Stand Up

I'm a comedian.

Funny, right?

It would be great to meet someone as brave as me

It would be great to meet someone as brave as me
As driven
As ambitious

It would be great to meet someone as nice as me
Someone just as misunderstood--- who is striving for clarity.

It's lonely in this tower
of alabaster

Marble steps,
Sitting
Waiting

Beverages
Starving
Thirst
Hunger
Sleep

Curiosity about a peer
With as much or more than I have going on

The goings on
The mystery
The wonder

The shadow person,
familiar
Scientific
Magical

Normal, not boring
entertaining and beautiful

Captivating

All those things that I am.

Loving the beverages
the starvation
the pause before being quenched
the slap-happy sleep deprivation

Fearless

Like me
To warn me before I'm stupid
and tell me why instead of leaving me insulted

To warn me.
To be trusted.

Gems at the Ends

Your house tonight was like the Great Gatsby
The glass of scotch that fell in the fireplace
into the fire

I would have been your house cat
But I was too tired to decide any major decisions

Broken heart is gone
Weeping willows and dandelions in the spring

Entertained and not alone

Cold winter walking through a construction site to the car
wearing a hoodie, like always
my true self

Continue with continuity and the gem is at the end
as promised

Hostile Take Under (pants) and Writing Scandalous Emails to My Employer in Hopes That I'll be fired...

Well, it sounds kind of violent when you put it that way, but, I've heard the phrase 'emotional rape' a couple times in my adult life. It was a trend that peaked around the time 'emotional vampire' was still out of the mainstream. I won't go into too much detail about the vampires. We know who they are, those who pity themselves enough to evoke or extract a guilt-like feeling from their victims while speaking of their woes. There are different varieties.

Tonight, I was validated in such a way that I can't ignore. It was a conversation that has built on other conversations and culminated with a sister of a friend telling me that she has trouble at work. It's the kind of trouble she's definitely leaving town over and will never look back, except when she's framing her masters degree in public health and typing those letters after her name on resumes.
You know what I'm saying?

I like to think this town could use a girl like her for good instead of trying to chew her up and spit her half way across the country, but that, apparently is just me.

She sat next to me in all seriousness and told me that her quality control co-worker threatened to stab her on a regular basis. In context, the co-worker might be joking; but then she was told to 'watch herself when she's waling in dark alley ways.'

I've experienced similar intimidation. Whereas, my experience was sometimes more covert and systematic, it's the type of experience that just cuts into your spirit. It's generations and generations of un-doing what took a long time to overcome in tiny cuts and light shoves. They add up, and although, scoffing at this with levity seems a survival instinct, the side effects can't be ignored when family and friends begin to worry. It's hostility where there should be understanding. It's paranoia where there should be sturdy trust.
And like my spiritual big-girl panties protect my bank account from getting too low because I fear being a bag lady, when someone tries to push you out of a job, is it not emotional rape? To threaten someone's survival because they don't subscribe to your pontificated morality or attend your church?
I looked at my facebook page tonight and I have somehow been listed as interested in socialist events, right? The communist book store sends me invites all the time. I'm not really interested, but there they are coming up in the feed.
I never asked for that and sometimes it pisses me off when I read about people being against so much instead of for it. It's an uphill battle.
I accept what other people believe and I expect be respected because I've earned it.
I believe what I believe because I've also earned that.

I earned my beliefs.

I pay for the things that I believe in, every day because I don't walk up to strangers to try to prove I have faith. I just have it. I don't tell everyone about it because I live in it and they should see it.  Or not.  It's none of my business.

I woke up this morning and read the news that a toddler was shot during the Fourth of July celebration. The eyes of America were on something else; another child who died and whose mother was accused. The only thing I took away with me was that it took 3 years to sort out the details and come to a verdict.

Who is guilty? Who is guilty when children are carrying around guns and toddlers are shot and then someone else is stabbed nearby? That happened right down the street, but the eyes of America are glued on the crazy white girl in Florida competing in a hot body contest while her daughter decomposes in her trunk.

And my friend's sister whose father rubs elbows with judges in another town gets called white trash by the director of her city program and she hears about it from co-workers, but at that point, she's so fed up with being told she's going to be stabbed by her other co-worker that what the director thinks of her doesn't even matter anymore. Know what I'm saying?

So, she's leaving town. No one would chose to live a life like that. And when a person has choices, it's obvious what to do.

But when a person like me who grew up here sees all of this happening, it's more disparaging.
You know when you get cocky and someone tells you not to forget where you came from? I came from here and I can see the resentment in her face and I wish there was something I could do, but similar things are happening to me. It's so trite to say, "they're jealous" "they're threatened by me". Isn't that cocky, anyway? And isn't it just unfair when someone just prevents you from being successful; and when they can't do that they just make up stories to screw with your reputation?

( TWO YEARS LATER... )

No wonder the culture is angry.

I'm not talking about heritage or country of origin.  I'm talking about YOUR fucking town.
You did this.  You made it this way and it's your job to fix it.

Don't tell me how shitty it is when you're the shitty part about it.

Don't write emails to my boss telling them about what you GUESS might be a medical problem I had or have.  No one cares.  No one cares that you really took a far-reaching 'stab' at character assassination.

I know it stings.

Think about it.

Feel it.

No one cares.

You lost.

Game.  Set.  Match.

Everyone read it and they still like me.  

The only way you could find out something bad about me is if you turned your face away from God himself and denied that I am his child.

And the only reason you would do such a nasty thing is because you hate yourself.

I do not feel bad.

I DO, however feel that you will be angered infinitely when you find out you didn't win this and you'll try again.

And that's why I have sought legal action ; just because you're that scary and nasty that I'm not sure what you'll do next.

Just for good measure:
If you try to hurt me again, it will with great force come back toward you and your family for three generations at ten times the velocity that you shoot your angry arrows at me and my family.

I was helping someone when you found me 'vulnerable' and you WILL NOT TAKE my willingness to serve people from me by attempting to instill me with fear.

Your pride and self-righteousness is thinly veiled cowardice.

So now I lead gently and I lean back against the warm wind of faith that kept me alive today and safe today.

I wish that you would only see the light of which you speak was shed in hopes to cast shadows.

But if not... 




  

St. Francis

I lost everything we were just talking about, but it was all brilliant and geniusy, I know it.
I was scared the other evening when I saw police lights that I would have a seizure, real fear.
I'm supposed to be watching myself for 'funny feelings,' that's what the doctor said.  And my hands have been shaking like, well, a gutter drunk, so that's no bueno, but like I used to say in my early twenties, something's------ got------ to --------- GIVE.

Little J. is on the phone talking about staying up all night, I picture him rocking back and forth, even though he wasn't.  He was up all night just thinking of what text message to send.  Like----WHAT words can he type on his phone that will represent the plethora of feelings he's been having.

It's during a time when we are discussing a lot of ownership stuff.  What's mine?  What's yours?  What dead weight am I carrying and why can't I decifer for the love of god WHERE I belong?

I'm already frowned upon because I smoke, so, that's NOT MINE but I feel like I have to deal with it, respectively for legal reasons if for nothing else and wanting to be around people and not standing outside in the cold.  So, I decided to quit.  I know there's no such thing as weening and I almost don't care about the nicotine I just don't want to start shaking and hallucinating when I don't have a cigarette for seven hours.
Yes I just fucking said that.  I see demons like my father did when he was first quitting drinking.
I saw some suits looking in my direction the other day and thought for sure they were mocking me and someone pressed a button on a computer somewhere that said, "make her quake".
Yeah, like that exists.
In truth I felt so shaky at lunch that I couldn't carry my own lemonade.  And no one is really looking at me for any other reason than perhaps that I am pretty and it's human nature to look at other people.
High blood pressure can do strange things to the already uptight.

( Mocking Jay )
Very much like William S. Burroughs.  It's like that.

And I realized that quitting smoking and quitting seizure medicine simultaneously is "un comfort able".

It's more than uncomfortable.  Surprisingly enough, I am sleeping just fine.  I know Valerian root like it's my best friend in the world.  Insomniac since age three.
It's just the days that make me wiggy.

And so my other best friend, coffee?  I had to put that down for a while.  I made myself a weak pot today and took a few sips and poured it down the drain.  I never DRANK IT FOR THE TASTE.  I drank it for the wakefulness.

Without all of my securities, I feel ULTRA insecure.


"Yeah, you're a chainer."  Rae, Mj.  She's always quitting too.  She talks about it constantly.  She tells me everything in relation to how much it made her want to smoke.
And then she tells me what it's like to start again.

It makes me never want to quit when someone goes on and on about how terrible it is.

My other dear friend said that he honestly didn't leave the house for a few days and when he did, he genuinely felt invisible.  Genuinely.  Felt like people couldn't see him at all, walking around the city and it scared the shit out of him when someone said 'Hello' to him.  And he tried to get away as soon as possible.

But, more about Little Joe.  This cigarette talk is boring.  Except for the invisible story ( we'll always have that ).

So, what he sat up all night to communicate was :" I NEED TO GIVE YOU YOUR BOOK BACK"
Dead air.
Separation anxiety.  Coming on too strong.

Then two months later, he said " HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! emoticon, emoticon, fire works, celebratory emoticons."
Dead air.
And then the last text: I HATE YOU.
Dead air.

Of course.   Of course.
Sometimes I am a genius.  Other times I am just dangerously curious.  I ask too many questions.  It's like a Robert Frost poem when it really needs to be the Tao Te Ching.  Could I pivot on that?

The only reason my friends call to tell me their stories is because they know I'll remember almost every detail.  I'll tell them their own stories years later, like an elephant.

So, I am here aiming for wisdom.  And there isn't anything left but the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi.
"Seek to comfort rather than to be comforted."

It's always good to start your day

In Baltimore
With
A nice, genuine smile
and a "Stop Fucking Snitching."

It's your mantra.  
Say it three times.

Totally Dysfunctional Free Form with a side of brains

Mars was wicked this season,  I am sure.
Since I am Venus, it's been a real sober push.
Fighting to disallow.
Fighting nature.
You found me in the rainforest canopy on salt air and dirt.
You climbed over corpses to get to me.

And on the flip, I would have gone to the ends of the world if she requested it whole heartedly.  I am gentle and expect it all to be kind.   My friends with rough edges.   My friends try not to damage each other.

It's lonely with all these friends who have all these fears expecting me
To be the strong one, but even I have gotten choked up.
I have been beaten up, but that's a different story.   I have been screamed at.  I have been held accountable for things that were not mine.
Like children.   They're not mine, and I say it like a man.
 The paternity test told you so.  You could be tricked for love and it's like that dmx song.  It's funny until you see it in real life.
Death is also slap stick humor in the movies until you see it in real life.
It's not sad, they're dead.  They aren't aware of any of this stuff.  The ugliness is gone for them


You get these suicide calls and try to ignore them.  You hear about blood on the sheets and brains on the wall.  They didn't clean it up very well.

Someone has that job.  I actually know the guy that has that job.
How can you be tactful in that situation?  How do you ever look at people the same way?

So there it is, birth to death.
You're just in between.
And you haven't heard the one two box theorem yet.

I need to be taken seriously. And I also need for you to laugh at my jokes.

Chaos and pajamas, with a side of perverts looking at your socks
From the yuppie bar, of course, where else?

"Your sweater says, I'm sexy, but no grabby grabby."
That's exactly what I was trying to say with this sweater.
I mean, only grab me if you love me.
I'm also wearing a ski cap that gets me mad props.
The girl from Spain said it was the BEST kind of hat.

Both of us furrow our brows when she tells me the story of how hers was stolen right before Christmas.
I imagine hers was coral or tangerine.
She was grieving her ski cap.  It's true.
The theme of the day was grief.

My old friend shot himself a few weeks ago.
I obviously remember the last time I saw him, selling DVDs at the Mt. Royal Tavern.

I remember his pet ferret.  I remember when he stole a golden cross necklace from the house where I was house-sitting.  I remember he was always slinky like a cat burglar with everything from women's hearts to regular larceny.

Back to this weekend;
I was too tired and I had been out all day watching the break dance competition.
This was the after party.

My ski cap says that I am pretty much a teenage boy and you should leave me alone.
Unless you love me, of course.

But my mind is always drifting toward what Little Joe calls a
Hollywood Kiss.

Lay down.

C'mere.

Get away from me.

We laugh about this shit.  Give nicknames to people, but, it's not a joke.
Like, MRSA, lolz.

I need to be taken seriously.  And I also need for you to laugh at my jokes.

No wonder your grandfather said you were sexy, he said.  I can just see you with your hand on your hip, looking, how old were you?.... Eight years old.  

We really laughed hysterically when he said that.  Like a fashion show no matter what you wear.

It was a compliment.

You could wear a burlap sack and look good.  Stuff like that from amputees always comforts me.  
I know why and it would just take way too long to explain.  It's not as much of a bummer as it is weird and awkward.

Growing up with the Munsters.  

It's muscle beach when someone can tell you to grab onto their elbow
and then they make a muscle and you fly up in the air like a monkey on a tree branch.
It's like Popeye.  Spinach.  It's childhood.  

Adolescence.
C'mere.  I wanna tell you a secret.
I need you to steal your mother's car tonight.  At 2am.

The phone was tapped.  It was the very early nineties.  My friend's father had his own phones tapped.
It's hilarious now.  It was NOT funny at the time.

Stream of consciousness.
I have to do something terribly adult tomorrow.
A memorial gathering.  None of this was what I intended to write.