jugular dance

encore vide.

18 July 2004

well--this is the 350th post to this fine online journal (would've only been the 349th if i hadn't somewhere along the line posted 'i wish i liked tuna fish'), and the very last, as the trip home/back is over, and the trip back/home is over, and here i am in california and this is my home now. this trip has summed up everything, has been the focal point through which everything has needed to pass. i have watched my high school friend who once dyed her hair purple in rebellion carry her baby around in a sling and confess to me that she wants to breastfeed as long as it takes the baby to wean naturally, even if that's not until she's seven. my best friend has a husband and a home and a new drawing table and a new serger (brand new but does not cut the seams, very sad) and is terribly lonely and unable to find anybody who is brave and unafraid to befriend her, not even in a Christian group where everyone is meant to be questing directly into each other's hearts. the friend who was the quintessential one-night-stand airhead is going to marry a wonderful science-fiction writer English teacher who never makes notes in his own handwriting and listens to Tool. Joop from Maine called me too late and we never saw each other after all and she's got a house and a husband and a speech therapy job anyhow, and we will never wear gold lame capes together again, it seems, and that is fine. there were two hours of confession on a log beside Lake Erie with Karen (who insisted we sneak onto the beach even though it was closed, and i am still trying to imagine my mother doing this) that cannot ever be forgotten or surpassed. Josh realised he cannot ever kiss me goodbye again and so ran circles with his arms full around me, and it was beautiful and fine, and we were comfortable. my mother was sad and barren as always, bringing everything to a sharp point and an empty mouth, which i am no longer able to respond to, and that is fine--it was coming to me and it is fine that i have passed through it. my father is sad but so lovely, and he finally understands me, what it is to anguish like this, and is finally unafraid to acknowledge it. my brother and i cried and watched Lupin together on many occasions, and he will get out and manage to realise the nomad in his heart, and get far away. my mother's parents are truly fabulous people, poor people, eating little, telling the stories of my mother and her sisters it so pains me to hear, talking about the city pools closing and the city councilmen they dislike. you know i write these things because i simply want to remember how everyone was. everyone has already passed through these points anyhow and all i am doing is recreating them on the night we walked through the drizzling at the carnival or sat round the fire. i just want to remember. i am different anyhow, different on going and different in coming back. i don't belong there anymore and that is a fine thing--i don't belong at all, except for two tiny rooms full of books and paper and music and much dancing between two streets and next to a synagogue where a grand thing happened to my heart and i found the love of this lifetime, who made me able to stand up straight with this heart and let it be open even when others are near and agitating, and be truly alone and tender with it in the after dark. oh the joy of finding Tim Miller, who is cool enough to live in Kansas!
and goodnight to all--thanks for being so nice to me.

13 July 2004

here is my life now--'the complete obliteration of multiplicity'--

'Any moving from the Mover.
Any love from the Beloved.' (Rumi, Mathnawi, III)

'That which is not comprehended by the mind, but by which the mind comprehends - know that to be Brahman.' (Kena Upanishad)

wonderful yesterday and today! with Lindsay & Sean & others again last eve, sitting around the fire talking about origins of slang terms & the peculiar quality of people who insist on watching the director's commentary version of films. i hadn't seen Lindsay's mum since her wedding--she calls me 'Jen-Jen'--quite a pleasure. Sean: 'The most dangerous thing you could do is wave around a hot marshmallow!' then drove to the old church at 1 am and wrote in the parkinglot for an hour (it was quite closed, and there now seems to be floodlights everywhere). today, saw Josh for the first time since home, brought alyssum to Gram and Pap's spot at the mausoleum and stood round crying together for a bit. was quite difficult to see her name removed from wherever it had previously been and in gold letters up there (though the dates are still missing...?)--she would've been there rasping 'What the hell are you standing round in front of a box for, go and see a movie or something!' Wonderful Gram. Josh kissed the angel statue as he left, which was quite peculiar for him. then went to the North Side and peeked into St Peter's (lovely) and then to the Maurice Sendak exhibit at the Children's Museum (on Josh's idea! i can't figure that out)...incredible, there was the entire first draft of Wild Things dated my birthday 1962, in his handwriting, on a piece of looseleaf, and towards the end an entire three lines or so was bracketed off and the word 'BAD' was written in bold in the margin...and there were wonderful drawings of Rosie/Alinda...and it was quite a shame i do not fit into any of the wild beast costumes provided. then Record Exchange (finally) where i spent retarded amounts of money, and then this evening dinner with my dad's grand family, in some dim restaurant in Mars, drinking sangria and talking, talking. Joe (dad's cousin's partner, professor, brilliant person) said 'you are glowing'--i told him it is all because of one stupendous person--he said 'i can tell immediately' and then that life cannot be sustained by anything other than that--which is EXACTLY what that stupendous person said to me yesterday as we were exiting the freeway! this eases my heart and at least partially makes up for other attitudes which necessitate the use of enormous amounts of stealth for such devious activities as PICKING ME UP, and DROPPING ME OFF...anyhow, now am listening to James Brown and am supremely contented...and going to see mum's parents tomorrow...

09 July 2004

Adam the Frustrated Sculptor delivered a pizza today and ended up staying for 15 minutes, drinking tea and telling me how Josh is 'bent out of shape'. Many woes could be averted if this family did not eat so much pizza. Two of four parents took off an entire week from work for my homecoming but have neither suggested doing anything with me yet nor proven themselves to be especially forgiving when I decide to simply not come home one night. Baffling...and so I will just have to camp out on synagogue steps for the remainder of the visit...

06 July 2004

pizza & Dance Dance Revolution with Lindsay and Sean!

01 July 2004

  1. i am the girl people want to see their parrots (so i walked with Patty today to her office to meet her baby parrot whose gender she doesn't even know yet)

  2. long evening with G and her 7-year-old son; she spent the whole night on the telephone with her boyfriend so i talked to her son lots. i pretended not to know what a television was and he completely believed me and explained for thirty minutes how the remote control works, and how if the box is black it's probably turned off

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