. She came not from Adam’s rib, but from the same earth from which Adam was formed. Some even say she came from Adam’s filth. Like you, she went against the word of her father. She rebelled against her husband and was banished as a demon. Do not follow her path child; it will prove a difficult one.”

The more he called me by that name, which he did more often as I got older and wilder, the more I identified with her. Why couldn’t we be equal? What made him better? His knowledge? His wisdom? His rib? The power of his voice? Men and women swooned, even shuddered, as his vibrato tenor resonated throughout the temple, the words of the scriptures pouring over them as if from the mouth of God himself. All I ever heard were his admonishments.

Dying to be My Muse

A class photo of Sharon. She's the one in the cap, staring off to the right.

A little over fifteen years ago I was taking a class, Writing for the Internet Age—one of the first of its kind. During the ides of October, word came of a woman's body being found buried under a child's swing set in a trailer park in North Carolina.

Within days, as the police discovered during what they thought was a murder investigation that the victim, Sharon Denburg Lopatka—a housewife from Hampstead, MD—had solicited her executioner, Robert Glass, to torture, rape & kill her. He wasn't even the only one. Glass was just the first to follow through.

While many dismissed her as yet another crazy, I was fascinated with Sharon. As I  researched her story, a novel took shape in my mind. Click on Sharon's photo to read about the woman who inspired Killing Lilith.
Don't forget to check out the Killing Lilith Facebook Page and click "like" for news, updates & more excerpts!

Killing Lilith (excerpt)

Wrapped up the latest edit on Killing Lilith. Going well! Don't forget to check out the Killing Lilith Facebook Page and click "like" for news, updates & more excerpts! Here's a little excerpt for you Lilith fans out there:

4:14pm

Phone’s ringing—been ringing now for twenty minutes, on & off: Emily calling from the stables wondering why I haven’t picked her up from Equestrian practice. She’ll use it as an excuse to petition for that new car she says we’re too cheap to buy her—as if she can’t realize that she doesn’t deserve one. I’d be shocked if she didn’t drive any car we got her straight to South Central and trade it for a year’s supply of crack.

Jacob calling from his guitar lesson. He decided he wanted to learn guitar after he abandoned violin, saxophone, flute, & piano. He’s been talking about giving up music for acting. The older he gets, the more attention he craves. Perhaps it’s other things he craves. Women. Drugs. Fame. I have little doubt he’ll find anything he seeks. I also doubt he’ll be capable of handling any of it before it destroys him.

Jack’s called a few times—probably pissed off, not because he’ll have to leave the office early to pick up the kids, but because he won’t get the chance to have a few drinks at the bar with his colleagues after work. He needs that to wind down before he comes home.

I get to try winding down between cleaning, errands, picking up the children, cooking, and lifting up my nightgown once in a while so Jack can release some sexual tension. None of them are worried about where I am.

Point Dume. Sitting on a beach staring as the sun burns a trail through the Malibu sky, listening to the vain attempts of my family to contact me. I stare directly into the sun so that it might dry the tears before they leave their ducts. They love me. No, they need me. Dependency misconstrued as love. Fuck them!

My love was unconditional for a time. What have I been able to depend on? I never expected anything in exchange for that love. Regardless, I am mourning them. I will die, but they are already dead.  So I sit here, burning my ass on the sand, beating my chest, setting my retinas on fire—sitting Shiva.

  I stand and begin to make my way back to the car through a haze of black and yellow. The phone rings again. Jack, Emily, Jacob. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my peace. I turn around once last time, facing the waves and the waning sun, and throw the phone at the offending horizon.

---

 [FQ31] 4:14pm Chapter Three (Malibu)

Within, Without

I wrote this poem on Saturday as part of a challenge from Laura Shovan. If I wrote & read a poem about posing nude for art classes, she'd read her "Great Wall of Vagina" poem. If you weren't there, you missed the fun. The Poem is still pretty raw...

Within, Without

Not such rough stuff,
making a living
in the buff,standing, free
for all to see—
so much of me,
all of me.

For twenty minutes
at a time, I’m free
to live inside my mind,
to explore within
while without
all eyes are wandering
about
me, as if I were pure
landscape.

Until I get that dreaded itch
I need to scratch,
but what a bitch
because moving
is the one option
I don’t have.

So I dive inside
myself, again,
deeper still,
super zen,
until all I feel
is the silence
that blankets me
from within.

Soon enough,
a bell will ring,
or buzz or chirp
some tinny tune;
to let me know
my body
is now mine, again.

For just a few
& then I must
hustle back
to my post
to either find
my old position
or strike out
on a new pose.

What shall I do?
Perhaps a simple
contrapposto
will suffice,
something seated
would be nice,
or better yet,
let me just lie
down. Let
me rest,
and you can practice
foreshortening
while my ass is
getting numb
from the cheap,
old carpeting
on this wobbly platform.

I’ll do whatever,
just don’t ask
me to perform
some acrobatic,
bendy asana
to please your
hungry hands
full of coal, or brush,
or ink.

I hope I don’t stink.

So here, I bare
myself to you,
alien to shame,
able to stay true,
even willing
to occasionally torture
myself for truth,
for art, for beauty,
for goodness sake—
without me you’d all
be painting fruit!

Happy New Year

One of the panels from the Great Wall of Vagina installation

I know. I'm late, as usual. But I've resolved to work on that in 2012, especially since we may not get a 2013 if you listen to the apocalypse believers out there. As a matter of fact, I'm just going to pretend like 2012 may very well be the last year for civilization, as we know it; and I'm going to push hard to get my work out there. By "out there" I mean outside of the Baltimore Metro Area. Not Outer Space.

Here's a guide to what going on with The Word Pimp, so far, in 2012:

My Baker Award nomination page is ready to go. Please show it some love. It has a lot of my best (& best known) work, so you're bound to find some great stuff to read. If you have a nomination on the Baker site let  me know, and I'll check it out.

I have a couple of appearances coming up:

Saturday, January 14, 6:30pm
Evil Grin Poetry Series @ Ahh, Coffee

Join me and Clarinda Harriss Poetry Prize winner Laura Shovan for  what promises be an entertaining start to the new year. Laura has promised to read her ekphrastic poem inspired by the art installation known as The Great Wall of Vagina if I promise to read a poem about modeling nude. Such a poem does not yet exist, but I WILL have one in time. I might even try to read it naked!

Ahh, Coffee

1015 Bay Ridge Ave 

Eastport, MD 21403

  

Monday, February 6, 7pm 

Café Muse Literary Series

Get in the mood for Valentine's Day with a reading by Life in Me Like Grass on Fire poets. Readers include Laura Shovan, Shirley Brewer, Frank Joseph, Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka, Margaret Mullins & me.

Friendship Heights Village Center

4433 South Park Avenue, 

Chevy Chase, MD

Well, that's all for now. A show with Artichoke Haircut is apparently in the works, so stay tuned. MUCH LOVE!

Jasmine

The one poem of mine that I've memorized, always ready to recite on queue. Written circa 1992.

Jasmine

I put my fingers to my nose
& smell the sweet scent of jasmine.
It seems amazing that once I touched her
the scent never went away.

I close my eyes, fists pressed tight
against them, & through the stars
I see her face.
It seems amazing that once I touched her
the scent never went away.

I lick at my tears as they roll
down my face, & through the salt
I taste the essence of our sin.
It seems amazing that once I touched her
the scent never went away.

& through the static of my speakers
I can hear her sweet,
sweet jasmine voice, speaking
to my soul, singing,
"I love you."
Is it so amazing that I needed only touch
her once, & now I know
the scent will never go away.

Haters Hate: The Ron Paul Phenomenon

2012 is almost here, and with it, the real start of the Presidential Election campaign. In less than a week a few voters in Iowa will brave freezing temperatures and pick their favorite Republican to go up against Obama in November. As I write this, most polls indicate that one Dr. Ronald Ernest Paul is poised to capture the hearts and minds of die-hard Iowans.

I can see his appeal. Ron Paul is no dyed-in-the-wool Republican. Although he served in Congress as a Republican during the mid to late 70s and early 80s, Ronnie rose to political prominence as a Libertarian when he ran for President in 1988 and got over 400,000 votes, third most that election. After that loss, Ronnie took some time off from politics and went back to medicine, his first love. Throughout this time, though, Ronnie continued to push his political agenda, most notably through Ron Paul & Associates, a company that he established in 1984 that produce various newsletters, including The Ron Paul Investment Letter, The Ron Paul Survival Report, and Ron Paul Political Report. He gained tens of thousands of subscribers and earned millions of dollars with these newsletters promoting his Libertarian ideas.

Flash forward twenty years...

Read the rest of the story on my latest  
From the Bottom Up on The Urban Twist.