What It's Like
It's like you look back
and there's the first half of forever
which was nothing to you since you were nothing
yourself but there it is stretching way
beyond the beginning
of the beginning of anything
because it is the first half of everything
which is what the absence of you had been zipping through,
and so imagine your exits: Stone Age, Age of Reason,
Renaissance, etc., or, say, 8902 BC, or 1396, or 1464,
or 1982, or maybe when the landscape finally
looks familiar or attractive or instructive enough,
someone—who but you, but there is no you—somebody
says, Well, this looks pretty good,
and so all these tiny bits of carbon and hydrogen,
nitrogen, and calcium, phosphorus, sodium, and sulfur
copper, zinc, iron, and bromide
clump up in somebody's belly, clump and grow,
clump and grow until you spring forth
in a bathroom south of Akron or a cab in New Delhi,
a bedroom in Ames or a pool hall in Brixton or an ER in Boston
which is what it's like exactly, except, except
pretty soon you're wondering why
you couldn't remember to remember
that route a little bit, goddamn it,
your roots because now here you are
and it's the middle of the night and you're in the kitchen
scanning the classifieds or thumbing a catalog
or slicing a pie and you look up
and there's the stove clock saying
2:10 and you're all
wound up about nothing again.
-Mark Kraushaar
8.31.2009
hyman bloom
NYT obituary of my grandmother's long time dear friend, Hyman Bloom, a man as soft and sweet as his other-wordly visionary paintings were jarring and raw.
i just caught the obit and she never mentioned it when i last spoke to her so i have no idea if she knows. i have to call her now but i'm dreading it. every loss she suffers seems to manifest itself as a loss of physical weight, as if she is becoming less of a person as the people around her disappear. and i'm not sure if there's anything left to loose at this point.
fuck.
8.29.2009
two poems by a new favorite truthsayer with a particularly satisfying name: james harms
Legacy
Annemarie is nearly six. It is too early
in her life for the rain to remind her
of anyone, of a conversation that ends
in privacy, two people alone together
at a window blurred by warm breath,
by hours of sad talk, by the rain.
But she knows the crayons will run and smear,
that the butcher paper will turn to mud
if she leaves her art on the balcony
beside her slide, her plastic house.
Instead she's left a tooth in her meat loaf,
softly spitting a bite back to the plate,
knowing enough to mask her mouth demurely
with the napkin. Her smile is plainly
lacking when she lowers the veil,
though brighter somehow, like the one
grinning jack-o'-lantern on a porch
of carved snarls, the leering pumpkins
empty-headed and aglow, lit from within
like impressionable four-year-olds,
who follow Annie through sandboxes
and party games, pinning the tail
to Jeremy or Bruce; they follow her
anywhere, into the privacy of secret names
and imaginary friends, into trouble.
She is nearly six, though seven or eight
depending on the room, the age
of her playmates; she is always oldest.
And so her mother says, Such a good tooth
for a seven-year-old, then retrieves it
from the half-chewed bite. She rinses it
in the sink, hands it back to her little girl
and explains the tooth fairy, how she's different
from Snow White but just as pretty.
At the end of her prayers Annie shoves
the tooth beneath the pillow, finds a quarter
in the morning. It's from fairy land,
her daddy says, a piece of moonlight
for a pretty girl. Make sure you save it
for a dark night. Her mother waits for later,
when her husband's gone to work; she presses
the quarter in Annie's palm. Don't worry
about the nights, she says. Save it
for the rain, for that first remarkable rain
when you're alone, your hand in his,
the window a steamed mirror.
When he looks at you without listening,
when no one is listening: call me.
***
Copernicus
I didn't handle it well, a sudden friendship
in the Copernicus Room high above San Francisco
with a beautician from Stockton. She was in town visiting
her father, whose left leg had been removed at the knee.
"Diabetes," she said. "What are you having?"
We sat and watched the bay darken like an angry face,
talked over drinks about his stubborn refusal
to give up cigarettes, how he kept his extra shoe
on the nightstand beside his bed. And then,
like a severed head, sincerity made its appearance,
scaring the hell out of both of us. I didn't intend
to tell her that my father was whole but absent
("wholly absent?" she said), or that I'd dreamt
for years--a recurring nightmare--of slicing off my hand
while spreading mustard on a piece of bread.
"What kind of bread?" she said. The light began to change
just then, the strange copper light that seems to smother
the headlands before passing from Alcatraz to Angel Island,
a fast retreating shadow we stopped talking to watch,
sunlight traveling toward us, then vanishing. The fog
closed off the bay, left the bridge a pair of rusty towers,
cables dropping into silence, a silence that seemed
solid as stone, a cliff of chalcedony. I imagined the clouds
stiffening like egg whites, a confectioner's dream
creeping slowly toward the city. And how do we measure
the world, I thought, with what we see, or what we know
is there? "Another beer, please," she said, "and some nuts."
She was ordering for me, pulling her chair a little closer.
"Look there," she said tapping the glass. Forty floors down
and two miles out, a small tug had popped free of the fog
and was chugging toward a circle of sunlight on the bay,
the one spot of bright water. She held her breath
until it got there, then broke into applause.
"He made it!" she said, and drained away her rum and coke,
patted my arm and picked her purse off the floor.
"You'll never hurt anyone," she said, but I didn't get it.
"Your dream . . . You're scared you're going to hurt someone,
it's a symbol." Then she scooped the ashtray--made of flesh red
carnelian--off the table into her purse. "A souvenir," she said,
and left. My beer arrived a few minutes later,
along with a fresh bowl of nuts. It was the Carnelian Room
I later learned, when I told my sister what had happened,
not Copernicus. "CarNEELian," she said, as if what mattered--
as if what I needed to get right--was where I'd been.
Annemarie is nearly six. It is too early
in her life for the rain to remind her
of anyone, of a conversation that ends
in privacy, two people alone together
at a window blurred by warm breath,
by hours of sad talk, by the rain.
But she knows the crayons will run and smear,
that the butcher paper will turn to mud
if she leaves her art on the balcony
beside her slide, her plastic house.
Instead she's left a tooth in her meat loaf,
softly spitting a bite back to the plate,
knowing enough to mask her mouth demurely
with the napkin. Her smile is plainly
lacking when she lowers the veil,
though brighter somehow, like the one
grinning jack-o'-lantern on a porch
of carved snarls, the leering pumpkins
empty-headed and aglow, lit from within
like impressionable four-year-olds,
who follow Annie through sandboxes
and party games, pinning the tail
to Jeremy or Bruce; they follow her
anywhere, into the privacy of secret names
and imaginary friends, into trouble.
She is nearly six, though seven or eight
depending on the room, the age
of her playmates; she is always oldest.
And so her mother says, Such a good tooth
for a seven-year-old, then retrieves it
from the half-chewed bite. She rinses it
in the sink, hands it back to her little girl
and explains the tooth fairy, how she's different
from Snow White but just as pretty.
At the end of her prayers Annie shoves
the tooth beneath the pillow, finds a quarter
in the morning. It's from fairy land,
her daddy says, a piece of moonlight
for a pretty girl. Make sure you save it
for a dark night. Her mother waits for later,
when her husband's gone to work; she presses
the quarter in Annie's palm. Don't worry
about the nights, she says. Save it
for the rain, for that first remarkable rain
when you're alone, your hand in his,
the window a steamed mirror.
When he looks at you without listening,
when no one is listening: call me.
***
Copernicus
I didn't handle it well, a sudden friendship
in the Copernicus Room high above San Francisco
with a beautician from Stockton. She was in town visiting
her father, whose left leg had been removed at the knee.
"Diabetes," she said. "What are you having?"
We sat and watched the bay darken like an angry face,
talked over drinks about his stubborn refusal
to give up cigarettes, how he kept his extra shoe
on the nightstand beside his bed. And then,
like a severed head, sincerity made its appearance,
scaring the hell out of both of us. I didn't intend
to tell her that my father was whole but absent
("wholly absent?" she said), or that I'd dreamt
for years--a recurring nightmare--of slicing off my hand
while spreading mustard on a piece of bread.
"What kind of bread?" she said. The light began to change
just then, the strange copper light that seems to smother
the headlands before passing from Alcatraz to Angel Island,
a fast retreating shadow we stopped talking to watch,
sunlight traveling toward us, then vanishing. The fog
closed off the bay, left the bridge a pair of rusty towers,
cables dropping into silence, a silence that seemed
solid as stone, a cliff of chalcedony. I imagined the clouds
stiffening like egg whites, a confectioner's dream
creeping slowly toward the city. And how do we measure
the world, I thought, with what we see, or what we know
is there? "Another beer, please," she said, "and some nuts."
She was ordering for me, pulling her chair a little closer.
"Look there," she said tapping the glass. Forty floors down
and two miles out, a small tug had popped free of the fog
and was chugging toward a circle of sunlight on the bay,
the one spot of bright water. She held her breath
until it got there, then broke into applause.
"He made it!" she said, and drained away her rum and coke,
patted my arm and picked her purse off the floor.
"You'll never hurt anyone," she said, but I didn't get it.
"Your dream . . . You're scared you're going to hurt someone,
it's a symbol." Then she scooped the ashtray--made of flesh red
carnelian--off the table into her purse. "A souvenir," she said,
and left. My beer arrived a few minutes later,
along with a fresh bowl of nuts. It was the Carnelian Room
I later learned, when I told my sister what had happened,
not Copernicus. "CarNEELian," she said, as if what mattered--
as if what I needed to get right--was where I'd been.
8.27.2009
8.26.2009
music comes around
funny how a week ago i was listening to kate bush's original song, "running up that hill," and then two days later heard a beautiful cover of it by alt. rock band placebo and then just now npr's song of the day was an amazing song by john forte called "breaking of a man", which i highly recommend and will try to post later and then, while i worked i started looking up other john forte songs produced since he was released from prison in '08 and what do you know, i found his version of the kate bush song, adapted to his life, his trials, and equally as powerful.
probably the mark of music at its finest.
probably the mark of music at its finest.
there are times when i am still surprised at what im asked to do around here.
daisy (11:22:10 AM): Sweet 'n Nasty
Categories: Bakeries, Candy Stores, Adult Neighborhood: Back Bay
90 Massachusetts Ave
(between Commonwealth Ave & Newbury St)
Boston, MA 02115
(617) 266-7171
boss (11:22:20 AM): thank you. your work here is done.
daisy (11:22:46 AM): i really just like that im listening to you use the same voice youd use with a client or anyone else. 'Hi, i'm just calling to see if you have any female blow up dolls. with open mouths'
daisy (11:22:52 AM): love it
boss (11:23:46 AM): of course.
boss (11:23:55 AM): this is me- take it or leave it
boss (11:24:06 AM): however, I will use your name when I go in there
daisy (11:26:35 AM): sigh. well...daisy has a lot more sex shop cred then torrey anyway. its pretty much a porn star name. that or cows. a lot of people reference cows they knew named daisy.
boss (11:26:52 AM): um. who do you hang out with?!
daisy (11:27:05 AM): porn stars and farmers, apparently
boss (11:27:15 AM): interesting parties you must have
daisy (11:27:42 AM): actually, just hippies. that covers both categories.
boss (11:31:32 AM): and my parents
boss (11:31:34 AM): they cover both categories too
boss (11:31:37 AM): gross
daisy (11:32:19 AM): well. cant wait to meet THEM at the wedding...
Categories: Bakeries, Candy Stores, Adult Neighborhood: Back Bay
90 Massachusetts Ave
(between Commonwealth Ave & Newbury St)
Boston, MA 02115
(617) 266-7171
boss (11:22:20 AM): thank you. your work here is done.
daisy (11:22:46 AM): i really just like that im listening to you use the same voice youd use with a client or anyone else. 'Hi, i'm just calling to see if you have any female blow up dolls. with open mouths'
daisy (11:22:52 AM): love it
boss (11:23:46 AM): of course.
boss (11:23:55 AM): this is me- take it or leave it
boss (11:24:06 AM): however, I will use your name when I go in there
daisy (11:26:35 AM): sigh. well...daisy has a lot more sex shop cred then torrey anyway. its pretty much a porn star name. that or cows. a lot of people reference cows they knew named daisy.
boss (11:26:52 AM): um. who do you hang out with?!
daisy (11:27:05 AM): porn stars and farmers, apparently
boss (11:27:15 AM): interesting parties you must have
daisy (11:27:42 AM): actually, just hippies. that covers both categories.
boss (11:31:32 AM): and my parents
boss (11:31:34 AM): they cover both categories too
boss (11:31:37 AM): gross
daisy (11:32:19 AM): well. cant wait to meet THEM at the wedding...
poem for people that are understandably too busy to read poetry by stephen dunn
Relax. This won't last long.
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there's a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he'll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you're busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it's sex you've always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party's unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don't think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don't know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it's needed. For it's apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I'll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don't give anything for this poem.
It doesn't expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case
or in your house. And if you're not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:
Good. Now here's what poetry can do.
Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There's an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You're beautiful for as long as you live.
note-
I'll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
what? who thinks to write that. a genius, thats who.
and now, as a form of illustration for the theme of being too busy to do beautiful things, a screen shot of my outlook to-do list that i took earlier just in case it got erased since it is my brains external harddrive and that would be disasterous:
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there's a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he'll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you're busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it's sex you've always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party's unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don't think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don't know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it's needed. For it's apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I'll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don't give anything for this poem.
It doesn't expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case
or in your house. And if you're not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:
Good. Now here's what poetry can do.
Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There's an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You're beautiful for as long as you live.
note-
I'll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
what? who thinks to write that. a genius, thats who.
and now, as a form of illustration for the theme of being too busy to do beautiful things, a screen shot of my outlook to-do list that i took earlier just in case it got erased since it is my brains external harddrive and that would be disasterous:
8.25.2009
Re-post of "Perils of the Poetry Reading" by Katha Pollitt
"Am I the only person who finds it hard to follow an unfamiliar poem when I hear it read out loud and don’t have the text in front of me? Even when reading to myself at my own pace, I might have to go over a poem several times to really get it, but at a reading, the poems whizz by unstoppably-- no chance of a second hearing, and all the helpful visual cues of print , like punctuation, italics, quotation marks, and even line breaks, are absent. A stray thought enters my head -- I wonder why they painted this room turquoise? -- and in seconds I’ve lost the thread. (I’m speaking of what you might call “literary poetry” here, poetry written primarily to be read silently, not spoken word, which is intended for the ear from the outset.)
I often find that the poems I’ve enjoyed most at a reading seem oddly flat on the page when I hunt them down in a book. What made the poem seem striking and fresh was the poet’s performance: the energy and especially the humor was in the voice and manner and gestures, not the words themselves. Or it was the story the poem told: the poetry reading as a series of anecdotes, with the poet placing and embellishing each one in his introductions: My uncle ran a chicken farm in Iowa, and when he ran off with the Methodist minister’s wife my aunt killed all the chickens and gave them to the nuns, and out of that comes this next poem, “Saint Rooster and the Holy Choir of Hens.” it’s been suggested, in fact, that the proliferation of poetry readings, and their importance to a poet’s career, has actually changed the way poets -- “literary poets” -- write, encouraging verbal simplicity, talkiness, easy emotions, simple narratives, and punchlines. It’s the poet as stand-up comedian/tragedian.
Still, you can see why poets would try to shape their art to please their audience -- and notice how we now commonly speak of poetry’s audience rather than poetry’s readers, which tells you something right there. It can be painful and embarrassing to stand up before a small group of miscellaneous strangers who expect you to entertain them and instead offer poems they might find bewildering, or remote. I've given readings at which I just want to say, oh well, never mind, let’s just go have a beer and talk about health care reform."
Read more HERE plus Wislawa Szymborska’s poem, “Poetry Reading”
I often find that the poems I’ve enjoyed most at a reading seem oddly flat on the page when I hunt them down in a book. What made the poem seem striking and fresh was the poet’s performance: the energy and especially the humor was in the voice and manner and gestures, not the words themselves. Or it was the story the poem told: the poetry reading as a series of anecdotes, with the poet placing and embellishing each one in his introductions: My uncle ran a chicken farm in Iowa, and when he ran off with the Methodist minister’s wife my aunt killed all the chickens and gave them to the nuns, and out of that comes this next poem, “Saint Rooster and the Holy Choir of Hens.” it’s been suggested, in fact, that the proliferation of poetry readings, and their importance to a poet’s career, has actually changed the way poets -- “literary poets” -- write, encouraging verbal simplicity, talkiness, easy emotions, simple narratives, and punchlines. It’s the poet as stand-up comedian/tragedian.
Still, you can see why poets would try to shape their art to please their audience -- and notice how we now commonly speak of poetry’s audience rather than poetry’s readers, which tells you something right there. It can be painful and embarrassing to stand up before a small group of miscellaneous strangers who expect you to entertain them and instead offer poems they might find bewildering, or remote. I've given readings at which I just want to say, oh well, never mind, let’s just go have a beer and talk about health care reform."
Read more HERE plus Wislawa Szymborska’s poem, “Poetry Reading”
8.24.2009
i love it when you read to me
i dont really know what the deal is with peter gabriel. is he someone i shouldnt mention i really, really like? does this fall under the same rules as admitting that the first song i ever memorized was rod's stewart's hot legs?
ah well. too late.
i love this song, just re-found it.
The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures and instructions for dancing
But I
I love it when you read to me
And you
You can read me anything
The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is just transcendental
Some of it is just really dumb
But I
I love it when you sing to me
And you
You can sing me anything
its simple, and playful, almost childish, and isnt trying to be anything its not
and by about line three the pit of my stomach hurts
and by line six i feel heavy
and then i have to sit down and miss...
ugh. fuck that.
im so tired of that.
why has every part of my life moved on and somehow my heart is still back there, like a stubborn, overtired child at the grocery store, arms crossed, sitting in the aisle somewhere between the peanut butter and the quinoa, refusing to move.
im sick of feeling disembodied. sick of missing... a part of myself.
anyway.
tonight i went to dinner with my dad. and can i just say i love my dad. i forget until im around him how much i miss my pops. and i decided tonight id brave the topic of the bookstore/diner/artspace so after i blathered on for half an hour nervously he says:
hmm. sounds a lot like something ive been thinking about doing.
WHAT?!
put it this way. i have a new contemporary art talent scout/burger taster.
could this really happen? in this lifetime?
8.22.2009
that rubber duckie does more than float in a bathtub
and thats all i have to say about my bosses bachelorette party.
because thats all i really can say without offending my readers moral sensibilities.
ppppffftttttt. no but really.
8.20.2009
boss has been on fire all day
1. she saw from her 12th story cube that there was some kind of commotion with police on the street and dragged me down to investigate including grilling the ladies behind the counter at saks because "they have nothing better to do than be witnesses"
2. she screamed at everyone to come running when a torrential jungle rain hit boston because "theres a woman down there with white pants on and its abotu to get AWESOME"
3. i just revealed to my boss that her bachelorette party (tomorrow) will be my first and she told me to prepare to get hazed "and not like you did on that fake team/sorority-with-horses of yours. pin the tail on the donkey does not count as hazing"
my stomach hurts from laughing. i cant do her delivery any justice. she really has to be experienced first hand.
2. she screamed at everyone to come running when a torrential jungle rain hit boston because "theres a woman down there with white pants on and its abotu to get AWESOME"
3. i just revealed to my boss that her bachelorette party (tomorrow) will be my first and she told me to prepare to get hazed "and not like you did on that fake team/sorority-with-horses of yours. pin the tail on the donkey does not count as hazing"
my stomach hurts from laughing. i cant do her delivery any justice. she really has to be experienced first hand.
hearing voices
yesterday i called someone out for saying "oh dais" because it was grating at my soul and now im feeling a little crazy.
someone could say, "oh, dais" when i do something typical or laughable and lace it with love and affectionate teasing and i wouldnt even notice
but this was laced with something else, condescention? each time she said it i felt like i was being hit over the head with a hammer. it made me shrink an inch and it gave me a headache.
i told her shed said it or written it seven times in three weeks (just that i was counting is telling in and of itself)and i told her it seemed like it was always after wed had a disagreement that produced tension of some kind and that it felt like she was trying to reassert herself.
she denied it completely and said it was a friendly thing, like, oh, dais, youre too much, youre so silly, youre special.
i know im hyper sensitive to word choice, thats built into my brain. i read a sentence with the same word repeated twice and i get twitchy. but i think PR, an industry built on the micromanagement of words and their affect on an audience, is really bringing it to the level of OCD.
she definitely meant something by those words, the tone, the timing, but i actually believe that she wasnt aware of it. so now im in a position where I notice the difference, i focus on the intention, but other people arent even aware of it.
and thats a really solid way to drive myself crazy and fuck up relationships.
its almost like hearing voices. awesome.
someone could say, "oh, dais" when i do something typical or laughable and lace it with love and affectionate teasing and i wouldnt even notice
but this was laced with something else, condescention? each time she said it i felt like i was being hit over the head with a hammer. it made me shrink an inch and it gave me a headache.
i told her shed said it or written it seven times in three weeks (just that i was counting is telling in and of itself)and i told her it seemed like it was always after wed had a disagreement that produced tension of some kind and that it felt like she was trying to reassert herself.
she denied it completely and said it was a friendly thing, like, oh, dais, youre too much, youre so silly, youre special.
i know im hyper sensitive to word choice, thats built into my brain. i read a sentence with the same word repeated twice and i get twitchy. but i think PR, an industry built on the micromanagement of words and their affect on an audience, is really bringing it to the level of OCD.
she definitely meant something by those words, the tone, the timing, but i actually believe that she wasnt aware of it. so now im in a position where I notice the difference, i focus on the intention, but other people arent even aware of it.
and thats a really solid way to drive myself crazy and fuck up relationships.
its almost like hearing voices. awesome.
8.18.2009
morning inspiration. i'm just throwing this up here because its important to me to remember
On Aug 18, 2009, at 8:53 AM, D wrote:
saw these today in an article. they make me excited and sick at the same time that theyre allready doing it:
HeyCupcake
GreenlightBookstore
(im going to be following this blog now religiously and i love that she quit her publishing job to go work for a bunch of local bookstores. that gives me hope that i could go travel and then come back and do that and start really beefing up on my knowledge of the way to run a store, the inventory, the computer systems...)
suddenly im thinking about a bookbar... you go up and ask for something depending on your mood or interests or previous favorite books and something like the genius people at apple will prescribe a book? that would take some serious knowledge and a bangin computer system...
or a bookbar on one side and a coffee/cookie bar on the other side and then books lining the walls of the entire store with high ceilings, floor to ceiling and then table/couch/overstuffed chair clusters in the middle.
yes.. i like this. ugh, get me out of this job. i need to get out of this job soon
On Tue, Aug 18, 2009 at 11:05 AM, J wrote:
That can be inspirational and intimidating all at the same time.
but pushing aside the intimidation I think you should listen to the last line of the cupcake guy
P.S. You only live once. Go for it.
I don't know what your next step is, quitting tomorrow, staying until you complete a year, saving x amount of money no matter what setting a goal is important and something worth racking your brain over to set. I think there are a few very viable options on your table, each one will give you at the very least a life changing experience and will get you out of your job and into a different environment. and if the world comes crashing down around you just come live with me until life makes more sense again.
I think you are too intelligent and too passionate to be doing what you're currently doing for much longer. You realized you can make a living in this economy, great. If you come back to it in a year you will be able to get another job. and living without health insurance isn't the worst thing in the world, over 40 million americans live like that everyday, and lets not even talk about the rest of the world. And if you go to italy it doesn't even matter. I know you will eventually make a move but know that there are people who will support you and provide you with a home and some food if it turns into a disaster. Just make sure you always have enough money for a last minute return ticket. I am serious. Or if you want to move to san fransisco live with me until you know what you want to do/can do it. I have an oven and a full sized fridge. You could just cook all day long if you wanted.
You can be good at anything, but it might be nice to be great at something you love. But you won't find that until you take some calculated risks and have back ups just in case shit hits the fan.
Then when you do create whatever amazing thing it is, we can write the book and sell the movie. I think Scarlett Johannson with a haircut could play you.
On Tue, Aug 18, 2009 at 11:28 AM, D wrote:
im going to print this email and carry it around. thank you love. and i agree with everything.
i started at the begining of the bookstore girls blog, june 2008, and ive read june and july, ill read two months a morning. ive allready learned so much.
its so great for me because she goes through the logistics, the loans, the inventory, the investors, the partners, the massive growing pains and set backs and small successes... rather than wandering around repeating that im going to start a bookstore/bar without any idea of what that would entail i want to keep saying that WHILE i educate myself as to what the hell that means, trying to keep the balance between the reality and the complete fantasty.
anyway im incredibly blessed i have people like you who really would take me in and i have my dads apt or my southampton poolhouse that i could crash into and pay minimal rent on if necessary and i have a real estate lawyer for a father and a mother who starter her own small business and has been successful for forty years and has taste and whimsy coming out of every pore so if i really do this i have some serious experts on my hands. i just want to be educated, educated, educated in my own way so that im not leaning on everyone else. i want to be sure it retains the original spirit of the idea, the community space, the space for local artists and local food and local talent and a safe space for people to think. its so pie in the sky but its so what i want.
its totally overwhelming and kind of wonderful. and i dont even know what IT is...
though i think scarletts too boobalicious for me. someone a little more androg.
love
saw these today in an article. they make me excited and sick at the same time that theyre allready doing it:
HeyCupcake
GreenlightBookstore
(im going to be following this blog now religiously and i love that she quit her publishing job to go work for a bunch of local bookstores. that gives me hope that i could go travel and then come back and do that and start really beefing up on my knowledge of the way to run a store, the inventory, the computer systems...)
suddenly im thinking about a bookbar... you go up and ask for something depending on your mood or interests or previous favorite books and something like the genius people at apple will prescribe a book? that would take some serious knowledge and a bangin computer system...
or a bookbar on one side and a coffee/cookie bar on the other side and then books lining the walls of the entire store with high ceilings, floor to ceiling and then table/couch/overstuffed chair clusters in the middle.
yes.. i like this. ugh, get me out of this job. i need to get out of this job soon
On Tue, Aug 18, 2009 at 11:05 AM, J wrote:
That can be inspirational and intimidating all at the same time.
but pushing aside the intimidation I think you should listen to the last line of the cupcake guy
P.S. You only live once. Go for it.
I don't know what your next step is, quitting tomorrow, staying until you complete a year, saving x amount of money no matter what setting a goal is important and something worth racking your brain over to set. I think there are a few very viable options on your table, each one will give you at the very least a life changing experience and will get you out of your job and into a different environment. and if the world comes crashing down around you just come live with me until life makes more sense again.
I think you are too intelligent and too passionate to be doing what you're currently doing for much longer. You realized you can make a living in this economy, great. If you come back to it in a year you will be able to get another job. and living without health insurance isn't the worst thing in the world, over 40 million americans live like that everyday, and lets not even talk about the rest of the world. And if you go to italy it doesn't even matter. I know you will eventually make a move but know that there are people who will support you and provide you with a home and some food if it turns into a disaster. Just make sure you always have enough money for a last minute return ticket. I am serious. Or if you want to move to san fransisco live with me until you know what you want to do/can do it. I have an oven and a full sized fridge. You could just cook all day long if you wanted.
You can be good at anything, but it might be nice to be great at something you love. But you won't find that until you take some calculated risks and have back ups just in case shit hits the fan.
Then when you do create whatever amazing thing it is, we can write the book and sell the movie. I think Scarlett Johannson with a haircut could play you.
On Tue, Aug 18, 2009 at 11:28 AM, D wrote:
im going to print this email and carry it around. thank you love. and i agree with everything.
i started at the begining of the bookstore girls blog, june 2008, and ive read june and july, ill read two months a morning. ive allready learned so much.
its so great for me because she goes through the logistics, the loans, the inventory, the investors, the partners, the massive growing pains and set backs and small successes... rather than wandering around repeating that im going to start a bookstore/bar without any idea of what that would entail i want to keep saying that WHILE i educate myself as to what the hell that means, trying to keep the balance between the reality and the complete fantasty.
anyway im incredibly blessed i have people like you who really would take me in and i have my dads apt or my southampton poolhouse that i could crash into and pay minimal rent on if necessary and i have a real estate lawyer for a father and a mother who starter her own small business and has been successful for forty years and has taste and whimsy coming out of every pore so if i really do this i have some serious experts on my hands. i just want to be educated, educated, educated in my own way so that im not leaning on everyone else. i want to be sure it retains the original spirit of the idea, the community space, the space for local artists and local food and local talent and a safe space for people to think. its so pie in the sky but its so what i want.
its totally overwhelming and kind of wonderful. and i dont even know what IT is...
though i think scarletts too boobalicious for me. someone a little more androg.
love
sleep all summer
a song i passed on to someone who needed it today:
sleep all summer, a cover by the national and st. vincent
if you really listen theres a rare amount of truth in these lyrics.
and speaking of duets, i recently happened on something that should have happened in my ears a long time ago. daniel merriweather and adele, water & a flame. cant find it on grooveshark so go listen to it on Mixtape Maestro instead
sleep all summer, a cover by the national and st. vincent
if you really listen theres a rare amount of truth in these lyrics.
and speaking of duets, i recently happened on something that should have happened in my ears a long time ago. daniel merriweather and adele, water & a flame. cant find it on grooveshark so go listen to it on Mixtape Maestro instead
8.17.2009
384756348769 hikes to do, all over the world
friday night i was feeling out of whack and confused about my plans for the weekend which was really standing in for my general confusion about my plans for life. i faced two days completely to myself, and kept trying to think what do YOU WANT to DO, daisy? theyre yours! do WHATEVER you want... you have a car, enough money, a city and surrounding country at your disposal and 48 hours to do whatever the hell you want to do... and all i wanted was be in the woods, like i had been last monday when i took a day off and hiked mt ascutney and was the happiest id been in a long, long time.
so i went to brookline booksmith and took down four books on hiking in the area and pulled up a tiny pink plastic stool in the kids section alongside a little girl who was reading outloud to herself from a book called "fancy nancy" or something wonderful like that.
side note: i crave children these days. in the past ive watched them from afar and marvelled at their creativity, their flexibility, their transparancy of emotion, their ability to make beautiful messes... and been glad they werent mine. but lately, i want to grab one and run. i want to pick them up and smell their sleepy child smell. what is wrong with me? is this hormonal? is this what women talk about when the clock starts ticking? i dont know if i even want to have children, im too scared of what kind of mother id be, but right now i just want a CHILD in my life. i was hiking saturday and this dad and his son came by me and the little boy was just old enough to start navigating sections of the trail on his own, stopping of course to touch/try to eat everything. and he was teetering past me on this narrow trail and he just wordlessly reached out for me to get balance and so i took his chubby little hand and helped him up the rock and then he let go and kept moving. it was amazing, it was like 'youre a big strong adult so give me a hand here,' no fear, no shame, no shyness... i guess all that comes later.
anyway so back to the hiking. i ended up buying this book of 380 hikes in new england and am in love with it. saturday i went to this incredible crazy place, dogtown, on cape ann, and got lost in these creepy boulder strewn woods and then stumbled, mosquito ridden and parched and sunburnt on a quarry which i dove into without a shred of hesitation only to find out later that the guy sunbathing on the rocks on the other side basically owned the quarry and there were no trespassing signs everywhere that id missed. anyway he turned out to be fantastic, we talked for about an hour, he had no problem with nice girls being in his water he just didnt want punk kids jumping of the 40 foot ledges and dying in his water and he told me the history of the quarry and his personal story, how he came to be living in the old quarry house after surviving a brutal divorce and in the end he gave me a drink and drove me the five miles back to my car. it was amazing generosity and kindness when he could have/should have just kicked me out of the water completely. i have great pictures taken from the back of his pick up truck, the coast line streaming by and his dogs ears blowing in the wind, spittle flying.. i was so happy in those moments, did one of those close your eyes and try to ground yourself deeply in the moment becuase soon enough youll be back at a computer on a work day with emails pouring in... (annnnd here i am. amazing how that works.)
the next day i hiked a little mountain near my grandmother, pack monadnock north, which was not a big deal hike but had wild blueberries growing along the way and that was definitely a big deal. thats where i had that enounter with the little boy and i met a nice guy going up when i was heading down and we hung out briefly. hiking seems to bring out the best in everyone.
this really isnt that special, what im doing... but for me, a girl raised by a woman who doesnt talk to strangers and a man who calls the superintendent to change a lightbulb in a ny apartment, this is a radical lifestyle choice. i had a wonderful childhood, blessed, full, but no one ever brought me hiking as a kid. or as an adult. no one told me how trails work, no one taught me to ride a bike. no one considered going for a walk in nature on the weekend. i was inundated with culture and arts and i had the beach in the summer and my barns where i rode and that was wonderful but this is different and i love this. it lights me up... i can do this for the rest of my life! i can just put my finger down and say im going to drive to that place and walk up that big hill... i dont know why but its a mind blowing thing to me.
food is the same way. i can cook anything i want to cook! i can try making ringdings if i want!
I made a sweet dinner for amy last night, actually. or rather, i fed her what my grandmother had sent me home with, which was her special gazpacho and a salad of fresh lettuce from her garden and green and purple (yes PURPLE) peppers and avocado and tomato and carrots and provolone and a piece of halibut i bought on my way home marinated in parsley from my porch and lemon and pepper and shallots and the brownies wed made together and WHOA im living so well right now. how did this happen?
things are changing. im not even sure in what direction or how but i feel it starting underneath me. its coming to the end of august and thats always a heavy time. heavy things happen at the end of august, early september. i think this year will feel especially strange when everyone in my life starts schools and new programs and im still doing what i did, coming up on a year of doing what i do...
im also getting a new roommate on wednesday who i dont know. i do know im going to have to stop being naked all the time. speaking of life style choices.
well see about that.
so i went to brookline booksmith and took down four books on hiking in the area and pulled up a tiny pink plastic stool in the kids section alongside a little girl who was reading outloud to herself from a book called "fancy nancy" or something wonderful like that.
side note: i crave children these days. in the past ive watched them from afar and marvelled at their creativity, their flexibility, their transparancy of emotion, their ability to make beautiful messes... and been glad they werent mine. but lately, i want to grab one and run. i want to pick them up and smell their sleepy child smell. what is wrong with me? is this hormonal? is this what women talk about when the clock starts ticking? i dont know if i even want to have children, im too scared of what kind of mother id be, but right now i just want a CHILD in my life. i was hiking saturday and this dad and his son came by me and the little boy was just old enough to start navigating sections of the trail on his own, stopping of course to touch/try to eat everything. and he was teetering past me on this narrow trail and he just wordlessly reached out for me to get balance and so i took his chubby little hand and helped him up the rock and then he let go and kept moving. it was amazing, it was like 'youre a big strong adult so give me a hand here,' no fear, no shame, no shyness... i guess all that comes later.
anyway so back to the hiking. i ended up buying this book of 380 hikes in new england and am in love with it. saturday i went to this incredible crazy place, dogtown, on cape ann, and got lost in these creepy boulder strewn woods and then stumbled, mosquito ridden and parched and sunburnt on a quarry which i dove into without a shred of hesitation only to find out later that the guy sunbathing on the rocks on the other side basically owned the quarry and there were no trespassing signs everywhere that id missed. anyway he turned out to be fantastic, we talked for about an hour, he had no problem with nice girls being in his water he just didnt want punk kids jumping of the 40 foot ledges and dying in his water and he told me the history of the quarry and his personal story, how he came to be living in the old quarry house after surviving a brutal divorce and in the end he gave me a drink and drove me the five miles back to my car. it was amazing generosity and kindness when he could have/should have just kicked me out of the water completely. i have great pictures taken from the back of his pick up truck, the coast line streaming by and his dogs ears blowing in the wind, spittle flying.. i was so happy in those moments, did one of those close your eyes and try to ground yourself deeply in the moment becuase soon enough youll be back at a computer on a work day with emails pouring in... (annnnd here i am. amazing how that works.)
the next day i hiked a little mountain near my grandmother, pack monadnock north, which was not a big deal hike but had wild blueberries growing along the way and that was definitely a big deal. thats where i had that enounter with the little boy and i met a nice guy going up when i was heading down and we hung out briefly. hiking seems to bring out the best in everyone.
this really isnt that special, what im doing... but for me, a girl raised by a woman who doesnt talk to strangers and a man who calls the superintendent to change a lightbulb in a ny apartment, this is a radical lifestyle choice. i had a wonderful childhood, blessed, full, but no one ever brought me hiking as a kid. or as an adult. no one told me how trails work, no one taught me to ride a bike. no one considered going for a walk in nature on the weekend. i was inundated with culture and arts and i had the beach in the summer and my barns where i rode and that was wonderful but this is different and i love this. it lights me up... i can do this for the rest of my life! i can just put my finger down and say im going to drive to that place and walk up that big hill... i dont know why but its a mind blowing thing to me.
food is the same way. i can cook anything i want to cook! i can try making ringdings if i want!
I made a sweet dinner for amy last night, actually. or rather, i fed her what my grandmother had sent me home with, which was her special gazpacho and a salad of fresh lettuce from her garden and green and purple (yes PURPLE) peppers and avocado and tomato and carrots and provolone and a piece of halibut i bought on my way home marinated in parsley from my porch and lemon and pepper and shallots and the brownies wed made together and WHOA im living so well right now. how did this happen?
things are changing. im not even sure in what direction or how but i feel it starting underneath me. its coming to the end of august and thats always a heavy time. heavy things happen at the end of august, early september. i think this year will feel especially strange when everyone in my life starts schools and new programs and im still doing what i did, coming up on a year of doing what i do...
im also getting a new roommate on wednesday who i dont know. i do know im going to have to stop being naked all the time. speaking of life style choices.
well see about that.
8.14.2009
recap.
so.... bud showed up last night in the middle of an office outing. in boston. with the erics. for those of you who dont know the erics theyre buds best friends and two very sweet, very vermont, very rowdy boys... shit had allready been ridiculous before they arrived but within ten minutes he and torrey were best friends a sharpie had been pulled out and the word vulva was written on a few of my coworkers legs, bud was down in the middle of a boston bar in a full split, torrey was buying rounds of a shot called the red headed slut that is as strong and deadly as it sounds, the erics decided i needed to be escorted down boylston like a princess, torrey suggested that we might just all sleep at the office...
i woke up with the words "pound town" written on me and it may or may not still be there because it hurt too much to twist to try to get it off.
and the thing is, thats all chaos and sounds a lot like some peoples (not my) experience in college, but the difference might be that my stomach hurts more from laughing than it does from the lurching T ride i endured this morning driven by a spastic sadistic and now im sitting at work and where it could have been awkward, instead everyone came in feeling like shit but bursting with stories and calling me dooze and scruffling my hair and giving me hugs and then getting down to work and its not the lifestyle i want forever but for now, right now, i love my crazy life so much i feel like i could cry.
i woke up with the words "pound town" written on me and it may or may not still be there because it hurt too much to twist to try to get it off.
and the thing is, thats all chaos and sounds a lot like some peoples (not my) experience in college, but the difference might be that my stomach hurts more from laughing than it does from the lurching T ride i endured this morning driven by a spastic sadistic and now im sitting at work and where it could have been awkward, instead everyone came in feeling like shit but bursting with stories and calling me dooze and scruffling my hair and giving me hugs and then getting down to work and its not the lifestyle i want forever but for now, right now, i love my crazy life so much i feel like i could cry.
8.13.2009
i feel such love for this person ive never met face to face. it's a completely unique experience. modern pen pals. except he bosses me around.
Chase (2:38:25 PM): REDY!
Chase (2:38:32 PM): aka READY!
daisy (2:38:34 PM): hah well thekla just stepped out for a cigarette
Chase (2:38:40 PM): she smokes!
daisy (2:38:44 PM): ohhh yeah
Chase (2:38:50 PM): lol
Chase (2:38:52 PM): do you smoke?
daisy (2:39:04 PM): not that
Chase (2:39:07 PM): HA!
Chase (2:39:14 PM): I was just saying, I'm not asking about grass
daisy (2:39:18 PM): i went there
daisy (2:39:30 PM): thats real trust
Chase (2:39:32 PM): my boyfriend smokes that stuff
Chase (2:39:39 PM): I can't do it
Chase (2:39:44 PM): makes me laugh and pass out
daisy (2:39:48 PM): well... yeah
Chase (2:39:50 PM): nearly at the same time
Chase (2:40:00 PM): literally I giggle twice and I'm out cold
daisy (2:40:08 PM): i can kind of imagine you and i love it
daisy (2:40:18 PM): i giggle like 23489 times
daisy (2:40:21 PM): and then i pass out
Chase (2:40:32 PM): matt cleans
Chase (2:40:37 PM): which I LOVE
daisy (2:40:40 PM): wow
daisy (2:40:44 PM): not my response.
daisy (2:40:56 PM): i just love everything. and everybody. even plants. and objects. and i often confuse my senses. i say things like "this song smells amazing"
Chase (2:40:59 PM): but once he made me order him all of mcdonalds
Chase (2:41:04 PM): haha
daisy (2:41:06 PM): like. all?
Chase (2:41:18 PM): literally he ordered like 4 different meals
Chase (2:41:28 PM): of course he only got through two things of fried
Chase (2:41:30 PM): *fries
Chase (2:41:38 PM): before passing out on our bed with bags everywhere
Chase (2:41:41 PM): ketchup on his face
Chase (2:41:46 PM): and a big grin while he slept
Chase (2:41:48 PM): no joke
daisy (2:41:51 PM): lovely
daisy (2:41:55 PM): see thats awesome
daisy (2:42:02 PM): drinking doesnt make me happy like that
Chase (2:42:03 PM): I can't do cigarettes though
Chase (2:42:14 PM): the smell of cigarettes give me migraines
daisy (2:42:32 PM): yeah it really grosses me out. my mom smokes so i grew up hanging my head out car windows to get away from it.
Chase (2:42:46 PM): haha
daisy (2:42:59 PM): i dont know how people kiss smokers
Chase (2:43:09 PM): seriously
daisy (2:43:22 PM): ok theklas back im callin
Chase (2:38:32 PM): aka READY!
daisy (2:38:34 PM): hah well thekla just stepped out for a cigarette
Chase (2:38:40 PM): she smokes!
daisy (2:38:44 PM): ohhh yeah
Chase (2:38:50 PM): lol
Chase (2:38:52 PM): do you smoke?
daisy (2:39:04 PM): not that
Chase (2:39:07 PM): HA!
Chase (2:39:14 PM): I was just saying, I'm not asking about grass
daisy (2:39:18 PM): i went there
daisy (2:39:30 PM): thats real trust
Chase (2:39:32 PM): my boyfriend smokes that stuff
Chase (2:39:39 PM): I can't do it
Chase (2:39:44 PM): makes me laugh and pass out
daisy (2:39:48 PM): well... yeah
Chase (2:39:50 PM): nearly at the same time
Chase (2:40:00 PM): literally I giggle twice and I'm out cold
daisy (2:40:08 PM): i can kind of imagine you and i love it
daisy (2:40:18 PM): i giggle like 23489 times
daisy (2:40:21 PM): and then i pass out
Chase (2:40:32 PM): matt cleans
Chase (2:40:37 PM): which I LOVE
daisy (2:40:40 PM): wow
daisy (2:40:44 PM): not my response.
daisy (2:40:56 PM): i just love everything. and everybody. even plants. and objects. and i often confuse my senses. i say things like "this song smells amazing"
Chase (2:40:59 PM): but once he made me order him all of mcdonalds
Chase (2:41:04 PM): haha
daisy (2:41:06 PM): like. all?
Chase (2:41:18 PM): literally he ordered like 4 different meals
Chase (2:41:28 PM): of course he only got through two things of fried
Chase (2:41:30 PM): *fries
Chase (2:41:38 PM): before passing out on our bed with bags everywhere
Chase (2:41:41 PM): ketchup on his face
Chase (2:41:46 PM): and a big grin while he slept
Chase (2:41:48 PM): no joke
daisy (2:41:51 PM): lovely
daisy (2:41:55 PM): see thats awesome
daisy (2:42:02 PM): drinking doesnt make me happy like that
Chase (2:42:03 PM): I can't do cigarettes though
Chase (2:42:14 PM): the smell of cigarettes give me migraines
daisy (2:42:32 PM): yeah it really grosses me out. my mom smokes so i grew up hanging my head out car windows to get away from it.
Chase (2:42:46 PM): haha
daisy (2:42:59 PM): i dont know how people kiss smokers
Chase (2:43:09 PM): seriously
daisy (2:43:22 PM): ok theklas back im callin
8.12.2009
song-poem double whammy, loving the feeling of both
alone by toby lightman
and
tiresias by alison stine:
The black snake is dead in the road.
In the rising bands of heat, his head
is gone, or nearly, his body divided
by the flat print of tire. Already
the birds. I have left you and we are
running. What you will remember:
how the small chameleons broke
in my clasp, blood opening like an iris
as they fled the screen porch, shedding
cells, a slender tail. What you take
with you now is what you know of me.
Know everything. Know I never told you
because I wanted you to love me.
When you came upon your parents
in the drawn shade, the nest of their limbs
in love confused you. You stumbled out
onto the porch, waking the wasps beneath
the boards. They lit your ankle in a shower
of sparks, humming, tipped with gold.
I know the scar like a story. Tiresias
loved as a man and woman. What was left
for him but blindness? I don’t know
what has killed the snake as I don’t know
why I killed so many, or tried to,
or thought I did. I let the scavengers
take what they can. I am learning
nothing has a sex. I am learning whomever
we love, we are left this way, halved.
and
tiresias by alison stine:
The black snake is dead in the road.
In the rising bands of heat, his head
is gone, or nearly, his body divided
by the flat print of tire. Already
the birds. I have left you and we are
running. What you will remember:
how the small chameleons broke
in my clasp, blood opening like an iris
as they fled the screen porch, shedding
cells, a slender tail. What you take
with you now is what you know of me.
Know everything. Know I never told you
because I wanted you to love me.
When you came upon your parents
in the drawn shade, the nest of their limbs
in love confused you. You stumbled out
onto the porch, waking the wasps beneath
the boards. They lit your ankle in a shower
of sparks, humming, tipped with gold.
I know the scar like a story. Tiresias
loved as a man and woman. What was left
for him but blindness? I don’t know
what has killed the snake as I don’t know
why I killed so many, or tried to,
or thought I did. I let the scavengers
take what they can. I am learning
nothing has a sex. I am learning whomever
we love, we are left this way, halved.
my boss's reaction to the poem she had me write for her wedding. also just an amazing conversation that made me laugh and cry.
(and no, her AIM name is not "boss," i do a search and destroy on her and all names so no one can google themselves and come up with my blog. some things will still get me fired. and i suppose, for now, thats a bad thing. in the meantime, i love this scary wonderful woman.)
boss(4:36:14 PM): i love how people think your actual name includes Dooze
boss (4:36:18 PM): hilarious
daisy(4:38:14 PM): i KNOW im on a call and was laughing into the phone when i got that.
daisy (4:38:20 PM): god they must think my parents are cruel.
daisy (4:38:22 PM): cruel hippies
boss (4:38:23 PM): too awesome
boss (4:38:31 PM): Daisy dooze
boss (4:38:36 PM): it should be hypenated at this point
daisy (4:38:55 PM): well its funny because my mom always called me daisy-doodle.
boss (4:39:01 PM): um...
boss (4:39:08 PM): does she know of the modern update?
daisy (4:39:31 PM): dooze 2.0
boss(4:40:33 PM): gross...but true
daisy (4:40:57 PM): btw thanks for your thank you note for the poem. i love danni's response. you guys are like one brain.
boss (4:41:29 PM): he's serious abotu the royalties bit. and hes a lawyer- he will sue
daisy (4:41:52 PM): ahahahah
boss (4:41:52 PM): and are you calling us money hungry?
boss (4:41:55 PM): cuz we are
boss (4:41:58 PM): HOLLLLLLLLLLER
daisy (4:42:06 PM): awesome.
daisy (4:42:30 PM): lord. these people on the other line think im dying of the plague i keep trying to turn the laughter into a cough.
boss (4:42:53 PM): if they ask, tell them you are laughing at their inane conversation
daisy (4:43:19 PM): too true, too true.
daisy (4:44:13 PM): theyre telling me and chase that its not PRs job to secure speaking opps. that its all marketing and we should back off. and people keep popping onto the call to back up various sides of the fight. gettin ugly.
boss (4:44:27 PM): can I jump in?
daisy (4:44:37 PM): come in swingin. 'LISTEN BITCHES'
daisy (4:44:40 PM): no intro
boss (4:44:47 PM): no intro needed
daisy (4:44:53 PM): obvi
boss (4:45:28 PM): "excuse me, but who from marketing is on this call? Great, I will direct my comments to you specifically..." that's how I would open
daisy (4:46:01 PM): and then "booyah"
daisy (4:46:03 PM): thats how you would close
boss (4:46:17 PM): I would close by yelling that and dropping the phone onto the floor
boss (4:46:24 PM): and running away yelling bitches
boss (4:46:41 PM): wow. the rap is getting to me
daisy (4:46:57 PM): AHHa. what rap?
boss (4:47:15 PM): right now it's Tribe Called Quest
daisy (4:47:21 PM): thats good stuff!
boss(4:47:27 PM): and Pharcyde
boss (4:47:28 PM): my fav
daisy (4:47:28 PM): its making you aggressive?
boss(4:47:35 PM): nah- making me badass
boss (4:47:38 PM): always aggressive
daisy (4:47:47 PM): right. truth.
daisy (4:47:41 PM): wow torrey, i thought you were a rock kinda girl.
boss(4:47:47 PM): dued
daisy (4:47:53 PM): yes dued?
boss (4:48:28 PM): favorite groups (for right now) - Led Zeppelin, Tribe, Stones
boss (4:48:37 PM): if I could only listen to 3 bands for the rest of my life
boss (4:49:14 PM): but if I were to extend that to 10, you would see reggae, more rap and alternative/indie
daisy(4:49:44 PM): nice!
daisy (4:50:02 PM): right now for me, its william fitzsimmons kings of leon and the national.
daisy (4:50:17 PM): and im going to see the kings in sept. and im all itchy thinking about it.
daisy (4:50:24 PM): and i love reggae.
daisy (4:50:30 PM): and, if im honest, reggaeton.
boss (4:50:34 PM): ha ha
daisy (4:50:35 PM): but thats my dark secret
boss (4:50:37 PM): hilarious
boss (4:50:55 PM): dooze i just reread the poem- CHILLS. you're unreal
daisy (4:52:14 PM): this makes me so happy.
daisy (4:52:26 PM): AIM doesnt really do justice to how happy your satisfaction with the poem makes me.
boss (4:52:35 PM): it's going right before our vows
boss (4:52:38 PM): MAJOR
daisy (4:52:40 PM): oh brother.
daisy (4:52:48 PM): im honored.
boss (4:53:16 PM): sorry, it's directly after the vows, right before the ring exchange....
boss (4:53:17 PM): SICK
daisy (4:53:25 PM): WHOA
boss (4:53:29 PM): oh yeah
daisy (4:54:02 PM): i dont know what to say. eee!?
daisy (4:54:12 PM): who's reading?
boss (4:54:15 PM): not sure yet
boss (4:54:20 PM): I have 3 readings
boss (4:54:25 PM): two poems
boss (4:54:28 PM): and an Irish blessing
daisy(4:54:32 PM): oh lovely...
daisy (4:54:42 PM): whats the other poem, can i know?
boss (4:55:12 PM): you are in good company...
boss (4:55:14 PM): Pablo Neruda
daisy (4:55:34 PM): *fainting*
boss (4:55:39 PM):
When I die, I want your hands on my eyes:
I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands
To pass their freshness over me once more:
I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.
I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep.
I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you
To sniff the sea’s aroma that we loved together;
To continue to walk on the sand we walk on.
I want what I love to continue to live,
And you whom I love and sang above everything else
To continue to flourish, full-flowered:
So that you can reach everything my love directs you to,
So that my shadow can travel along in your hair,
So that everything can learn the reason for my song.
boss (4:56:09 PM): good?
daisy (4:56:42 PM): ugh that poem is fire
boss(4:56:49 PM): fire?
daisy(4:56:52 PM): its perfect
boss(4:56:55 PM): phew
boss (4:56:57 PM): just freaked out
daisy (4:56:58 PM): its an element
boss (4:57:01 PM): ah! yes! haha
daisy (4:57:03 PM): its amazing
daisy (4:57:45 PM): ive read it before but when it comes from one person to another in the context of a wedding its really just... oh im bursting with poetic joy.
daisy (4:57:48 PM): poetry is awesome.
boss (4:57:52 PM): YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!
boss (4:57:58 PM): and it will open the ceremony
boss (4:58:03 PM): set the tone
daisy (4:58:07 PM): nice
boss (4:59:50 PM): just re-read my vows and started to tear up
daisy (5:01:14 PM): wow. i think that must be the most difficult/beautiful part... start to finish. the writing, the reading, the hearing.
boss (5:01:34 PM): i made it really simple, but very real- like us
daisy (5:10:46 PM): lovely. you guys are threatening to restore my faith in marriage. both the ceremony and the concept. and thats saying a lot from me.
boss (5:10:57 PM): nugget! you just made my day.
boss(4:36:14 PM): i love how people think your actual name includes Dooze
boss (4:36:18 PM): hilarious
daisy(4:38:14 PM): i KNOW im on a call and was laughing into the phone when i got that.
daisy (4:38:20 PM): god they must think my parents are cruel.
daisy (4:38:22 PM): cruel hippies
boss (4:38:23 PM): too awesome
boss (4:38:31 PM): Daisy dooze
boss (4:38:36 PM): it should be hypenated at this point
daisy (4:38:55 PM): well its funny because my mom always called me daisy-doodle.
boss (4:39:01 PM): um...
boss (4:39:08 PM): does she know of the modern update?
daisy (4:39:31 PM): dooze 2.0
boss(4:40:33 PM): gross...but true
daisy (4:40:57 PM): btw thanks for your thank you note for the poem. i love danni's response. you guys are like one brain.
boss (4:41:29 PM): he's serious abotu the royalties bit. and hes a lawyer- he will sue
daisy (4:41:52 PM): ahahahah
boss (4:41:52 PM): and are you calling us money hungry?
boss (4:41:55 PM): cuz we are
boss (4:41:58 PM): HOLLLLLLLLLLER
daisy (4:42:06 PM): awesome.
daisy (4:42:30 PM): lord. these people on the other line think im dying of the plague i keep trying to turn the laughter into a cough.
boss (4:42:53 PM): if they ask, tell them you are laughing at their inane conversation
daisy (4:43:19 PM): too true, too true.
daisy (4:44:13 PM): theyre telling me and chase that its not PRs job to secure speaking opps. that its all marketing and we should back off. and people keep popping onto the call to back up various sides of the fight. gettin ugly.
boss (4:44:27 PM): can I jump in?
daisy (4:44:37 PM): come in swingin. 'LISTEN BITCHES'
daisy (4:44:40 PM): no intro
boss (4:44:47 PM): no intro needed
daisy (4:44:53 PM): obvi
boss (4:45:28 PM): "excuse me, but who from marketing is on this call? Great, I will direct my comments to you specifically..." that's how I would open
daisy (4:46:01 PM): and then "booyah"
daisy (4:46:03 PM): thats how you would close
boss (4:46:17 PM): I would close by yelling that and dropping the phone onto the floor
boss (4:46:24 PM): and running away yelling bitches
boss (4:46:41 PM): wow. the rap is getting to me
daisy (4:46:57 PM): AHHa. what rap?
boss (4:47:15 PM): right now it's Tribe Called Quest
daisy (4:47:21 PM): thats good stuff!
boss(4:47:27 PM): and Pharcyde
boss (4:47:28 PM): my fav
daisy (4:47:28 PM): its making you aggressive?
boss(4:47:35 PM): nah- making me badass
boss (4:47:38 PM): always aggressive
daisy (4:47:47 PM): right. truth.
daisy (4:47:41 PM): wow torrey, i thought you were a rock kinda girl.
boss(4:47:47 PM): dued
daisy (4:47:53 PM): yes dued?
boss (4:48:28 PM): favorite groups (for right now) - Led Zeppelin, Tribe, Stones
boss (4:48:37 PM): if I could only listen to 3 bands for the rest of my life
boss (4:49:14 PM): but if I were to extend that to 10, you would see reggae, more rap and alternative/indie
daisy(4:49:44 PM): nice!
daisy (4:50:02 PM): right now for me, its william fitzsimmons kings of leon and the national.
daisy (4:50:17 PM): and im going to see the kings in sept. and im all itchy thinking about it.
daisy (4:50:24 PM): and i love reggae.
daisy (4:50:30 PM): and, if im honest, reggaeton.
boss (4:50:34 PM): ha ha
daisy (4:50:35 PM): but thats my dark secret
boss (4:50:37 PM): hilarious
boss (4:50:55 PM): dooze i just reread the poem- CHILLS. you're unreal
daisy (4:52:14 PM): this makes me so happy.
daisy (4:52:26 PM): AIM doesnt really do justice to how happy your satisfaction with the poem makes me.
boss (4:52:35 PM): it's going right before our vows
boss (4:52:38 PM): MAJOR
daisy (4:52:40 PM): oh brother.
daisy (4:52:48 PM): im honored.
boss (4:53:16 PM): sorry, it's directly after the vows, right before the ring exchange....
boss (4:53:17 PM): SICK
daisy (4:53:25 PM): WHOA
boss (4:53:29 PM): oh yeah
daisy (4:54:02 PM): i dont know what to say. eee!?
daisy (4:54:12 PM): who's reading?
boss (4:54:15 PM): not sure yet
boss (4:54:20 PM): I have 3 readings
boss (4:54:25 PM): two poems
boss (4:54:28 PM): and an Irish blessing
daisy(4:54:32 PM): oh lovely...
daisy (4:54:42 PM): whats the other poem, can i know?
boss (4:55:12 PM): you are in good company...
boss (4:55:14 PM): Pablo Neruda
daisy (4:55:34 PM): *fainting*
boss (4:55:39 PM):
When I die, I want your hands on my eyes:
I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands
To pass their freshness over me once more:
I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.
I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep.
I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you
To sniff the sea’s aroma that we loved together;
To continue to walk on the sand we walk on.
I want what I love to continue to live,
And you whom I love and sang above everything else
To continue to flourish, full-flowered:
So that you can reach everything my love directs you to,
So that my shadow can travel along in your hair,
So that everything can learn the reason for my song.
boss (4:56:09 PM): good?
daisy (4:56:42 PM): ugh that poem is fire
boss(4:56:49 PM): fire?
daisy(4:56:52 PM): its perfect
boss(4:56:55 PM): phew
boss (4:56:57 PM): just freaked out
daisy (4:56:58 PM): its an element
boss (4:57:01 PM): ah! yes! haha
daisy (4:57:03 PM): its amazing
daisy (4:57:45 PM): ive read it before but when it comes from one person to another in the context of a wedding its really just... oh im bursting with poetic joy.
daisy (4:57:48 PM): poetry is awesome.
boss (4:57:52 PM): YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!
boss (4:57:58 PM): and it will open the ceremony
boss (4:58:03 PM): set the tone
daisy (4:58:07 PM): nice
boss (4:59:50 PM): just re-read my vows and started to tear up
daisy (5:01:14 PM): wow. i think that must be the most difficult/beautiful part... start to finish. the writing, the reading, the hearing.
boss (5:01:34 PM): i made it really simple, but very real- like us
daisy (5:10:46 PM): lovely. you guys are threatening to restore my faith in marriage. both the ceremony and the concept. and thats saying a lot from me.
boss (5:10:57 PM): nugget! you just made my day.
8.11.2009
ok tuesday, youve made your point. you can end now.
daisy(7:18:18 PM): got it.
chase (7:18:24 PM): You rock
daisy(7:18:47 PM): oof.
Chase (7:19:07 PM): oof?
Chase (7:19:12 PM): is that German?
daisy (7:19:19 PM): german for 'if you say so'.
daisy (7:19:20 PM): i dont feel so rocky.
daisy (7:19:48 PM): i think its the 'air' in this office. and i put that in quotes for a reason.
chase (7:20:05 PM): you should come visit the LA office
chase (7:20:13 PM): we're all sunshine and cupcakes
daisy (7:20:54 PM): we're all techies who eat fish ass for lunch and stale circulated b.o infused toxic fumes
daisy (7:21:04 PM): so pretty much the same as you guys.
chase (7:21:31 PM): sounds like a nice set up you got going there
daisy (7:21:40 PM): i know, right?
daisy (7:22:09 PM): im usually not so negative. but i really did just come down off a mountain yesterday and my bodys very angry with me right now for being in the seated position for the last 12 hours.
chase (7:22:27 PM): where did you go hiking?
daisy (7:22:46 PM): mt. ascutney. it was glorious.
chase (7:23:28 PM): that reminds me I watched medical miracles last night where this girl was coming down a moutain with some group from school and 12ft boulder broke loose and rolled down the mountain gaining speed
chase (7:23:36 PM): it hit her and she flew 40 ft!
daisy (7:23:55 PM): ....
daisy (7:24:04 PM): AWESOME
daisy (7:24:06 PM): ?
chase (7:24:14 PM): broke every major bone in her body and the group had to carry her down 2000 feet to a lower elevation where a resecue helicopter could get her
chase (7:24:16 PM): 4 hours later
chase (7:24:27 PM): she woke up 2 months later in a hosiptal. doesn't remember a thing
daisy (7:24:37 PM): like a thing about the fall or a thing about a thing
chase (7:24:46 PM): about the fall. lol
chase (7:24:51 PM): I just laughed out loud
chase (7:25:13 PM): don't be that girl.
daisy (7:25:15 PM): ...thanks chase. i wont forget that helpful advice
chase (7:25:16 PM): no prob. ive got your back.
daisy (7:25:44 PM): ill be sure to think of you as a boulder is hurtling towards me at break neck speed.
chase (7:25:47 PM): thats right. and do what i'd do. just palm that mother effer right out of your way.
chase (7:25:49 PM): just HUH. RAGHHHHHHHHHH!
daisy (7:25:53 PM): im guessing thats the sound of you palming a boulder?
chase (7:25:57 PM): precisely.
chase (7:18:24 PM): You rock
daisy(7:18:47 PM): oof.
Chase (7:19:07 PM): oof?
Chase (7:19:12 PM): is that German?
daisy (7:19:19 PM): german for 'if you say so'.
daisy (7:19:20 PM): i dont feel so rocky.
daisy (7:19:48 PM): i think its the 'air' in this office. and i put that in quotes for a reason.
chase (7:20:05 PM): you should come visit the LA office
chase (7:20:13 PM): we're all sunshine and cupcakes
daisy (7:20:54 PM): we're all techies who eat fish ass for lunch and stale circulated b.o infused toxic fumes
daisy (7:21:04 PM): so pretty much the same as you guys.
chase (7:21:31 PM): sounds like a nice set up you got going there
daisy (7:21:40 PM): i know, right?
daisy (7:22:09 PM): im usually not so negative. but i really did just come down off a mountain yesterday and my bodys very angry with me right now for being in the seated position for the last 12 hours.
chase (7:22:27 PM): where did you go hiking?
daisy (7:22:46 PM): mt. ascutney. it was glorious.
chase (7:23:28 PM): that reminds me I watched medical miracles last night where this girl was coming down a moutain with some group from school and 12ft boulder broke loose and rolled down the mountain gaining speed
chase (7:23:36 PM): it hit her and she flew 40 ft!
daisy (7:23:55 PM): ....
daisy (7:24:04 PM): AWESOME
daisy (7:24:06 PM): ?
chase (7:24:14 PM): broke every major bone in her body and the group had to carry her down 2000 feet to a lower elevation where a resecue helicopter could get her
chase (7:24:16 PM): 4 hours later
chase (7:24:27 PM): she woke up 2 months later in a hosiptal. doesn't remember a thing
daisy (7:24:37 PM): like a thing about the fall or a thing about a thing
chase (7:24:46 PM): about the fall. lol
chase (7:24:51 PM): I just laughed out loud
chase (7:25:13 PM): don't be that girl.
daisy (7:25:15 PM): ...thanks chase. i wont forget that helpful advice
chase (7:25:16 PM): no prob. ive got your back.
daisy (7:25:44 PM): ill be sure to think of you as a boulder is hurtling towards me at break neck speed.
chase (7:25:47 PM): thats right. and do what i'd do. just palm that mother effer right out of your way.
chase (7:25:49 PM): just HUH. RAGHHHHHHHHHH!
daisy (7:25:53 PM): im guessing thats the sound of you palming a boulder?
chase (7:25:57 PM): precisely.
8.05.2009
draft 2
considering the lengths of two arms swinging in space
it is no small accomplishment to catch and hold a hand
no wonder that we fumble sometimes
reaching for each other as we hurtle forward
or have to pull apart to wipe away what forms
between two pulsing and imperfect beings
but they can seem designed to come together
palm over palm or fingers laced
recalling churches that we made as children
the steeple and all of the people
those ever-patient witnesses
considering the colors of a sunset
not surprising you still struggle to find words that do it justice
maybe you're not even sure whether its end of day
or beginning of night
but either way the woven edge of light
will continue to fray into darkness
what matters is you both see beauty perched on the horizon
and are speechless except to ask aloud
do you see this?
and hear back always
I do.
it is no small accomplishment to catch and hold a hand
no wonder that we fumble sometimes
reaching for each other as we hurtle forward
or have to pull apart to wipe away what forms
between two pulsing and imperfect beings
but they can seem designed to come together
palm over palm or fingers laced
recalling churches that we made as children
the steeple and all of the people
those ever-patient witnesses
considering the colors of a sunset
not surprising you still struggle to find words that do it justice
maybe you're not even sure whether its end of day
or beginning of night
but either way the woven edge of light
will continue to fray into darkness
what matters is you both see beauty perched on the horizon
and are speechless except to ask aloud
do you see this?
and hear back always
I do.
ugh theres something wrong with the first stanza of torreys poem and i cant figure out what
im very tired today. and discouraged with my mottled brain. i want to be alone in the woods for a month eating bark and berries and raw rabbit so i can repair the cut wires between my heart and my mind.
8.04.2009
torreys wedding poem written in the dark on my porch naked holding my breath not even scratching a bug bite for fear of losing the thread
maybe you’re still finding the limits of your love
tracing what you think might be its hard perimeter
the way you still feel for eachothers edges
sometimes losing track of where one ends and the other begins
perhaps you’re still afraid of somehow slipping off
but it only matters that you laugh at yourselves later
at how you tapped a toe out blindly in each direction
only to find there was no wall no step no trap
a house of endless open rooms of light
maybe you’re still finding the best way to hold hands
considering the lengths of two arms swinging forward through space
is it palm to palm or fingers laced
perhaps sometimes in reaching for each other you will fumble
or have to pull apart to wipe away what forms
between two pulsing and imperfect beings
but it only matters that you’re patient
with the dance of hands until they find a way to fit together
let them recall the churches that you made as children
the steeple and all of the people
ever patiently waiting in witness
maybe you're still finding the right words to describe a sunset
perhaps you don’t even agree whether its end of day
or beginning of night
but either way the woven edge of light
will continue to fray into darkness
what matters is that you both see beauty perched on the horizon
and are speechless except to ask aloud
do you see this?
and hear back always
I do.
tracing what you think might be its hard perimeter
the way you still feel for eachothers edges
sometimes losing track of where one ends and the other begins
perhaps you’re still afraid of somehow slipping off
but it only matters that you laugh at yourselves later
at how you tapped a toe out blindly in each direction
only to find there was no wall no step no trap
a house of endless open rooms of light
maybe you’re still finding the best way to hold hands
considering the lengths of two arms swinging forward through space
is it palm to palm or fingers laced
perhaps sometimes in reaching for each other you will fumble
or have to pull apart to wipe away what forms
between two pulsing and imperfect beings
but it only matters that you’re patient
with the dance of hands until they find a way to fit together
let them recall the churches that you made as children
the steeple and all of the people
ever patiently waiting in witness
maybe you're still finding the right words to describe a sunset
perhaps you don’t even agree whether its end of day
or beginning of night
but either way the woven edge of light
will continue to fray into darkness
what matters is that you both see beauty perched on the horizon
and are speechless except to ask aloud
do you see this?
and hear back always
I do.
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