Archive for March, 2008

poetry and the upset

Posted in adventure, insanity, Philadelphia, philly, poetry, relationships, sex, success, values with tags , , , , , on March 29, 2008 by staticity


White lace turned to silver. As says the woman who refuses to color her hair. No denial for the strong. They’ve already faced the space for face. Bushy legs for the laughter that haunts gym class girls. Hitching up their jeans just in time for the no-razor policy at home.
She sneaks one in from a friend only to have it yanked from the shower a week later.

“They stole my clothes when I was in the shower.” She protests but strength is stronger when women are older.

An old man told me the answer when I asked if it ever gets better.
‘Only easier.’
Strength is curious when the pull isn’t hard. Falling flat isn’t the option that anyone looks for when their pressed against the shiny floor. Reflection is the only saving grace when embarrassment steals it from us.

The antique jewlery stayed hidden in a dusty box on a forgotten shelf. Trinkets become alive. Discovery becomes real. Gold and jewls decorated in thick chains of social events still remain in tact. They decorate the memories of old and forgotten, but still saved. Still saved.

Light orange walls with the paint peeling stayed hugging the sheetrock. They’ve been making love since the fifties, but no one looks anymore. Their secret is safe with me. The evening crickets understand when background noise becomes white with pale intentions.

“I’m never going back.” The little girl says to her mother in a heap on the floor. Naked as she is, her clothes were found. Wrapped up in disaster, her eyes are pleading for the shaving razor.

White lace as she was, the hair color remains untouched.


So today was one of those days that was the best it could get before everything went downhill. Niccolo and I spent the day together. He took off work, we hung out listening to techno and talking to the roommates.  We had the BEST sex ever. Aggressive, fun, daring.

And then came the diner. As we were walking to the diner fifteen blocks down, things took a turn for the worse.  He started talking about how he wasn’t impressed with my trying-to-get school in progress because I wasn’t there yet. He said I was dependent and also warned me he would not be around as much since he would be attending school. He kept talking and talking and talking in this snide way that he does that I consider not only patronizing, but demeaning.  I said that I agreed with everything and that he was right because after a half hour I couldn’t argue anymore. Then we got to the diner.

He said I was starting to act like Jessica. He told me that Eric told him I lied a lot when he reconciled with his dope fiend friend who has an anger problem and blamed me for his GIRLFRIEND stealing 200 dollars outof his room.  Nic kept insulting and insulting me until I finally walked out of the diner and didn’t speak to him. I told him to leave me alone.

And that’s where the night ends.


the love life

Posted in adventure, fiction, values with tags , on March 29, 2008 by staticity

The Last Life Love

In my last life I was an adventurer. Not just the kind where you go to the corner store or the gas station and buy some sort of exotic snack. The kind where someone has a task for you and you provide it in the thoroughest way you know how. God had a task for me to survive and I did. I lived in Africa. My job was to keep entertained and chase the savannahs until the sun woke up. Hunting for something other than food. Maybe love.

I found it somewhere West of what I was looking for. The west is always a more dangerous place than the east. Jungles. Lions. Even the west of where I live now has more crime. More murders. Wild factories made of grey workers and colored product.

When I saw what I was looking for, it was as if I had always known.
He was a strange substance of a man who was dressed in nothing. A substance that was almost murky with something different. He looked like a boy, a stranger still to the world. Hair was tangled and eyes were raw like fish. I ate them daily until water and salt were dripping from us.

Never consume yourself with too much water.

I had heard people warn me of the troubles with a life of ocean when feet can’t turn to fins. Why listen to the background noises of unpleasantness though? Water has no sturdyness and gurgles which ever way it feels. Being young and adventurous, I was pleased to be surviving in the west. I had made it there with a tough exterior to get me through anything. Quiet as a mouse and darting for life, I did not know why I was running. Everyday. Like a hamster on a wheel, getting nowhere.

When I met the boy, I was so thirsty I nearly blew away like a feather with the prospect of something to drink. I had run out of water days ago and thought my life was near to an end.

“I can offer you all the water in the world, but I shouldn’t give you a taste because once a drop hits, you will surely drown.” The boy told me in a serious voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am near death. You are soaking with something I need.”

So the boy took me to his shelter away from the death of heat and starving mosquitos. He sat me down on the hard ground and fed me his water from a long straw. I was eager. Greedy. I drank until I thought my body would explode.
We talked of adventures that we had experienced, we talked of the ones we were going to experience. We talked of travels, food, love, stories, plans, and philosophy. The next morning when I woke however, the boy was gone.

All day I waited in his home. Captive by my own means and racing mind. Did I scare him away? Was he traveling onward? Was he ever coming back? I would wait just one more day.
Later on when the sun fell asleep, I felt the cool of someone with rambling desire. Water. He stood with his face to me and poured me another glass. Again we talked. For days and weeks and even months, this went on. I would wait just one more day. He would disappear in the afternoons, and I would dwindle. Every day feeling weaker with out the water, every night feeling just a little less replenished but still surviving. I would wait just one more day.

A year went by and I found myself trapped. I could not leave the home. The adventures seemed so far deep into the past that I looked and looked through my mind to remember what I had felt, but couldn’t seem to dig out what I was looking for. The only thing I could think of was thirst.

“I warned you when we met, that you would drown in my water and now I can see it is almost above your head.” The boy sat me down one night to talk.

“You are my water. That is the only thing I want.”

He shook his head as salt water became fountains leaping from our eyes. They merged into one and   we were struggling to find our own sight. Through the depth of liquid, it was hard to see straight when everything was blurry.

The boy sent me out of the shelter and I knew that he was right.

My heart ached and my bones turned to glass until all the shards were piercing inward.  They were so brittle I thought I would shatter entirely.  Thirsty and scared, where was my bounding leap of adventure that used to save me so often from the grips of boredom verses fear?

I strayed far away from the jungle. Finding myself in a village far away in another country I had become old, but strong. Bones were not glass and adventures were not always survival. One night, when the weather was hot, I opened the window and dislodged the screen, letting the creatures crawl in as the pleased. Life was a beautiful thing.

A small girl was dancing in the electric moon outside my porch. A boy followed her presence with stumbling feet.
Don’t get to thirsty. I thought to myself, but lifetimes only last forever.

Hero Application

Posted in interactions, odd, Philadelphia, philly, pop culture, success with tags , , , , , , on March 20, 2008 by staticity

I have come to the conclusion that I need a new hero for this year.  Frequently I have random, amazing, hero’s that I write about, create stories for, and admire.

In years past, I have had the following heros:

*The guy who dresses up like Flavor Flav. on South Street and rides his bicycle with a viking helmet

*A man who danced at the Dawning just like Seth Green from Party Monster

*The woman who used to pretend she was pregnant by wearing a pillow under her shirt

*Someone who dressed up as Ronald Mcdonald and sat on a park bench drinking beer on week nights.

If you would like to be my hero, there are a few requirements:

You must be interesting.

You must have some sort of odd talent worth writing about

You must have a sense of humor

You must not mind being stalked or having random photos snapped during odd hours.

If interested, please send me a photograph and a paragraph on why you should qualify to:

PLEASE serious inquries ONLY

My Future

Posted in adventure, friends, success, values with tags , , on March 20, 2008 by staticity

In the wee wee hours we make night and day. Someday, when I’m rich and famous, I’m going to move down to New Orleans and build myself a house. It’s going to be a shacker, one of those kinds with a screen door that screeches with the crickets, not over them. There’s going to be nothing but blues playing from night to day. A giant piano will sit laid back in a room where everyone can play. All my roommates will play music.
They’ll mosy out of their room around three in the afternoon and buy a bottle of bourbon and start playing. We’ll sing until three in the morning.

Yup, when I’m rich and famous I’m going to leave the city. No more mad-mouthed city folk for me. I’m heading straight home to Louisiana. Catch a train somewhere and won’t stop until I’m satisfied.
I imagine I’ll come across some pretty odd people on a train to Louisiana. Probably some illegals, looking to find a place away from the law. I’ll say, ‘hey, you heading where I’m going?’
They’ll say ‘yes ma’am. Soon as I’m done with this wine, I’m going to float my way back home and never head back.’

We’ll start a posse. A group of odd balls from all over the place.
One Electrician for obvious reasons.
One blues pianist for drinking reasons.
One geek for entertainment.
And a small Italian woman to cook.
Yup, we’ll be friends from the beginning and right up to the end.

Some people might ask, why go to a flop house if you’re rich and famous? Well, I’ll say, It’s been a long time coming for some place I can relax.
What with all the book signings and tv interviews, a girl can get pretty tired. NYC isn’t for everyone you know.

I’ll eat off the fat of the land and avoid religion at all costs. Some paranoid catholic comes into my field, I’ll set them right in their place. Across the property.

Extravagant parties will be thrown. Invitation only of course. Writers, painters, musicians, photographers, people with real personality.  Accents included. Boston, Louisiana, New York if it has to be. Hell, I’ll even let Canadians come. Gawty dresses, feather costumes, no clothing at all. It doesn’t matter. Me and my posse will charge at the door, five dollars each. Bourbon and pipe tobacco flowing free through out the house.

If someone comes into stop us, we’ll woo them with our stories of wit and adventure until they too are partying with the rest of us.
“I must say, I was going to arrest everyone of you all, but I finally realized, there’s no other place like this on earth.”
And who knows. Maybe it would be true.

Too Cool To Dance

Posted in adventure, friends, interactions, Philadelphia, philly, pop culture with tags , , , , on March 11, 2008 by staticity