Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Please stop
Please stop telling me where I should learn and what I should study. Please stop telling me about places I have been before. Please stop telling me what you think is good for me when I have not asked you. I have a mouth and I am sure that after 24 years of life I know how to use it. Please stop recommending and recommending. Please stop worrying. Please stop telling me what I should do with my free time that is hardly free anymore. Please stop telling me about what it means to be busy. Please stop listening to your ego and start listening to mine. Please stop making me feel bad for letting my ego get the best of me. Please stop making me feel like I am talking to a brick wall at times. Please stop turning into someone you were not. Please stop turning me into someone I'm not by imposing your expectations. Please stop telling me what I would enjoy. Please stop telling me what I need. Please stop telling me about where I should live. Please stop telling me about a place I actually live and breathe in. Please stop. Just please. Stop.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
The Ex Files Part 2
I love the weekend. In fact now I think I live for it. Something to be excited for as long as I don't build up expectations that can't be met. But this weekend was nice. Kinda rainy, kinda wet, sometimes sunny, a little warm, a little cold, a little funny.
Like all good things, the weekend too must come to an end. After 2 cups of coffee, a conversation with my mom, and some 1 AM article-writing, it was time for my head to hit the pillow. With great difficulty (due to the coffee-chugging) I finally fell asleep only to realize that it would last momentarily. Soon after I dozed off, it was time to be visited by a ghost of my past again.
Somewhere I lay in that hazy spot between sleep dreaming and awake reality. My eyes wide open, I saw his head floating just underneath the covers - staring at me, saying nothing. With fear I tried to communicate telepathically - what are you doing here? Why? But nothing. Just that same stare that got to me. In my dreamstate my hand tried to touch his face but instead just went through it, making it blurry. In reality I was in a state of paralysis, my arm unable to move.
I don't know if I actually woke up at any point or just moved on to another dream. But I do wonder if on nights like these he dreams about me too. If our dream versions are transported, and if they ever cross paths on their way to returning to their rightful owners. If they regret and apologize for what they have done and try to right their wrongs.
Like all good things, the weekend too must come to an end. After 2 cups of coffee, a conversation with my mom, and some 1 AM article-writing, it was time for my head to hit the pillow. With great difficulty (due to the coffee-chugging) I finally fell asleep only to realize that it would last momentarily. Soon after I dozed off, it was time to be visited by a ghost of my past again.
Somewhere I lay in that hazy spot between sleep dreaming and awake reality. My eyes wide open, I saw his head floating just underneath the covers - staring at me, saying nothing. With fear I tried to communicate telepathically - what are you doing here? Why? But nothing. Just that same stare that got to me. In my dreamstate my hand tried to touch his face but instead just went through it, making it blurry. In reality I was in a state of paralysis, my arm unable to move.
I don't know if I actually woke up at any point or just moved on to another dream. But I do wonder if on nights like these he dreams about me too. If our dream versions are transported, and if they ever cross paths on their way to returning to their rightful owners. If they regret and apologize for what they have done and try to right their wrongs.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The Ex Files
Last night was an episode of the Ex Files of the worst kind. Two (2!) exes in one (1!) dream. Well now I've truly outdone myself. The dream involved a wedding or two - I'm not very sure if it was my wedding to someone I have never met before or my ex's wedding or a friend of his or maybe all of the above. My chatan was an older Persian man I had no interest in, but who gave me an engagement ring and put it on my left middle finger, and another ring that had a diamond in it and two black (onyx?) hearts one next to the other on my right hand. The whole time there was some underlying longing for Ex #1. Big surprise.
The next section of the dream was in someone's apartment. We were eating with the food on the kitchen table while everyone else was in the living room. Sheva brachot? Ex #1 was in the living room (wearing a black kippa) and not saying anything. Ex #2 was in the kitchen when I went in to get something, looking about 10 - 15 lbs. lighter, with shorter hair and his face was red. This could have been from anger, because he was mad at someone I think over a money issue. But when I walked in and first saw him, I greeted him with a "hi sunburn!" and a big smile. I didn't like seeing his temper in my dream, it made me feel uncomfortable.
At least I didn't wake up with a stir, just rather slowly and with great confusion. Like why all the wedding talk and the ex's. I blame it on the conversation of the previous day, or my current state of mind.
The good news is that I got tucked in last night by my new bff who made me hot chocolate this morning. He's so bless! The other good news is that after a planned trip to the gym (I hope I carry through) and a nice hot shower we get to go out dancing tonight! I can't wait to dance on a bar and be sober enough to not fall off. And of course end the evening with glorious Magic Burger :) I love the weekend.
The next section of the dream was in someone's apartment. We were eating with the food on the kitchen table while everyone else was in the living room. Sheva brachot? Ex #1 was in the living room (wearing a black kippa) and not saying anything. Ex #2 was in the kitchen when I went in to get something, looking about 10 - 15 lbs. lighter, with shorter hair and his face was red. This could have been from anger, because he was mad at someone I think over a money issue. But when I walked in and first saw him, I greeted him with a "hi sunburn!" and a big smile. I didn't like seeing his temper in my dream, it made me feel uncomfortable.
At least I didn't wake up with a stir, just rather slowly and with great confusion. Like why all the wedding talk and the ex's. I blame it on the conversation of the previous day, or my current state of mind.
The good news is that I got tucked in last night by my new bff who made me hot chocolate this morning. He's so bless! The other good news is that after a planned trip to the gym (I hope I carry through) and a nice hot shower we get to go out dancing tonight! I can't wait to dance on a bar and be sober enough to not fall off. And of course end the evening with glorious Magic Burger :) I love the weekend.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Mornin'
Because I don't know how to say "no," I went to visit the jazzmen last night. After only getting 3 or 4 hours of sleep post-poetry, my state of exhaustion was the cause of my lack of energy although I was still just as excited on the inside. There's a new trumpet player in town who reminds me of the trumpet version of my 16-yr old looking saxophonist. If only I were a pedophile (syke!).
I think I have a problem, because this morning I sacrificed an extra hour of sleep to go to the gym. My body is sore but I am still determined to look how I did a year ago.
I got out of bed in slow motion, put on my very sexy gym clothes (sweats), got my sneakers on and headed out the door. Feeling like I was back in high school on a cold morning when I could only stand to talk to one person at a time, I put my hood on over my head, my ipod playing something not too mellow but not too mizrachi - in fact it was playing "People are Strange" (how appropriate), with a partzoof that said "don't even think about making eye contact with me" and off I went to the gym.
In the 5 minute walk to gym I recognized a homeless women I first saw 5 months ago and even photographed at Nachlat Binyamin. I don't know if it's because of the booze (I'm not stereotyping, I'm talking from what I've seen) or something else, but she now has the most swollen face I've ever seen. Sometimes I feel so helpless in this city. Would she even take my help if I offered it? What would she want? What would she need? Here at my desk I envision the two of us taking swigs out of a wine bottle, chilling on a bench that lines Ben Tzion, laughing about how we have it better than the rest of the world.
I wake up from my day dream and realize there is much work and writing to be done.
I think I have a problem, because this morning I sacrificed an extra hour of sleep to go to the gym. My body is sore but I am still determined to look how I did a year ago.
I got out of bed in slow motion, put on my very sexy gym clothes (sweats), got my sneakers on and headed out the door. Feeling like I was back in high school on a cold morning when I could only stand to talk to one person at a time, I put my hood on over my head, my ipod playing something not too mellow but not too mizrachi - in fact it was playing "People are Strange" (how appropriate), with a partzoof that said "don't even think about making eye contact with me" and off I went to the gym.
In the 5 minute walk to gym I recognized a homeless women I first saw 5 months ago and even photographed at Nachlat Binyamin. I don't know if it's because of the booze (I'm not stereotyping, I'm talking from what I've seen) or something else, but she now has the most swollen face I've ever seen. Sometimes I feel so helpless in this city. Would she even take my help if I offered it? What would she want? What would she need? Here at my desk I envision the two of us taking swigs out of a wine bottle, chilling on a bench that lines Ben Tzion, laughing about how we have it better than the rest of the world.
I wake up from my day dream and realize there is much work and writing to be done.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Spoken word swirl Sunday topped with eclectic music
Last night poetry swirled through my head, starting from before the open mic began all the way through my sleep. In my dreams, I saw the faces of poets, heard their words, hopped from reading to reading in order to support my peers. I couldn't tell if I was awake or dreaming as I lay somewhere in a state in between. I think I tossed and turned last night in a whirl as I left one venue and suddenly arrived at the next. When I awoke this morning, I think I was still dreaming.
I now know why I can only have these open mics bi-weekly. They make me nervous and antsy and afterwards I'm in a blissful state of exhaustion and satisfaction. These days I feel like I've accomplished something, even if it's not my career. I just wish the folks back home were around to see it.
I now know why I can only have these open mics bi-weekly. They make me nervous and antsy and afterwards I'm in a blissful state of exhaustion and satisfaction. These days I feel like I've accomplished something, even if it's not my career. I just wish the folks back home were around to see it.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Tonight's the night tonight's the night tonight's the night
After returning from a Jerusalem state of mind, I awoke somewhat drunk, somewhat hungover, very much in a rush, and somewhat nervous about tonight.
Without feeding into my ego too much, I am proud of myself for not only the simple beauty of being in this country which I love and hate a little more each day, but for finding a void and then filling it. I've got my regular gigs that help keep my sanity (or the little bit of it I have). Open mic night that allows me to pretend even for just a couple of hours that I am back in NYC. Jazz nights that make me feel like I am Dean Moriarty as a 5 year old. Killing bottles of wine with awe-inspiring friends, many of whom have become my heroines in a way. Mothers, sisters, friends, role-models...just don't tell them I said that. I hope my friends here and in the States know just how much I love them and how much they mean to me. I guess that something I learned a long time ago from a wise lion is that it's all good all the time. And you know what? It is.
I won't lie, I have my "regrets" like we all do. Those little mistakes I once made that I believe I would take back if I could turn the hands of time. But I'm here now because of those decisions I made. And all in all, I think it's a pretty fulfilling life.
So tonight I get to play with the butterflies in my stomach, open my mouth at the mic and allow them to fly out into the crowd. I hope that they are as beautiful as I believe them to be.
Without feeding into my ego too much, I am proud of myself for not only the simple beauty of being in this country which I love and hate a little more each day, but for finding a void and then filling it. I've got my regular gigs that help keep my sanity (or the little bit of it I have). Open mic night that allows me to pretend even for just a couple of hours that I am back in NYC. Jazz nights that make me feel like I am Dean Moriarty as a 5 year old. Killing bottles of wine with awe-inspiring friends, many of whom have become my heroines in a way. Mothers, sisters, friends, role-models...just don't tell them I said that. I hope my friends here and in the States know just how much I love them and how much they mean to me. I guess that something I learned a long time ago from a wise lion is that it's all good all the time. And you know what? It is.
I won't lie, I have my "regrets" like we all do. Those little mistakes I once made that I believe I would take back if I could turn the hands of time. But I'm here now because of those decisions I made. And all in all, I think it's a pretty fulfilling life.
So tonight I get to play with the butterflies in my stomach, open my mouth at the mic and allow them to fly out into the crowd. I hope that they are as beautiful as I believe them to be.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Bad dreams and poetry scenes
The bad dreams came back last night. Maybe it was from the wine or the need for my body to branch out in my bed. Maybe it was sleeping with the window open. Whatever it was, I awoke twice last night shaken by my dreams. I don't know why I allow my subconscious to get to me. I often am aware that I'm dreaming and therefore am usually interested in seeing how it plays out. But not when there are random men running in allies and I become frightened by that and then one starts running in my direction. Or when I am visited by ghosts of my past. Demons lurk in every corner of my mind and appear when I let my guard down. Chalom tov, chalom shalom is all that I can say. Hopefully I'll be able to shake this feeling and start the week off on a good foot. Well, I pretty much did. I got to have a perfect lazy American Sunday consisting of the beach, hanging out with friends, and a rooftop BBQ with a good wine buzz. Nothing could be more delicious.
I also realized a few things about myself. One being that I appear to be regressing at times, reminding myself of the me I was at different stages of life years ago. I hope that I can find a nice balance and combine the best.
I also realized that I don't think I can be with someone who doesn't inspire me to write. I mean, what's the point really if I can laugh but don't have the urge to write about the way my smile reflects in his eyes? Is it crazy to think that I could never be satisfied with just a good laugh?
The jazzmen are calling me again. I can almost picture them searching for the notes above their heads. I can't wait to jump out of my chair and write furiously in my journal. Maybe I should consider dating the bassist.
I also realized a few things about myself. One being that I appear to be regressing at times, reminding myself of the me I was at different stages of life years ago. I hope that I can find a nice balance and combine the best.
I also realized that I don't think I can be with someone who doesn't inspire me to write. I mean, what's the point really if I can laugh but don't have the urge to write about the way my smile reflects in his eyes? Is it crazy to think that I could never be satisfied with just a good laugh?
The jazzmen are calling me again. I can almost picture them searching for the notes above their heads. I can't wait to jump out of my chair and write furiously in my journal. Maybe I should consider dating the bassist.
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