Monthly Archives: May 2004

today i went food shopping with eric. he walked in front of me on crutches from a motorcycle accident. he will not let me make him my perogie pop rock surprise. he bought all beige food…beige cereal, beige granola bars, beige everything… “BORING!” i said as he dropped more beige food into the cart. he wouldn’t even ride in the funky carts like a proper invalid. i bought diana a pinwheel and fought off a chocolate craving. eric topped off our grocery extravaganza with ONE thing that wasn’t bland… cherry pie! along with two gallons of milk…”you can drink two gallons of milk in a week?!” amazing… that’s dedication to your bones. it’s probably why he only walked away from the accident with a sprained ankle and not broken bones.

we went out to dinner sitting on the same side of the table as he ate pizza that he deemed a ‘happy mistake’.

from a mutual friend of mine and tsafi’s…. “Let me tell you that I applaud your courage and strength to live life, be successful and believe in yourself and your standards despite your heavy heart. I dont think many people have your fortitude and spirit. You are a special person to carry on with your chin held high . You are one to be admired. I am sure that hearing Tsafi’s voice and knowing that he has a new woman probably kills you everytime you speak to him. It is definately true that some men cant be alone and need someone to be there as a companion to prevent them from being alone ……. he may not necessarily find this girl to be a soulmate. You are blessed and lucky to have good friends good family and a good self esteem. That will carry your forward and only good things should happen to you.”

thank you, sweetie… namaste~

hyper film frenzy last night… 4 ballerinas in woodland scurrying, then nighttime came and daniel climbed trees for me, holding my bubble machine, perched on a branch, surrounded in faerie lights. the bubble machine is my new obsession, a surreal wonderland of endless fascination. spinning eons of prisms turning suspension into a dream against the night sky. we passed a merlot bottle wildly between us as we set up shots, talking in giddy directions. i made a wonderful discovery last night… bubbles, if lit properly, turn into FIREFLIES!!! i freaked out, ehem… to say the least…and used up plethoras of frames in shooting these magickal orbs, no two alike, as poor daniel sat like an elf in my tree with ants making christmas out of him. ‘suffer for art, boy!’ lol~

then i called my sister and we laughed like we were on fire until midnight, not much dialog, just laughter… big belly hyper laughing, pounding table laughing. about what? couldn’t tell ya… but a domino effect had apparently transpired, as everyone on both sides of our phone lines were coming to see what all the fuss was about. “i’m glad we talked about this,” i said and promptly hung up. she called back a half hour later to see if i was still laughing… and i most certainly was…

i was so hyper that a moment to touch the dreaming had not occurred to me… filming, bubble experiments, writing in my hammock and a walk to the playground spinning on swings tempting goblins occupied my time before dawn and then shawn wrote that he coming into town today to give me masks and props to film and i got giddy all over again… i drove to work an hour early blasting ‘friend in need’ by placebo, screaming lyrics, banging the steering wheel at stop signs.

i am alive from the ground up today… firefly frenzies pouring out the top of my head, alive in filming, in surrealistic scenes coming together like patchwork, in stories, others and mine… mad alive people around me,camping this weekend to look forward to, home in the coming distance, a sore belly from laughing too much, a desk of psychedelic tweety birds, pinky & the brain dolls, and power puff girl pinatas… life could be worse…

baby crow in pixie lair

i awoke with a nose bleed and a baby crow that rich rescued from the backyard. he put him on the branches of my canopy bed. the whole world is in his eyes. we took him outside and realized he cannot fly. his parents were livid, squawking and creating chaos in branches. we had to save him from the cats. we set him up in my room, a virtual bird cage. we set him on my branches until we figure out what to do. he stares at me, tilts his gaze. i mimick him… i hesitate calling the wildlife center… he’s mighty cute… if only he would fly i could set him free… i hear his parents outside my window… for now we just stare at each other… i feed him by hand… he blinks a lot.

tired too early… unable to concentrate on anything… i put myself to bed without dinner like an unruly child… but i can’t sleep… mom says i think too much. ‘you and diana are the same that way’ she says. i think most people think too little… i do admit that it is sometimes draining… that is when impulsiveness and humor come to rescue… a balance, always a balance…

last night i dreamt there was a flimsy bridge of rope in a canyon and it was dark. i sat on a rock at the edge unseen as two girls left a party and started walking across it. they started to joke around and lost their footing…. i saw them fall into the canyon… their shocked faces were stuck in my mind; their long descending adrenaline screams were torturous to hear. i shuddered and looked at my hands as i waited for two thumps that never came. just bottomless screams and then silence… i wondered if they fell together, somehow catching one another in a death grip. i hoped their souls released before impact, like young birds falling from trees. it was one of the darkest, most helpless feelings i’ve ever experienced in a dream…

today i talked to my father. i am starting to get really excited to go home next month. i wonder what nyc will feel like… i haven’t been in that city in over a year. last time i was there, i was pushed out, repelled, unwelcome. i only noticed the undertow and lack of sky… there was a sense of disapproval coming from the city, of unforgiving defiance at my return, like a jilted lover i abandoned for another, only to discover i was not where i belonged, and so i snuck back from israel under wings of a giant that never fully sleeps and he watched me with one eye open as i crept back in… and he waited for me to want comfort before he made sure i knew the score was not settled, my tab not paid…and now i plan a trip to come retreive all the rest of my belongings from closets and basements and other cobweb places… and this time i feel both eyes on me… he knows my game, my will. i was born there… and i’ve stolen the key, running strong-willed on to the place where dolphins replace toxic ferries… california, new york’s secret antidote…

i have not forgotten how to walk those fast streets… and i never tire of memorizing the faces and embraces of my nyc friends. we will meet at ciel rouge, my favorite glowing red writing lounge. i remember every texture of that boudiour garden, even the weight of the door as i step inside… i still have the subway map memorized… i am excited to go home… i called my uncle and asked to play. he said we could swim in his pool and spend the day. i hope my cousins are home. diana will be waiting… she arrives from arizona long before me… we have plans to spend our last night in our childhood home alone in the backyard under those canopy of trees. the closing date of the house was delayed by one week…(thank you, fae)… i am looking forward to mosquito bites. i hope the deer and bunnies come out of the woodland to say goodbye with us… i am glad diana will be home… i can’t do this myself.

Move your feet and keep your chin up.

my house-mate, rich, came out to the garden and leaned on the horse stable fence and spoke his mind and heart and i met his thoughts with the force of heartbreak and extrasensory perception. he wants a family. i encourage his desire and tell him of vehicles to get his goals met, where he will meet like-minded contenders. he’s a great guy and i know he will find happiness. he’s protective of me and helpful and kind, a good person. i wish him the best of life, truly.

we talk of writing. i write down things he says… he is humble… i give him my glass to finish and we go inside… a residue of his unfullfilled energy follows me until i close the door and then i am alone again in my thoughts… and something i read today, words by a stranger named ‘MAX’ comes thru… this stranger with fluid solidarity, photographs of the tips of kayacks facing endless sea and sunset, a life well-lived, a life connected… a seeker, open to everyone’s stories and direct mobility… i admire that. this stranger’s journals are the antidote to my thoughts and in quoting him, i honor a place in myself full of hope, that there are people in the world who scrape deep and feverish the surface of life and continue to enjoy and laugh heartily…

“…thinking too much clogs the flow of feeling. Figuring things out takes you out of the experience. I found that movement helps get out of mental ruts. You spin your wheels staying in one place. Move your feet and keep your chin up. Find a higher place. Find higher people. They are out there. Likely on the fringe somewhere– off the beaten path. If you get stuck again, rock on.
J. Krishnamurti had something to say about thinking too much as well: “The moment of thought is not beauty. Thought can create what appears to be beautiful – the painting, the marble figure or a lovely poem – but this is not beauty. Beauty is supreme sensitivity, not to the sense of one’s own pains and anxieties, but in encompassing the whole existence of man. There is beauty only when the current of me has completely dried up. When the me is not, beauty is. With the abandonment of the self the passion of beauty comes into being.”
MAX’s site… www.solomax.com

When the me is not, beauty is.

flower petals fall into my chianti. it’s been days since i’ve visited my garden. i haven’t had need of a cocoon… or so i thought. my eyes shed flower petals as well… i do not mean for them to fall, but they have a will of their own… a cleansing, an acknowledgement. diversion, submersion, love’s jaundiced forefinger pointing to flashes of light in the distance… i feel the sparrows calling me back to center… their sunset song pacifies… an owl chimes in his softness.

i looked forward to seeing puck all day. he came as a whirlwind, he left sheepishly. he never asked me about my day, my thoughts… he met my eyes in apology as his propellers spiralled on, whether up or down i do not know and doubt that he does either… all he knows is forward. meanwhile there is beauty all around him…

we walked outside at dusk side by side. his thoughts, his life out in front of him and me, in slow step, quiet beside him listening… when i did speak, i talked of nature, stopping him in mid-sentence to watch a ray of sunlight in torrents of water. he tells me stories of dreams of feathers and dramas of which i envision him telling others. i gave him a crow feather; he offerred it back shortly thereafter… “you keep it, puck.”

i stepped boldly into puddles uncaring of where the effort fell. the place where my boot heel met the puddle center is where i admonish myself. this is a man who does not act on his heart’s desire. he awaits acceptance and a fanning to his flame. his stories are tell-tale firefly distractions from his real story, the one i see and adore. there is love, longing and brilliance in those eyes… and i am sad he does not acknowledge it. there is a sense of obligation that clouds it and perhaps he will come to dance a bounty in the intrinsic balance some day… he thrives on things that are fleeting and seems to be unavailable for the elixer, not enough to treasure, just enough to savor and affect temporarily.

i began collecting beautiful things on our walk, pulling out all the beauty surrounding. evergreen, orchids and petals of supernature, as solid as day. i held it up to golden light so that he might see the pulse, absorb it, fall into it, if only for a moment. but no, he thrives on other things more tangible in his world, and i, a curious thing to him, to whom he does not know which way to face, which gaze to project, a gaze practiced a dozen times before me… as i write he calls twice in an hour… he leaves a message telling me of cotton candy ice cream and i smile…

tonight is the first time i’ve been alone in 4 months. my roommates all went out for coffee. i am nursing sore eyes and right brain overuse. for two days straight i’ve seemed to slip into the point of no return. i’ve been logging my footage since friday with a few breaks for playtime. no sleep, a pixy stick always near… it feels good to have something to show for my weekend instead of a hangover. i’ve been meeting some amazing people lately. models are telling other models of my project and the film shoots keep lining up, amassing creative friendships along the way. i am officially obsessed with film… again.

the silence in the house is deafening… and welcome.. thoughts scurry to their posts, some to shelves for their own good. today i spoke to most of my entire family. brian called, so did danny… a welcome break, just at the place where my brain was binging on fcp. i walked outside to feel the sun on my face a few times. i cancelled three film shoots this weekend in order to organize what i’ve already shot. i did not do anything this weekend that i was supposed to do…

a freakin M80 exploded on my car last night. if that isn’t a sign that i have no business driving, i don’t know what is. last night around midnight apparently rich knocked on my door. i had ear plugs in my ears and only saw the door opening wildly. he’d thought i’d been shot. there was a huge explosion outside my window. “didn’t hear it.” i looked up from writing to say and then i promptly forgot about it. next scene, 8am this morning, i get into my car to go to a DMV appointment. i unlock the door, sit down, put my bag to the side…and as i put my keys in the ignition, i look straight ahead to a cracked windshield. my first reaction ws to turn my car on and drive and pretend it wasn’t there. i got one block on denial before i pulled my car over and swung open the door and i stood there hands on hips. “huh…” as i assessed the situation. there were pink wrappers still there and the windshield plastic was melted. i didn’t freak out. i got back in my car and drove to the DMV appointment. when i got back, rich called the police and crime scene investigators came and took samples… it was fun… but i was disappointed that i didn’t get to keep any shrapnel…

“Baby’s got an atom bomb
Twenty two megaton

Baby got purple hair
Baby got a secret lair
Baby got an army there
I ain’t ever seen baby scared”