Archive | May, 2012

Trigger Imprint: Birthing Illumine, Drive-Ins + Feminist Pictures

30 May


Movies, life situation: it’s a durational arc.

Trigger.  The picture.

Someone had said, the word Feminist -it really triggers me – He had said, I mean is this something new you are doing or is this you all along.

This is his truth, a reveal. This is his highest Good: this is what he can offer.

And I have no interest in changing, converting a fixed sign. But I can do receive, receive and communion.

I see things in circles, a consistent back-stitch. Looping back, and moving forward again. Weaving the self in.

The answer is both. It’s who I was, and I am. My words are the core of me. Take it or no.

Heated is not hard, we can discuss. We can also talk quietly, getting-to-know. Even in disagreement, we can hold calm space. Does not have to be heated, it’s just a transmission. And you did put some coolant in before we took off for soul food, so we should be good.

On the phone, I had said, I want to see your face when you say it, what do you mean exactly?

I had said it is not a war, my connect with Feminism, it is an assessment of systems. There are things in place. Yeah, in the picture. This is what I see.


Of all the books to reach for, he located

on my case by his own cue,

the RE-Search Anthology Angry Women 

pulled it out

and didn’t say a thing. I might have begun the conversation then, but we were busy sharing music, then, and he had said,  you have a nice voice. 

I showed him how to do an exquisite corpse, but it got all fucked up. Drawings on opposite sides of the paper. Gravely funny, but I’ll miss becoming friends.


There was road and he was driving, and yes my battery was down,

and I was down with it, when he was talking about his vision:

– gonna do art again, he said, and I joked, maybe you’ll play the flute!  He had called me out, saying, see I was open in telling you something and you teased me. I did, but it was kind play. I was in on the tip, feeling supportive, way to the top, friendly high note yeah, and I’m human with my words, meaning.

Meaning, mean is not my arrow. So, shoot me.


This blog has been a God send. This blog, yes, a new coming to writing. A return. A life line. Yes, a birthing. The response has been amazing. Men and women have emailed me, fb me, even called me saying they connect. Not a bitallion, but a river; a sweet stream. Yes, it is about transmission, about the connect. Yes, there is strong language.

Helene Cixous, Coming to Writing:

All I can say is that this “coming” to language is a fusion, a flowing into fusion; if there is an “intervention” on my part, it’s a sort of “position,” of activity – passive, as if I were inciting myself: “Let yourself go, let the writing flow, let yourself steep; bathe, relax, become the river, let everything go, open up, unwind, open the floodgates, let yourself roll…”

A practice of the greatest passivity. At once a vocation and a technique.

The mode of passivity is our way – really an active way – of getting to know things by letting ourselves be known by them.

You don’t seek to master. To demonstrate, explain, grasp. And then to lock away in a strongbox. To pocket a part of the riches of the world…


Oh snap, and I’m birthing hieroglyphics.

Double trigger. Yes, consider it dually.

Like attracts like, they are vibrationally twinned. Angry Woman, yeah, and ask her to drive you, submissive. Bros b/f hoes, but that’s none of my business.

Their dual echo, palpable, pointed:

dissecting, distant, a very very harsh lens.

Both of them, same, and yes I see your beauty. But so different from the others- they who have given to and received me face value, and words are included.

After a panic, monkey on my back. Something about a picker, gonna get to that later, for sure. And he’s way mixed signals, red bullet, friends are saying, dodge. Cuz, the first thing he noticed, he pointed to my timer. What he saw, yeah boy it was dirty, yeah boy and it needs cleaning.

Clocked is not my need, can’t you count me in. Can you be curious, can you be kind. Cuz u get more bees w/ honey, in sweetness there is safety. The first sign of control, here he’s got a pointer. Here are the problems: yes he’ll want to change her. That corner there, by Jesus, the feng-shui is way off. This is the truth of it, this is what he will offer.

Sure, a slow boat to China is Good Orderly Direction. And my messy human beingness, sure, it already

laid the crater.

Curious Georgie, to myself, a kind hearted laugh: oh baby, that’s what you get for jumping on the bed.


There was a highway and rough sawdust low-grade terrain,

and then an amazing drive-in movie theatre. 4 screens at once, all around us in his car. It wasn’t a date not exactly, or clearly.

At the snack bar he said, not together, no Mam, separate, for me it’s just these nachos. She’s bargain basement, I’m making an effort, to make that clear.  

There was a round kid standing outside his family’s own car, and his papa handed him a chicken wing right through the window.

Hunger. Chickens. Movies they are wings. Thanks, Easter Bunny. Bok! Bok! 

Kid was standing there in dusty dusk and just kicking a ball around waiting for the screen to light up, so he could get inside the car.

Screen, and to get inside.

Inside, driving, later, I said, to connect, to get real: so on Feminism, yeah, did you read my blog, and he said, yes I jack off to your blog. 


Do it gently, then.

Gent, be gentle with it.


To give, and to receive.  

Yes, totally, in concert, repeating:  (She:) See I was open in telling you something and you teased me; (He:) And I came all over it. Here’s a napkin for your face. (LOLZZZ!).

Yes, Cixous: …of getting to know things by letting ourselves be known by them.

And so, the opportunity to witness an eclipse face to face. Birthing illumine. But I’m getting ahead of myself. And ahead of myself, I didn’t make time to respond because I knew he was joking. And truth – it is in joking.

Fin, goes the movie.

Showing his max capacity; what he’s willing to give me.  I had hoped that mean was not your arrow.  

And no, dude that wad, please don’t shoot it like that. 


Double trigger. Truth.

Blockbuster feature.

And on the screen was The Dictator.

The scene that stuck with me was when the guy got his cell phone stuck in a pregnant woman’s uterus who was about to give birth. That was interesting. Also, when he said, oh it’s a girl, so where is the trash can. Also, when he missed one hole and stuck his hand in another. Oh, and when the umbilical cord was not cut and he was pulling the baby from her, while still attached. I think the guys who made the film call that satire or funny.

Nothing was off-limits, even 9/11, even our government, so in some eyes this is fine. Not beating around the bush and all.

Thought about that kid in his parent’s car. What is he thinking when he sees something like that?

Snack bar, cherry coke, second bag of popcorn. 


Out there at night, there is this empty vast space that Southern California holds, and it always gets me, gets at me, even when the Santa Anna’s are all tucked in, and not tugging at us with their weight.

Their weight of what, yeah of wind. Santa Anna spooling through acres, spooling through even that empty slit, the LA River.

Yeah- spooling through me and my windmill. We all want harbor, in particular seasons. Thank you for the intercontinental trips, the movies, and, yes for brief lessons.

Suddenly, vast;  Somehow I  felt empty. Somehow with distance on the phone, I felt you were more present.

Out there it was strange to see that image of a defiled pregnant woman, poked and pulled and suspended in a screen at a drive-in City of Industry,

the hover over separate cars, stuffy in the car nasty-ass nacho cheese wiz smell and damn did he smell good– this shit it’s fogged up now, making it fog up, making it like

time to turn down the windows and head back, yeah telling stories get-to-know-you, stories making pictures in mind, keep-in-mind, note-to-self.

Mine the mind, keeping pictures. So much worry over anger, oh that black tar.

Nothing’s off-limits.

She’s so over anger ever had he asked her

– but he had pointed, and pointed few words, from his own ground only, and really just the top soil. I’m confident he goes deep, because that’s what drew me to him.

Yeah, it reminded me of a scene in Maxine Hong Kingston’s book Woman Warrior, really it did, when the protagonist is birthing out in some wide open field, that’s all I remember, and she is there and she’s birthing by herself and with baby,

using gravity as guide,

and I’ll have to pull that book down and read it over again, to tell you

to tell you what it told me.


The Bachelorette – Episode 1 – Pink – It’s Off Color, The Whole Bit – horses included.

22 May

Whatcha doing middle America, in the OC, in Cherrycreek, Colorado? ABC’s all up in it, gonna neigh out an old tail, I mean tale.

Cul de sac, leaf blowers, Forever 21. Tomorrow,

it’s Satori, I mean Sephora:

I’ll be  a diamand in the rough mirrored by the mirror,

gonna be taught by the masters -give me a smokey eye just like Kim K.

At the gym I”m in, sweet Juicy sweats. And under
Victoria’s Secret undies. And if I”m a young girl there’s a Victoria’s Secret line just for me- it’s called Pink.

Pink, yeah, just like me, in more ways than one if you know what I mean.

Wonder what the conversation was like up in Victoria’s Secret Corporate on that one.

It’s off color, pink, in that context, no?

Off color, it’s a haze, haze of the 7 deadly sins, ABC7 oh those dwarfs, and glass slippage.

Cinder-elle, I wish you well, yo. Gots to huff and puff and blow dat old house down, ABC.

Southern belle Emily Maynard is the new Bachelorette, and I like her well enough. She has a very tragic story, and she has a lovely young daughter. Kudos to the show to have a single mom on the show. That’s about it.

Daughter in the glare now, mom. Problematic. Concern.

The opening was quite sinister, hysterical, and that’s where I stopped watching. Tried to find a YT video to grab but this for now:

The opening sequence in a house in the Carolinas. We’re voyers through the door, and we see mom and daughter: copies, duplicate. And they’re gonna go nite nite now. Amazingly sexually charged, but not in a good way. Gonna tuck you in now, gonna tuck me in too.

Watching, we’re all watching: bed, bed sheets, and blankets. Barren (house) with a book. The girls gonna get their sleep on. Just turn the….page.

So, we read her, and we’re watching. All alone in a big big house.

Jump cut to momma in the mirror, she says do I look like a princess, yes yes mommy you do. And…scene.

Then it, the horse, it was riding my Hulu,

and inside the screen momma’s she’s a riding, TV producers said yes Emily ride that horse, and it way sent me, way over the arch, the church bells were ringing, I knew it was all going to be ok, it better be ok, because the sunset it’s close, so close,

so close at hand, ring finger is the point her,

the point here, ring finger to be exact.

Hand. The manufacture is almost not worth a note. But how many watch not being a witness?

It bleeds in, the story, the wish, wish fulfillment, tiny hearts, all across the Americas and her export,

wishing to ride it blonde, bareback and that horse; so pretty in pink, isn’t she, TV.

Off color, the whole bit,

hail to the horse neigh neigh and nite nite. Enough.

Get the Rack on the Racks – Man Made Image- Time Magazine Madly Milks the Mamma

12 May

Time Magazine, oh yes you milked it with your man made image. Get the mother’s rack on the racks, we’re gonna make millions this Mother’s Day!

Here’s the bouquet: a prompting, hard-core; a provocation, jizz.

The question posed is: Are You Mom Enough?

*See painting at bottom of blog for a comparison*

Some folks are up there in a Time Warner building in Rock-A-Feller Center thinking about print.

Thinking about mothers and money and how to make it. Yeah, about how to make it, yes, the money.

Oh, I”m just running to Fed Ex my Mother’s Day card back to Telle-hussie, FL – BRB guys to continue this Mother’s Day Cover convo, and I just got to say, I think we’re headed in the right direction…

Really Love the leading question, Are You Mom Enough…..just like I loved your mother last night.

I sure was dad enough for that, boy, let me tell you. Heh heh.

Yeah- we get it, man, we got your mothered selves splayed.

Great concept, team. Job well done.

Hey – listen, men, it’s all going to be ok. Your wounds can be well heeled I mean healed well in therapy.

This image, this magazine, the cover, the text.

–Is that child really wearing camouflaged army pants? So freaking brilliant. Another great art director lives.We see the text referring to other articles on the upper right hand corner – “God of Cricket”- and then on the upper left hand corner “The French Rejection”….yes, in life there are no accidents.–


This image, text included, has everything we totter on, up, or against: The Child and his War Pants, The Boy Child’s Gaze and his Intonation: What, you want some of this? Well, of course we do. We want all of it. God, war, and the mother’s body.

Everyone, and it’s all going to be ok. Attachment Parenting Gal, just get back to bed now with your husband and your son and leave the photo studio now, like pronto. Life will never be the same. Promise. It’s digital.

And again, the question posed here is: Are You Mom Enough? Pardon moi, but who is doing the asking?

The Blonde with The Breasts, They Are Lacking, So Small They Are: Are You Mom Enough with your Boy-Chest?

OR is it:

Look At Me With A Direct Address To the Lens, Are You Mom Enough, Because This is How I Talk To All My LadY Friends, With One Boob Sticking Out And Posing A Snotty Question Like This One.


Great concept, team. Job well done.

Heh heh.

So obviously male, the construction. And it is aged, as in dated. This is not from guys I know. All up in Rock-A Feller Center in a room with a white board and all white men 60+ and attending. Get a mom that’s into this attachment parenting crap, but the “kicker” will be we’ll give her small tits. Yeah, that’s a good one. Gonna tie into the tagline…..real nicely.


People, the breast, it is natural. And it is for all three: woman, man, and child.

And the breast milk, it is God given, it is nurturance, liquid form.

And the building of child – it’s a fluid transmission: attraction, union, yes – mount to chasm, sperm to egg, milk to mouth.

It is double bonded, it is about bonding -yes – all of this is about bonding.


So repressed, us not the French

so us this cover is, yes

so very, very, American.

So forsaken. Life, the life of us, life of a child, life of women and the man who is absent here. All forsaken. Ripped apart here in this image. Everyone is so solo here, when what we are talking about is: closeness. Indeed, attachment.

And breastfeeding is the closest thing to the healthiest thing. By it’s nature – an uncontroversy.

Irrelevant how long it takes to feed and to ween. Private matters for our little private in his war pants.


But, baby, breastfeeding, it is animal, extreme B, they are saying,

And I’ve got to make,

make a living.










Here is an image I found online which represents the idea of attachment parenting much better – in 1630 a painting by Pieter de Grebber…..Mother and Child. See how circular is this feeding, the bodies are really touching. There is a feeling of closeness and peace.


…. Familial Objects. Camera Ready.

Here we see a young woman who looks like she was in my AP English class in High School, she looks like a “blogger” (guys we’re going for the modern woman here don’t forget), she looks UES, she looks West Side, she looks like she just moved to Williamsburg from Ames and she’s on the L train with her new skinny jeans gonna get off at 14th st + get a burrito at Chipolte, and she’s skinny, and she has looks, and she looks like she’s been set up ?can you be so unawares? yeah no really, and her son he is sucking her very small breast (that’s so sexy) and he’s standing on a baby wooden chair dating back to the 50’s (heh heh yeah I remember when I sat in one of those chairs as a boy myself )(everyone don’t worry -he’s an old guy, gonna die off soon), and the kid—————– man, he’s tall, yeah, tall like a Big Boy, and I get this magazine for the articles, really and on the Today Show Jamie Lynne Grumet, 26, said as her three-year-old son Aaron sat on her lap, that the firestorm around the magazine cover went beyond her expectations.

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