Chloe's Yarns:

Ode to Paper-thin Apartment Walls

2012-01-24T19:15:00.000-08:00

The crazy lady lives above me. She has fits of rage and yells at her four cats in her sleep. She has severe PMS and is liable to kill me in my sleep. She has streaks of purple in her hair and a tattoo of a black spider with a red hourglass on its chest.

This is my mantra...

2011-09-02T16:58:00.001-07:00

Patience is the first step to a peaceful life. Do not expect immediacy ever. Give children time to tie their shoes. Then they will learn to do it on their own. Do not hope for sudden behavioral changes in other human beings. Changes take time to develop and retrain ingrained habits. Hold onto hope, for hope springs eternal and grant people grace for their shortcomings, as you will need grace equally.

Next, Cultivate a sense of peace and balance in your own life. Do not run about your day harried and stressed. Chaos breeds chaos. The universe is so interconnected. Doing your small part to manage peace and positivity has an enormous effect on your family, friends, and community. Take time to notice the details of your surroundings- the sparkling tape of the broken cassette on the side of the road, and the distorted image of the glass while in the carwash. Listen to the people around you and mirror their words and body signals. You can only control yourself. You have little or no control over others. Take ownership of your thoughts, feelings, and actions. Try and direct them toward the positive. When negative thoughts or feelings enter your day, acknowledge them and then set them free.

Above all, Seek the good. Fight for it. Encourage it in children. Surround yourself with images, activities, music, and people that make you happy. Be aware of the happenings in other parts of the world. Hold onto perspective. Try to banish negativity from your life. It will find ways to seep in, but do what you can to limit its presence and effect. Note where you spend your time. Where you spend your love, is where you spend your life. Keep track of your goals and ambitions and don't let modern technology distract you from attaining them.

Dirty feet.

2011-07-08T21:27:00.000-07:00

The wind del verano wraps its warm tendrils around your shoulders and lights your imagination.

I've had a beer.

I really feel there's a bug crawling in my hair.

Hold on.

I smell my laundry drying.

I have a thing for purple pony-riding rock monkeys.

Scent of roses and peonies wafting through the open windows.

Let go.

All my love.

http://grooveshark.com/s/Pursuit+Of+Happiness+kid+Cudi+Cover+/32zedX?src=5

Memorial Day and Praying for Peace

2011-06-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

turn left at the osprey nest

drive west into the sunset
a deer farm on the back road

wild patches of purple lupine
yellow black-eyed susans
indian paint brush
orange poppies
ride bikes in a snowstorm
towering ponderosa pines sifting the snow
sail in the rain
coasting suspended above the lake

it was a little rougher than i would've liked
warm-up around the fire
a bike-friendly house
late-night walk to town
smuggling beer in vest
bandana bandit and alpaca mittens
dance to lady gaga with the bartender
drenched in tequila and whiskey
no makeup in days
wine walk to the lake

sagebrush brushing knees
ants still, huddling, conserving warmth
i like you to the power of three, natural, free
more and more everyday
our bodies fit together perfectly
bare your scars
we'll see what happens.

back in the cubicle, makeup and dress pants
hair unstraightened and wild
clinging to the sage beyond the fence posts.

Springtime Can Kill You

2011-05-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

Go down the backroads
Don't take it too slow
You don't have the time for a long flirtation
You don't have the time for the least hesitation

Roses all are blooming
Lilacs all aglow
Honeysuckle vine shine shine
Oh get out, get out of your house

Springtime, springtime can kill you
Just like it did poor me
Don't you see we're all hurt the same way
So get out, get out of your house

High on the moonshine bodies entwine
Don't you see it's better this way
Don't you see it's better this way

You can't be too shy
You know the reason why
If you don't go get what you need
Something's going to break on the inside

Springtime, springtime can kill you
Just like it did poor me
Don't you see we're all hurt the same way
So get out, get out of your house

-Jolie Holland

Lizard's Gizzard

2011-03-20T15:23:00.000-07:00

She emerged from the bathroom warning of strange, ominous noises.

The girl with the blonde-streaked afro and tattoo on her chest entered the bathroom with a giggle.

I wait outside and wonder if I should warn her, “Your boyfriend is a rapist!”

The door opens, “No more weird noises,” she comments and tucks her springy hair behind her ear.

“Well, that’s good,” I sigh.

Confidence, Cohen.

2011-02-17T18:40:00.000-08:00

Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.” –Yoko Ono

i saw my bike this morning and it made me want to punch winter in the ballz. instead, i wrote a grumpy rhyming haiku:

snow/cold; obnoxious
wind wallop, scrape ice; nauseous
winter brain; noxious

happiness is something you have to work at
waiting for the universe to give direction
talent isn't natural- it's based on 10,000 hours of practice
quit singing helplessness blues
ben descends into the halfpipe on his skate board

his excel spreadsheet of ten occupations
he chooses research librarian
because he wants to help people better their lives

don't wait on anyone else
let him go to south dakota
let me go to spain or costa rica

let go
go find
find direction
direct your energy

like a functioning cog in some great machinery
serving something far greater than me

four ants meander around the bathroom tiles

hibernating and aimlessly wandering

yea, but i can give my snowmobile a hug.
ugh.

people rarely change
and if they do, it's so slow; it's almost imperceptible

daisies arrive two weeks late
post-break up
what do they mean?
he loves me, he loves me not...
i imagine them being tossed and turned in transit through the post office
a miracle when they finally arrive
intact, unfrozen
derived from the hazy brain synapses that finally fell on the side of sending them

meanwhile
my Spanish "I love you" hangs limp and forlorn
like a loose thread
unanswered and ready to be caught and unravelled
maybe the daisies are the wordless answer
darning to reintegrate the loose end
commence the new conversation

Ramshackled Musings on 2011

2011-01-07T18:08:00.000-08:00

So, then I walked out of the building singing (and I shit you not), Cee Lo Green's "Fuck you [UWTV] and fuck her too."

I would like to say I had strong feminist plans to go snowboarding with my gf, K, but essentially, I drove up into the god-forsaken wilderness for Mr. W********.

But the good news is that, I ate a bagel on the drive up, drank half a venti Starsucks cup of black, listened to a life-altering playlist by MA, and did a significant amount of reflection; I realized that I do sound like an 18-year old when I talk. My vocabulary needs revamping and I say the word "like" like a SoCal girl from "The Hills." Case and point. In addition, I sound directionless and contradictory.

I feel lost. Maybe that was my point. It's okay to feel lost. And even the identifying and realizing that you feel lost is a great point to start finding new direction. Naming and labeling is the first step to progress/ growth?

I feel so impatient. I want to be like P and know exactly where I'm going and just start heading there and quit wasting time, damn it!!!

It seems like everyone and their mom is getting married now. No pun intended. I just look at all these facebook wedding albums in much the same way I hear of people applying to grad school and figuring their life out. I am just amazed that people have found the man of their dreams and know who they want to be when they grow up and feel confident enough in their parenting skills to start popping out offspring. I mean, I'm just figuring out that I don't want to date a guy who is a jerk and I don't want to work for a bitch. Whoa, I have so much work to do. Especially seeing as though I don't seem to be learning my lessons and almost considered hypothetically signing away my soul to work for a bitch AGAIN and according to all appearances, I am currently dating a boy who was a big fat ol' jerk to me back in June.

Jeesh.

So, about that... it will probably shock you to know that we decided to start dating in a drunken stupor in a cabin in the mountains. So, eventually I arrived at his cabin and he kissed me at a stop sign.

I don't know, it just feels a bit odd.

And maybe for perspective, I was watching "The Hills" the other night in my puked-out, sick state of mind and all of a sudden I got pissed off at those girls. There was this one scene when these two girls were shopping in Whole Foods and they were putting $4 spinach boxes in their shopping baskets and I was like, "WHY the fuck are you putting spinach in your basket, when you're not even gonna eat it, you skinny little toad?!?!" And then I stepped back and I imagined I was a little girl living in Haiti and my house and family had been destroyed in the earthquake and I was watching these girls shopping for organic spinach and complaining about these HUGE and HORRIBLE issues of Brody dating another girl and Justin being a jerk and it just all looked sooo absurd.

These career problems and trying to figure it all out is such a middle class white girl problem. But, I also think that the problem is that we are so entitled, we have been given so much, and we have so many options to "try" and "do something to change the world." As cliche as all that is, sometimes it feels like more of a weight/burden than a gift/opportunity. Like in Sylvia Plath's "The Bell Jar," the protagonist says that her virginity feels more like a noose around her neck or a rock weighing her down. Random, I know. My point? Hell, if I know. There's also that line in "Garden State" when the grave digger friend says, "I'm okay with being unimpressive. I sleep better at night." Maybe it'd be better if we could just work at Starsux and make art in the evenings and live in really cool places and be neighbors. That seems to be what everyone in Portland, OR is doing.

For example, see the following:

http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2010/12/29/portland-is-where-young-people-go-to-retire

A Pragmatic Postcard

2010-12-15T18:03:00.000-08:00

I've been drinking green tea, reading/researching/investigating foam decontamination, remembering why I was an English major, obsessively applying lotion to my hopelessly chapped lips because I lost/forgot my chapstick, basking in my blue-light sun simulator, wondering if I'm weird for missing my love handles/making impossibly long to-do lists and never finishing them, but feeling half-way accomplished for making them, looking forward to my intense work out tonight, carrying the sun home in my purse, crying at stop light during drive home, worrying that maybe I grind my teeth in my sleep and have ADD and can't properly focus anymore, dreaming of beaches, yoga, flying fish, and suspended/germinating/sea bobbing coconut seeds, feeling sad about Steve's death up at the ski hill, feeling sad for dad- coming home and listening to Steve's fav. songs playlist and looking at ski trip photos, trying to stay awake, wondering why there are 11 ridiculous steps in my time sheet submittal process, questioning the cubicle lifestyle choice, listening to NPR stories about twenty-something entrepreneurs and about the history of ballet, and mentally dedicating songs to far away friends.

This is what you're going to do tonight:

-think srsly about mall and nikki's xmas presents- FUD and ???
-order them
-get ciara's baby card ready to go
-get mari's card ready to go
-take mari's present to work tomorrow and staple it together
-activate my new credit card
-look at hats you've crocheted and figure out what's missing and if you can fashion together some sort of website?
-finish tyler's hat
- find chapstick
-write letter to audrey- on what?
-write back to karlee
-make something edible for rachel's party tomorrow
-xmas cards? oh god... heart's not in it...

-grad school- social work- apply feb 2012???

What about a business baking granola, selling tea, crocheting hats/scarves/headbands, pressed flower cards?

What about planting a flower/vegetable garden next spring?

What about finishing that application to the Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Center?

What about screwing Boise and their crappy job market and moving to Barc[th]elona, Spain?

What about starting on the night's to-do list first?

is it a crime to sing janis at the top of my lungs?

2010-12-06T18:56:00.000-08:00

To my dear [3] blog readers:

I apologize for my absence. I'm afraid it will probably continue. I've been really busy and can barely keep up with work/email/life/friends/texting/exercising/eating well. I decided that instead of writing a blog, I would create a collection of my favorite texts sent and received from this past month. Thank you to all my texting pals for providing the hilarity. Big love and happy holidays to you and yours. xoxo

"I mean, I have no idea if he's dating anyone or not. All I can tell is that he gets drunk and eats a lot of hotdogs."

"I almost bought a wolf today."

"Sweetness! Just fell off my roof"

"And don't forget to punish. Bwuahaha"

"I took the test- no baby! I feel like I can do anything now!"

"He is a vortex of destruction- stay away from him!"

"So incredibly thankful for you. Love, missylicious."

"No, I will not be your mistress. 'Uteruses before duderuses,' is what I always say."

A: "I want your bangs circa 2007."

B: "You're gonna have to be more specific. I had a lot of different bangs in 2007."

A: "These ones!"

B: "Oh yea, I could totally bang you like that the next time I see you."

A: "Hey im at this guy named matts house. Its on the corner of 10th and hays a big brick house. If i die, that's where i am. But dont worry. I love you. B home around 8. xoxo"

B: "Are you gonna stay? Is he a creeper? Do you need me to come pick you up?"

A: "Yea im gonna stay. Do not worry. He is a poet."

A: Thnx 4 the offer, but i just got bck from boise a bit ago and i need 2 take a shower (and wash away my iniquities) and go 2 bed early (and ask god 2 forgive me 4 my transgressions)."

B: It's totally hot when girls quote the psalms in txts"

"I think the scariest part of online dating is getting a message from a gigolo who LOVES insane clown posse AND dresses like a member of ICP."

brazen request

2010-10-25T21:49:00.000-07:00

5 cent feather in hair

whiskey on lips

he was from ciudad de mexico

his kiss was innocent but his hands weren't

fire alarm throbs

sweet 26 and a car purchased in cash

25% raise

freshly blunted bangs

birthday wish list requests only an explanation,

basil and hugs,

magenta tie-dyed daisies,

7 year anniversary and of course i cuddled with her.

missed connection, to say the very least

2010-09-28T18:28:00.000-07:00

dreams - m4w - 31 (seattle)

So this guy fell off his ride in order to ramble at you...incoherently attempting to communicate some message. The important part of the dream had to do with finding a locket or medallion. It is the only way to make it home; home in a broader sense. Maybe the pieces will fit once I complete my graphic novel. What does your feather mean? Peace

re: dreams - m4w - 31 (seattle)

Indeed, the message was obtuse and convoluted.

While you dreamed of searching for lockets and medallions, I dreamed of my metamorphosis into a lesbian- making love to a sexy african woman with long intricate dreadlocks wearing a sarong and smelling of patchouli.

It's not too late; I could still exit my chrysalis and fly home.

By the way, home is not a place; it's a construct- i.e. one can create home whenever and wherever you are. Beds and kitchens notwithstanding.

my roots are growin' but i don't know where they are

2010-09-24T09:59:00.000-07:00

i line up my options and caress them nightly
like a scientist admires his brains and organs formaldehyde- preserved in jars
postcards of yoga on costa rican beaches
snowglobes of nyc skyscapes
he grovels back on hands and knees
crying of being a fuck up
label and explanation, a neat unit
arm around his shoulder,
i say, "look- you're a self-fulfilling prophesy,
and listen dude, it's america- it's time to reinvent yourself."
i take him back to my bed
getting- over- it intersects the physical
bruises on my shoulder and scrapes on my knee
you're just Saturday's outfit
i co-pay $30 for therapy and a hug
and what should i wear today?

Across the broad continent lie precipices, cold/leftover pizza, and trees: Part I

2010-09-12T18:58:00.000-07:00

It was with unabashed conviction that Beatrice declared, "That was the best orgasm I have experienced since Bush was still in office."

It wasn't that she had been exactly abstinent for the previous three years, but she had just been with a bunch of duds that she didn't particularly care for. Plus, that last orgasm was pretty hard to compete with. First off, it had been in the communal shower in the dormitory where she had been the Residential Assistant for the past semester. With all her little freshman charges safely off to Christmas break, she and her 2 year boyfriend decided to get clean together. She never really understood why that particular orgasm had been so unbelievably powerful, but she did know that there was something thrilling about doing it in a semi-public place where there was the minute possibility of being caught by the evil residential headmistress. She also discerned that the dynamic between herself and her boyfriend was changing due to their impending partings, being seniors and all. Maybe it was all the stress she had just suffered through due to finals and graduation applications and last minute checkouts or maybe it was due to her feeble attempts to hold on to her boyfriend just a little longer. Whatever it was, when the orgasm hit, it started out like an explosion on her clitoris and then moved inward, spreading perhaps to her cervix like warm tingly shivers, and then outward to her limbs and extremities. It lasted at least 45 seconds and came in 3 distinct waves and she had to lean back against the shower wall, lest she collapse on the tiled floor.

But, when she met Montana, she just felt something dramatically different. First off, he was everything his Western- sounding name conjured. He had long flowing curly chestnut hair, an untamable beard, and he perpetually dressed like someone who had just returned from a month-long backpacking trip in the Ozark mountains. Of course, he played the banjo and harmonica and he had spent a significant amount of time backpacking around Central America and as a recreational therapist leading troubled youths through the wilds of Oregon and Wyoming. When he scrawled his name in large half-capital and half-lowercase letters and phone number on an order-taking tablet of the pizza establishment where he labored, she forced herself to look at the paper, so as not to stare at him overmuch.

He drawled, "If you'd ever wanna go hiking with me, I've got a good truck for climbing and stuff. Or, if you'd just wanna meet up for a cup o' coffee sometime, just lemme know."

She knew right then and there that she'd give him a call, but how and when were the more important considerations. She graciously smiled her thanks and carefully tucked the number in her pocket. She gave Montana a hug because that seemed an appropriate response in her drunken state and waltzed out of the restaurant.

It seemed she had waited so long for this perfect specimen of a man. She was rather bored of the type of man who claims to love the outdoors, but in truth loves it only from a distant, consumeristic sense, as in how do the outdoors allow me to play and can I drive my SUV through that stretch of land? The type that thinks car or RV camping is true camping or the type that likes to snowmobile, go four-wheeling, and hunting but to whom the idea of rolling around in the dirt or hugging a tree or smelling a flower or spending weeks on end in areas so remote that human contact is unlikely seems a mere impossibility or worse, ridiculous.

Beatrice was a solitary type of girl. It wasn't that she disliked others or that she had a difficult time connecting with people. Rather, she had an abundance of friends dating as far back as pre-school and was a loyal and loving friend to all whom she encountered. She lived in a middle- sized city with all the amenities that a city has to offer- everything from independent cinema theaters to live local indie music to martini bars and gay-friendly clubs. She rented a house with 3 other individuals and enjoyed their company. Often, they could be found cooking together and playing their communally- enjoyed music at extremely high decibels, but often, when her roommates were absent and known to be absent for any length of time (like long days at work or long dinner parties), Beatrice could be found cooking semi-nude and when they were undoubtedly and most assuredly absent (like for extended vacations or business trips), she could be found cooking completely nude. It wasn't that she liked being naked or was an exhibitionist, but more that she felt more healthy about her cooking when she cooked that way. She felt more conscious about what she was putting in her pots and pans and she more carefully checked ingredients to rest assured that she was putting good things into her body. She felt more self-aware and consistent with her health when she was naked. It wasn't that she was particularly attractive or that she had an especially well-sculpted body, but she was athletic and simultaneously curvy and lacked cellulite and overall, her confidence buoyed all negative aspects of her physique. Already past phases of self-loathing, anorexia, and bulimia, she had progressed to a point of acceptance, yet still dictatorially controlled nearly every morsel that entered her mouth.

One night, as Beatrice bustled about the kitchen, this time semi-nude for her roommates had let on that they were attending a concert at The Factory tonight, she crushed her chickpeas to make hummus and she stirred her quinoa as it started to fluff and she sipped her red wine. She absently glanced out at the ivy in the backyard and wondered why it didn't grow in a more aesthetically pleasing direction. Distracted, she set down her wooden stirring spoon, slipped on her flip flops, and with eyes still locked on the errant ivy, she exited the house to try and redirect it. Suddenly, her roommates descended upon the house, drunk, sweaty, and ecstatic from their concert. Thankfully, Bea's food was nearly finished and she neglected the ivy, re-entered the house, fixed herself a plate, and retired to her room. Sometimes, when she socially secluded herself from her roommates, she could be found painstakingly piecing together collages made from recycled materials, while at other times, she could be found, listening to her ipod and dancing in strange trance-like motions, and still at other times, with the door safely locked, she would engage in video-chat sex with various ex-beaus and aquainatances. She particularly enjoyed dressing up in wigs and glasses and costumes and saying and doing naughty things, that from a distance seemed innocuous. More frequently than not, she could be found absently browsing blogs and facebook pages of friends and love interests. Frequently, she munched on bits of ice and chugged glasses of red wine. Her work days were spent in a coffee shop where she worked remotely on various editing and writing projects that were assigned to her by The Man. In her spare time, she was also training to be a yoga instructor. If asked, she would say that she felt that her propensity toward control led her to yoga and her acute awareness of body is what is keeping her there.

Nonetheless, when Montana gave her his name and number, she suddenly felt strangely off balance. For the first time in her life, the control and propulsion of the prospective relationship was in her hands. In all her previous experience with men, she had been the relinquisher of her contact information. The very fact that Montana had entrusted her with his number seemed of immense significance. So, after several days of deliberation, Beatrice finally unlocked her Blackberry and punched in Montana's digits.

summer sound bytes:

2010-07-19T18:09:00.000-07:00

"Hey will you tell Lisa that I spent the wkend @ a music festival w/ my 'future husband'?"

"The music fest was sooooo much fun. We did kiss. It was good 2."

"Ohhh that reminds me of another thing he said ha ha he was going on and on and on and on about how hot you looked after your bike ride when he gave you the book"

"just rode a fixie bike"

"While volunteering, i pretended 2 check bags 4 alcohol, i guarded the building where the bands were getting ready, drank a case of beer we snuck in2 the venue, and danced. :-)"

"Man i wish you were going to be here next weekend! i don't know who im going to take to Star Wars in concert :[ "

"With many scrapes, cuts, bruises, and a radiating sunburn. I returned to Moscow. Everyone, in fact, survived."

"i just saw this guy hula hooping and he looked just like you! i miss you!"

"P.s. Way too much Idaho hair going on here!"

"Will you be alive after 5 PM today?"

"The old gal from your famous photograph is in the M right now. Cute as ever."

"I assume you're crazy for sure... in some fantastic way. i have no idea what shoot my boot means. and i too am quite the fan of hot springs. perhaps sometime. ha."

"so... i'm not stalking you but we are gonna get to boise around midnight... 11 depending on the time zone it's in... are you there tonight?"

"it was all fun and games until your camera ended up in the lake and mall and me were left to walk home from the bar at 2am."

wrap-up

2010-06-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

snow in may standing outside pajama pants furry hooded parka polka dotted rain boots mouth agape peeling sunburn tulips abloom flowering among forget-me-nots aglow

my toes had started feeling foreign to each other when we met for watery coffee and pie at the truck stop. you didn't notice my baggy pants. i felt my sadness weighing heavy and soggy on my sleeve, but you were too transfixed by the comics you brought to show me. i thought that maybe you'd notice when i screamed into the bus stop shelter or when the tear fell from my left eye when we were smoking cloves and listening to frou frou. maybe next time i'll spill coffee in your lap and then i can catch your eye.

running late for buses and trains and subways and spiderweb-like mazes of changes and transfers

he asks, "how's your heart, guapita?"

it's better now that the winter is over.

we wake in the sun-drenched loft

my greasy head on your hairless chest

patchwork sun on the hardwood floor

tiptoe out of the sleeping house

ride our creaking bikes back to the hotel

Southern Discomfort

2010-04-21T17:21:00.000-07:00

He was one of those southerners. The type that lets y'all know right off the bat they're from the south and that thinks the south's the best place to be from.

He took one last sip of his vodka martini, puckered and slid the olive off the toothpick with his chapped lips.

"Don't worry, darlin'. Someday you'll get a taste for it," he chided while absent-mindedly discarding the toothpick in the well of vodka. On second thought, retrieved it and started chewing thoughtfully. He gathered his tasseled worn leather coat and exited the bar.

Don't believe everything you hear

2010-04-07T18:53:00.000-07:00

They lay in the sticky bed of their Las Vegas hotel room. The odor of stale cigarette smoke clung to the stained red carpet, drawn drapes, and the musty bedspreads that were balled up and thrown to the far corners of the room. The hotel's name inluded the word, "Palace," but that couldn't be more of a misnomer. They'd met less than 12 hours before. The time inched past 10am and they still didn't rise; apathetic, not really wanting to stay in bed and not really wanting to confront the penetrating spring sun. She hated the two carbon-copy paintings of a parrot balancing on a branch and said so. Also on her list of hates were the wallpaper, the mildew above the tile in the shower, the dust resting on the television cords, and the floral padded headboards nailed to the wall above the bed.

She'd already had 3 orgasms that morning, but as he pulled her close again, she lethargically closed her eyes.

"I'm not done with you," he said not un-menacingly and greedily started tugging at her boom-box printed purple/turquoise briefs.

Her masochism couldn't be defined in terms of alcoholism, drug abuse, disordered eating, cutting or burning herself, but rather in how she seemed to intuitively attract the male assholes of the planet who would use her, inevitably hurt her and then leave her. It was just easier that way and there was less self-blame.

He left when she slipped into the shower. And when she left the room, backpack tacked to her body, the "Do not disturb" sign fell to the floor and slipped out of sight under the door. She didn't even notice.

40- Day Sleep

2010-03-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

cloak my body in barbed wire
erect an electric fence around me
strong independent woman
hands upheld
keep your distance
avoiding pain
suffocating tears
you think you're so tough
but it takes less energy to trust
than to be on guard
and he disarms
with a grin and a hug
spring bike rides and cooking pizza
treading through hip- deep snow
a push and i'm up over the hill
a hand out-held
accepted
let's see where we end up

A Series of Self-Righteous Events...

2010-03-23T22:00:00.000-07:00

Beatrice sat in a wicker chair on the screened-in veranda, while Harold sat on the davenport. The well-ventilated space was punctuated with each carefully wrought punching of the typewriter and ding and slam at the end of each line.
Harold was obscured by the newspaper, but every turn of the page revealed his crinkled brow: he really was more of an anarcho-pacifist type of guy and Dubya's war-mongering-US-as-policeman-to-the-world tactics really disturbed him.

Their concentration was interrupted by the subtle buzzing of Bea's Nokia cell phone set to vibrate. She arose and smoothed her floral sundress before rummaging in her clutch to retrieve the humming device.

Excerpt of hope

2010-03-15T18:59:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to write you and tell you of how much hope I have for the future.

We will get through this. I am convinced.

Despite the storms, the depression, the midnight weeping.

I saw 2 grape hyacinths, 4 crocuses, and the green-red-edged tulip stems arising from the earth today!

Spring is on its way.

It seems so inconceivable. Yesterday I went snowshoeing with my mom 1.75 hours away and we were treading through 4 feet of snow!!!

We learned of how the "limber pine" conserves water through it's thin evergreen needles in the middle of a desert and how the "pika" collects piles of dried greens and munches on them off and on all winter long, that is, in between naps.

It made me wonder why I have expected so much of myself this winter. Why I feel so ashamed of myself for longing for more sleep, for less activity, and for more huddling against heat vents, at least until my skin turns bright red and can't stand any more.

Next winter, I will try to be more accepting of my "hibernation/escapist/avoidance" tendencies.

OMG I have a crush. It's thrilling. He's tall and outdoorsy and sincere (ly/and) adorable.

i promise i still believe in spring. :-)

in the words of my dear friend banana, "dont worry you will be just fine. just try to relax and it will be over quick."

imploring warmth

2010-03-05T21:36:00.000-08:00

march loudly marches and makes its demands. insomnia. brain simmering. catharsis. let me go. get outside. muddy hems. stretch. whole wheat quiche. spring moves in. ice melts. patio drips.

Ode to Chile

2010-02-28T13:08:00.000-08:00

All songs

Soneto XVII

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride:

so I love you because I know no other way

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,

te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:

así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera

-Cien sonetos de amor, Pablo Neruda-

better late than never

2010-02-24T16:28:00.000-08:00

eyes glued to my red shoes
blushing cheeks
valentines hazy morning
letting go of my red balloon
boston pink tulips
dozen roses debacle
bubbly honeymoon
polaroid valentine
imminent ending
valdivian sola hijacking
bloody week
creaky futon
this year
my valentine was waking up
to find your hand on my belly

my bicycle mocks me

2010-02-18T22:00:00.000-08:00

maybe the sun'll come out today
walkin' home eyes on my red cowboy boots
drinkin' our whiskey from the flask
he cups his ear to try and listen better

hopin' for twiggy
stuck with lady elaine from mr. rogers
in the morning they emerge reticently
the hippie, nerd and bro

inhale the smoke,
take in peace signs
hope their pointy edges don't slash my fragile lungs
exhale negativity in dashes,
they shoot out my nose and mouth

like shards of black glass

huddled against heat vents
my dog sits on my feet
wrapped around mugs of steam
it's just a phase
the cold and the coffee pot that isn't even mine

i don't wanna make things awkward for you
fingers grazing my bare back
he shoots 2 more so we can go dance
"listen hon, i think you're really cute, but i've gotta run."

Nightmares of Past Deeds

2010-02-10T17:14:00.000-08:00

Nick and I sit as college royalty, a shunned frat boy and plucky college co-ed, in swivelly office chairs facing out his dorm room window. The traffic lights reflect onto his glasses in constantly transferring shades of red, then green, then briefly yellow. Repeat.
He sucks the smoke into his lungs, and the air is momentarily clear and then his exhale pollutes the room with swirling gray tendrils.
According to my high school youth pastor, we should be ashamed of our actions, but the smoke has already done its job and shame couldn't be farther from our concerns.
He asks, "Are you ready now?"
"Yeah, let's do this," I return and pull my PETA-sticker emblazoned notebook from my backpack.

I just want to listen to Beyonce and Janis Joplin all day long.

2010-02-02T18:27:00.000-08:00

NY Resolution # 2: Listen carefully to my intuition. To date, it has never let me down.

Long work days, overbearing project, new cubicle, quiet(!), massive desk, productivity(!), sunlight lingering longer.

"I want to touch you in real time not find you on YouTube, I want to walk next to you in the mountains not friend you on Facebook." -Eve Ensler in upcoming I Am an Emotional Creature

Can you ever acclimate to winter? (I just wonder if it's actually "natural" to live this far from the equator...)

Regarding her Blue album, Joni Mitchell said, "there's hardly a dishonest note in the vocals. At that period of my life, I had no personal defenses. I felt like a cellophane wrapper on a pack of cigarettes. I felt like I had absolutely no secrets from the world and I couldn't pretend in my life to be strong. Or to be happy. But the advantage of it in the music was that there were no defenses there either."

Cheers to not pretending.

Part One of NY's Resolution Oh-Ten

2010-01-29T11:01:00.000-08:00

[T]he solution to the single person's isolation may be simple: shut the lid on our laptops and get over ourselves--[we] don't have to do it all on [our] own. We'll only find the comfort to our singles' loneliness by spending time in the physical presence of people we love. If we want love, we have to love. We have to open our hearts to connecting again. -Kristine Gasbarre

Thanks

2010-01-22T18:20:00.000-08:00

bE pRESENT iN tHIS mOMENT,
CeLlS vIbRaTiNg,
Namaste.

"This is where we are and this is what we're doing."

2010-01-14T18:57:00.000-08:00

wandering about boston
a cup of tea in mittenned hand
tromping through snow drifts in wool pea coat
looking for Sylvia Plath’s beacon hill apartment

meandering desert north
lakes in the south
cross-country Argentina
crazy-ass wild hair funky skirts flipflops

plodding to and from the library 4x a day
bundled up in every warm article of clothing
pounding away and editing computer-jargonful reports
hardwood floor Joni Mitchell on vinyl yoga session

i made my mate’ the gourd-bombilla way
as if we were living in Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina,
sprinkled with a bit of dried peppermint leaves
crushed and crinkled.
i’m just letting you go
with a wave of my arm
dismissal.

she was the one who lived with the lemon tree
the one that does yoga
she salvages the fruit that falls to the ground
washing off the dirt
overlooking the bruises

You can't get away from yourself
Bloom where you’re planted

dr. mao recommends hibernation during the winter
i.e. conserving energy
i’ll take whatever excuse i can get to be a hermit

there’s been a stark change in my writing since coming back
i often feel like i have nothing to say
as if all creativity has been sapped
that life doesn’t seem as beautiful or poetic

horoscope recommends, “Acknowledge the gap and decide what to do about it.”
The gap: the glaring canyon in maturity levels
different places in life
obvio, po

fresh powder on the pavement,
he cross country skied to work today
i hardly recognized his voice
frida said, “At the end of the day, you’d be surprised at how much the body can endure.”
this from a woman in semi-constant pain nearly her entire life

i’d like to say there’s less sugarcoating these days
the columbian woman in brooklyn makes her coffee with cinnamon
daintily sprinkling the grounds
home is when i’m with you
remember haiti.

I am not beautiful /

2010-01-12T22:00:00.000-08:00

I am not beautiful / I am in bloom as the world goes underground / I am not beautiful / And I am not magic yet / But I am in bloom at the end of the world.
Enjoy:

Fiya - Tune-Yards

Read at your own risk: WUI (written under influence)

2010-01-05T20:36:00.000-08:00

im drinking m’ wine straight from the bottle
veramonte sauvignon blanc from chile. well, technically cost plus, boise, idaho, but before that, it was from the casablanca valle en chile.
im criticizing the man who walked by my cubicle 3x, verbally noted my name on the placard, said i was cute, then sent me an email (i shit you not) 3 minutes later.
if I knew math better i’d use one of those >< greater/less than symbols, but math has never been a strong point
i’m obviously still sober enough to remember to throw in the ‘ due to my letter error
im criticizing that man’s desperation
and according to my impeccable skills using the idaho criminal repository, i now know his wife divorced him 3 years ago and he has speeding issues.
don’t we all?
i almost cried yesterday.
i feel nostalgic.
drinking this same wine in hilton head, south carolina, after dropping my boss off at the savannah airport, going to a cost plus there and buying free trade dark chocolate, biking through a wildflower field, and glowering at the alligator in the creek in the backyard and then retiring to my loft room to read neruda.
and then drinking this same wine in chile… from the bottom “cheap” mil-quiniento shelf of the corner store and driving past the vineyard on a bus on the way to the beach holiday, escape for the day.
i have an obsession with looking at the photo albums of current expats residing in chile. I love their hopefulness and the newness with which they are experiencing santiago.
i’ve forgotten so much spanish
on new years eve, i was explaining to banana, the “chilena self” i was trying to hard to develop in chile. mastering the chilean accent, with the aspirated “s” sound and “po’s,” the scarves during/despite the summer, the opposing toughness and softness, the self that could blend in and be less overtly “gringa.”
have I forgotten parts of my self too? was i really myself despite trying to blend in as a pseudo-chilena, still hopelessly gringa with messy hair and a perpetual liter bottle of water in hand and over weighted bookbag?
and how can i criticize that man’s desperation when i feel him. as my mom reminds me of the devil’s tomb of this god damn town and the desert wasteland of kindred spirits?
and i draft my latest text to that boy. because i fear my own seeming desperation after this immeasurable bit of wine; i can’t really see it for what it is.
and i felt like such a wretched soul on xmas eve. i felt the lowliness of an ugly person emitting rays of filth and horrible-ness. you’d laugh when i explain why,
but it leads to my new year’s resolution. i want to be a better person. i want to be a bitch when it’s relevant. i.e. i want to stand up for myself, but more so, i want to love and give and stop worrying. i want to emit positive vibes and balance grace and free-ness.
in truth, i’m scared of growing old.
sue monk kidd says growing old is about growing more comfortable with yourself.
on NYE, i kissed a boy who had been on my “i wish i kissed this boy, but didn’t because i’m a scaredy-cat” list for the past 3 years (and it was awesome- the making out… errr I mean the kissing, that is!). i raise my bottle of wine to myself for that one.
somehow, oh-10 already seems to be starting off right.
i just sent the text message. not holdin’ back any longer.
off to do a yoga sesh. dad cackling. because this is home and it’s a difficult time of year- the cold- the vitamin d deficiency-the cubicle concession- skin rebelling.
hibernation era and the peace and calm will get us thru ‘til spring.

Posed

2009-12-26T14:40:00.000-08:00

suitcase on my chest
snap
top of hill
winter night
valley’s lights
do you mind if I smoke?
velcro voice
masculine throat
lesbian lovers
afro intersections
past and present shadow selves
lost loose threads of predictions and declarations
click
pink monogrammed
shotgun
inhaling irony
age hijacking
sunken eyeballs
gray tinged eyebrows
fire singed eyelashes
you saved our city
i was crying so hard i thought i was gonna die
carrots on the roof for the reindeer
carefully placed
thoughtfully removed
hold onto your dreams
just a lil’ bit longer
i’ll keep it to myself

Status Flashback

2009-12-24T12:57:00.000-08:00

Blood donor rejectee strike 2

2009-12-12T13:06:00.000-08:00

Still alarmingly iron deficient

and let's overlook all those other rejections,

but don't think twice it's all right.

Snowstorm, peace coffee, dark chocolate m & m's, sweatpants, 'n lala playlists.

What's been steamin' in my mug lately...

2009-12-02T18:06:00.000-08:00

8 C. Water
1 Tbsp. Anise Seed
1 Tbsp. Fennel Seed
1 Tbsp. Fenugreek Seed
1 Tbsp. Flax Seed
1 Tbsp. Dried Ginger or 4 slices fresh Ginger
1 Tbsp. Licorice Root
1 Tbsp. Peppermint Leaves

Bring to a boil, let simmer 10-20 minutes. Strain through cheesecloth and drink hot or cold. In bulk add 1/4 cup to 8 cups of water or 2 tsp for a tea cup. : )

Benefits of Tea:
Anise seed – aids digestion and freshens the breath. It can also soothe a cough and improve bronchitis
Fennel Seed – is a soothing, mild laxative used to relieve digestive gas, acid stomach, and irritated or obstructed digestive organs.
Fenugreek Seed – is most commonly used for relief of mucous congestion in the lungs and digestive tract. It is soothing and lubricative to the stomach and bowels.
Flax Seed – soothes irritated tissues, especially in digestive and respiratory passages; and promotes elimination of mucous.
Ginger root - is excellent for improving circulation, and is one of the best herbs for improving digestion, nausea, lung congestion, and arthritis.
Licorice Root – is used primarily as a tonic for blood and lungs. Is also associated with soothing and toning the digestive tract.
Peppermint Leaves - is good for stress relief. It also helps with stomachs and digestive issues and helps to freshen the breath. Is an aromatic, stimulant and used as a remedy for colds, fevers & flu.

Boise <3

2009-11-25T19:09:00.000-08:00

Coffee sunlight college haunt
Capitol clouds
Used book store photocopier J's shoulder
13th street bikes

a woman who changes her hair is about to change her life

2009-11-24T21:53:00.000-08:00

coco avant chanel- thank you for (in a roundaboutsorta way) inspiring me to wear my woolen legwarmers with my leather boots yesterday. also, thank you for reminding me to be a rebel on a more frequent basis.

on a sidenote, 65% of girls surveyed in boise, idaho after watching "new moon," believe that edward's controlling/paranoid/aggressive/possessive behavior is not worrisome and is simply indicative of his extreme love and affection toward bella.

i've gotta go steep some tea leaves.

p.s. let me know if you need a handmade crocheted hat this winter to warm your ears... 'cause i've got 'em comin' outta my ears. i promise- one story written by yours truly will accompany each hat... just send me your addy...

He Loves You Deep Inside

2009-11-11T17:52:00.000-08:00

somehow we'll make it through this winter
huddling next to heat vents
cuddling smoking cups o' joe
poring over the patagonia catalog
not exactly chompin' at the bit, if you will
daydreaming of manual labor
rusted barbed wire, rotting fence posts
muddy work boots and musky leather gloves
physical exhaustion
unobstructed stars and sleeping bags
drinking chilean wine straight from the bottle
head banging
mason jennings reminds to be present, connected
here and now

He Loves You Deep Inside - B-Sides - Rachael Yamagata - Final Mastered B-Sides

Single Serve Serenade

2009-11-09T18:30:00.000-08:00

your pajama pants are in the mail
i hope they keep you warm this winter
i figured it'd be coming back to me whole
thought the next time would be after we'd traversed full-circle
we could put the needle to the vinyl
groove to joni mitchell's blue
simon and garfunk's scarborough fair
but instead it occupies the space next to my single serve coffeemaker
iron and wine is scratched irreparably
and you didn't even bother to replace it
but don't think twice it's okay
because your i don't know means no
and it might just be better this way

Vigilante Justice in Montana

2009-11-02T18:11:00.000-08:00

taking back alleys with the prospector,
absent-minded librarian,
life-size crayon crew
pursued by the torture asylum escapee,
droopy-boobed stripper
pounding tequila
smuggling sunrises
my aviators mask my shock
garish guises
bloody hand prints
dissonant, off-tune karaoke
her stray earring on the nightstand
secret somersaults in the frosted grass
twiggy and her freudian slips

i know what you women want
i don't know what the fuck you're talking about
i just wanna get laid, he declares, you gotta help me
excuse me, we have to leave now

be confident
they can sense if you're fearful

god forgive me for i have sinned
i said the f word last night
drank copious amounts of alcohol
dreamed of sexing my f

bachelor row and the gallows
we drive our truck through the sagebrush
boot-high weeds
stopping at the bandit infested
saloon cum barbershop
leading our 7 horses down the hills to the corral
lead ropes cutting my wind-chapped hands
new lines on my palm
growing like baby roots
minuscule hairs
fraying and tangling
in various directions
i stir you into my drink
mixing with grenadine and Tang
your flavors blend well

On the concept of Home from "Garden State"

2009-10-25T11:32:00.000-07:00

Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for you kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

Pruning Season

2009-10-04T22:09:00.000-07:00

hack off the limb of free-spiritedness
cut off the branch of wild lion hair
break off the arm of travel
shed the leaves of borrowed books
dig up the roots of community
nourish with protein, black coffee, whole wheat bread
cultivate through yoga and rapid pedaling
stroke the barren limbs
touch the stubby arms
smooth the choppy hair
hope that the seeds of responsibility and refuge
will take root

Where's a heroine when you need one?

2009-10-03T10:24:00.000-07:00

In other news, I’ve decided that I need to be more connected with pop culture. I’ve started reading the Stephenie Meyer “Twilight” book series. Here are my first impressions of “Twilight.”
1. Although, not as poorly written as I may have expected [from a BYU graduate… No, just kidding.]. It’s definitely not by any means well-written either. The description and word choice are boring and dull. Uninteresting. Basically, it validates my belief that literary use of the English language is becoming simpler, less diverse and bland.
2. I think the only thing Stephenie Meyer has going for her is a unique plot line. A girl falling in love with a vampire?! WTF?! Who would’ve thought! Yeah, that’s an idea I’d like to learn more about and that’s why I’m still reading it…
3. I think if people are interested in fantasy-genre books, which people seem to be with the immense popularity of these SM books and the Harry Potter series, there is a whole slew of fantasy books, that are written SOOO much better and are so much more riveting and complex and fabulous. I would recommend the Lloyd Alexander series and the ever classic Tolkien Lord of the Rings series. Tolkien uses sensory detail, almost Annie Dillard style, and description of forests that will last up to 20 pages sometimes. I would by far, take that over a Stephenie Meyer one-sentence description of Bella’s town. Tell me more, damn it!
4. Lastly and most centrally, I am frustrated with SM’s protagonist, Bella. She is what I would describe as a weak, whiney, insecure, self-antagonizing girl. The problem I have with that is A. Most of the time, that’s what I hear inside my head and what I try and fight against. B. If I were to go back and re-read my lock-and-key diary from 7th grade, it would sound the same way. C. If we were to interview the inner thoughts of the majority of junior high age girls, they would sound exactly like SM’s Bella. I don’t want to listen to another weak and self-defeating woman. Period! I think women have enough voices to listen to selling us products to make us skinnier, tanner, hairy-less, longer lashed, longer legged, fuller headhaired, less frizzed etc. because we seem to be deficient in seemingly significant ways and overabundant in other areas. We’re never going to feel perfectly content with who we are, naturally.
Furthermore, with women being used to sell things, we can never get past the idea, that we’re just a means to an end. We’re the mode that’s accomplishing the product pushing, we’re the reward that will be realized if we purchase the item, and we’re the item that needs to be modified in some way, because we’re not good enough as-is.
My Point: I want and NEED to hear from strong, brave women. I want to surround myself with them. I want to have coffee with Mari A., Cathy D., Heather T., Jenna H., and Karlee J. I want to read the 1940’s era Maud Hart Lovelace’s Betsy series over and over again- read about Besty who travels the world curious, fearless and sponge-like, soaking up the marvelous world around her. I want to read about Audre Lorde’s 1960’s Zami, who is a misfit, in every possible way. She’s black and lesbian. She doesn’t “match” the world around her, but she ends up developing a new spelling of her name and a new way of negotiating with the world around her. Beautiful! Fantastic! Yes, she struggles, A LOT, but she is strong and she triumphs. I want to listen to Ani DiFranco and Tracy Chapman who make me cry and feel understood and who write the most astoundingly truthful lyrics ever. I want to read Sylvia Plath’s poetry because she infuses her writing with the most personally-felt beautiful life metaphors that can still resonate with women everywhere.
In summary, woman must have and desperately need strong women as role models. In a world where Roman Polanskies get away with the rape of 13-year-old girls for 40 some years because we still live in an age where rape is conceptualized as simply being under force and violent between strangers, one female, young and virgin, and the other male demented, and old, and all the gray areas, of drunkenness, homosexuality, non-consent, and acquaintance-ship make for a much more complicated definition.
I don’t know about you, but I’m crying out for heroines, like Juno, Harriet the Spy, and even Carrie Bradshaw, and I’m just not seeing it in SM’s Bella.

yeah fucking right (aka the most liberating fb response ever)

2009-10-02T00:22:00.001-07:00

Thank you for your request. Unfortunately, you don't meet the requirements for a friend and consequently, you are denied, motha fucka!

I'm cold and I like it

2009-10-01T18:14:00.000-07:00

he asks me if i'm tomato girl
bringing a pint of hot chicken noodle soup for breakfast
foggy steaming glass
her husky used-to-be-a-smoker voice
the gap between her front teeth
anonymous popcorn presents
i laugh as the books arrive from the british library in a giant blue bag
the peculiarities of u of wyoming
are you coming back?
no se po

A galoshes, rain coat, and green tea day

2009-09-30T17:55:00.000-07:00

after much trepidation
i don my leotard, pink tights and ballet slippers
unbeknownst to me,
he watches
as i dance and stretch and laugh
suddenly my sister alerts me of his presence
i freeze
i am suddenly aware of my chubby, bare thighs
my love handles being squeezed by my tights and leotard
he exits having succeeded with a stir and disruption
i finish class sweating and self-conscious

Ciao Pesca'o

2009-09-24T17:28:00.000-07:00

you say i'm always running away
but you won't give me a reason to stay
you say you just wanna be friends,
(and i don't know about you)
but i've never touched my friends' boobs
you say "Yes, darlin' i still love you,"
but love is a verb
a doing word
and all i'm hearing are words

Reversion

2009-09-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

sitting in his little cardboard box
he designs little machines that work
hypothetically
toys that function
for dolls
as she sits tangled up in yarn
making hats
that are too small
sweaters
with one sleeve
the walls of his box are too tall for him to see over
he can’t look at the other boxes
the world outside, another life
she can’t stop seeing the interconnections
between Idaho and love
fused past and the present
stubborn little kids
band aids over their skinned knees
wounds from their childhoods
of being told that the world is unsafe
not being allowed to finger-paint
or argue
or dance
or express themselves
and not getting enough hugs
in the evenings, he goes dancing with his friends
she rides her bike in the street
while contemplating the inter-relatedness
of the peace corps
and pumpkins

Autumn: Take 2

2009-09-14T17:43:00.000-07:00

my horoscope asks me to gather the harvest from the seeds i planted this past spring
baskets and arm-fulls
i wonder what i planted in my november spring
i wonder what there is to harvest
where is the bounty of the work from the past?
twofold and windfall
yet stunted hopes and misbegotten promises
from forks in the road
unrequited grad school apps
an acorn squash reclines on the shelf above my desktop
leaves like snakeskin or part of an impressionist painting
batiked or tie-dyed
seeds like Dr. Seuss characters' hair- little white fluff balls of wispiness
are drying in my flower press
change is just a cycle
and freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

yo, i got somethin' to say

2009-09-07T20:14:00.001-07:00

aligned with the waxing new moon
learning other names
cata and cait
the unnamed
bitch and whore
avoiding real name
pure
a stab
hangnail in side
of what was forcibly taken
if nothing other than the option
discomfort with possession and loss
a noose rock burden
a lapse absence choice
a woman's worth is bound between her legs
potato soup is never gonna make things okay between us
ani sings, "my cunt is built like wound the won't heal"
you'd still choose the bus and i'll still choose the boa
wearing vans and beanie
when you touched my knee, i wished you wouldn't

Mo(u)rning

2009-09-04T22:18:00.000-07:00

head full of foggy dreams
can't trust my love
bustling off to work
nearly trip over sister
bundled in her wool pea coat
heels pointed in a V
sitting on the side steps
smoking
drinking coffee
wisps of smoke and steamy vanilla creamer
promise:
she will be loved
but i still wish i could stay and join her

Timeless Accusations of Commonality

2009-08-29T10:21:00.000-07:00

He possessed this ageless look, making it difficult to discern whether he was a distinguished young professional in his twenties prematurely balding at the crown of his head or a mature thirty year old with a young face. Ill at ease with smiling, he boasted a full and healthy beard and wore his normal work attire of a pressed white collared shirt and black dress pants. Sans tie now, he sat with his jamming cronies in the upstairs loft of the nearly vacant downtown wine bar which was carefully stocked with an ample assortment of imported Belgian beer.
Confidently taking the lead as the opening strains of “Knockin’ on heaven’s door” began, he assumed an unusually assertive manner. Singing in a rich baritone, his tones filled the cozy establishment, almost like melted dark chocolate in a small stainless-steel cup. As he played his mandolin, he reticently glanced through the railing down to the meager Thursday night crowd.
The next day, at work, he asked accusatorily, “Do you like the Beatles?”
And I returned, “Were you singing Bob Dylan last night?”

Sister + dad hike

2009-08-16T08:10:00.000-07:00

picking wild huckleberries, maroon-dyed fingertips,

icy, musty rain and sawdust, hazelnut coffee,

fall chill, alexi murdoch soothing soul

2009-08-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

“Let us not look back in anger or forward in fear, but around in awareness.” –James Thurber

Of violence and conversions

2009-08-10T21:31:00.000-07:00

he sorts through his clothes with a hammer hand
weightily deciding which to save
and which to burn

screeching and cursing
she leaps up as the enormous hobo spider
crawls out from under her ass

the sunflowers fell perilously close
over your shoulder
as you flew along the freeway oblivious

the crows lived in the skeletal tree outside our window
freshman year
shrouding the tree in black fur and shitting all over the sidewalk

we burned a cow woodcutting in high school
a symbol of our idols separating us from god
and we burned our bras in college
a symbol of our constraints keeping us from ourselves

and when you drove me home after the concert
i was worried that your inattention and headbanging to the music
would cause a collision
and then i joined you

you said i came home quietly
but i don't know any other way to come home

i fight the wind riding to the south
i took revenge and ate the ants
and i'm ruthless in editing

thanks for kissing my cheek
it reminded me of chile
and what it's like to be un-sola again

The Summer of Thunderstorms

2009-08-06T18:45:00.000-07:00

man forlornly playing the saxophone in the supermarket parking lot at night
soul-aching jazz, Lider fluorescence, and weight of groceries
it says dread free, carefree, and fancy free
but maybe it should say careful, dreadful and footloose
i want to ask again
but i’m tired of the answer
so i’m not goin’ to ask anymore and it’s quiet at the other end of the line
sometimes it’s hard to use your words
suze rode along the grand canyon with her ex-bf and now he has all the pictures
gaping emptiness, terracotta cliffs, and dusty rose red sunsets
and she’s left with the head full of memories and the closet full of useless harley gear
my head hurts after staring at a computer screen for 9hrs/day
but I’m learnin’ my name
holdin’ my own
headin’ my own way
and everything’s gonna be fine

Sister Hike

2009-07-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

windows rolled down-wildflowers-Ozzy-

wind blowin' hair-blue mountains-

sun-kissed shoulders-white clouds-blue sky-

remaining white snow-pine trees-fresh airTop of Targhee, view of Tetons

Things behind the sun

2009-07-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

Don’t be shy you learn to fly
And see the sun when day is done
If only you see
Just what you are beneath a star
That came to stay one rainy day
In autumn for free
Yes, be what you’ll be
Please beware of them that stare
They’ll only smile to see you while
Your time away
And once you’ve seen what they have been
To win the earth just won’t seem worth
Your night or your day
Who’ll hear what I say
Open up the broken cup
Let goodly sin and sunshine in
Yes that’s today
And open wide the hymns you hide
You’ll find renown while people frown
At things that you say
But say what you’ll say
About the farmers and the fun
And the things behind the sun
And the people round your head
Who say everything’s been said
And the movement in your brain
Sends you out into the rain
-Nick Drake

Daniel

2009-07-21T17:16:00.000-07:00

He drives a white used Toyota Corola that belongs to his obese verbally and emotionally abusive step-mother.

He’s 24, but looks 30 or 40. He drives consciously and competently, yet with an distant look in his eyes. He’s pre-maturely balding, but despite this, still holds a thick shock of brown hair.

Pulling out of an alleyway, the years are behind him, along with the tipped over spilling garbage cans full of grass clippings and kitchen scraps. Kindergarten, when he got lost on the first day of school because no one was there to walk him there and he didn’t know the way. Grandma wandering around the neighborhood asking for a lost little 5 year old with glasses and neighborhood kids rushing about to find him sitting forlornly on a tree stump in the neighborhood park twirling a stick in a mud puddle and wearing tell-tale muddy shoes. Shivering to school in the Idaho winter without a coat because mom is gone and daddy spent all the money on alcohol. The jeering peers making fun of his thrice worn rumpled clothes and bed head uncombed hair. The coke bottle glasses magnifying his innocent brown eyes and illuminating the curling lashes with golden edges. The disgruntled teacher moving him to the front desk closest to the board because of broken glasses, the lenses irreparably cracked and no money to replace them. The glasses that have now been replaced by contact lenses. The seemingly absent crossed eyes that have been corrected and substituted for the distant look.

Turning right, without using his signal, he merges onto the residential tree-lined street and the overhanging streetlight momentarily glints off the tiny clear disks that cover his pupils and illuminate his vision as he safely navigates to his late night fast-food job.

I concur

2009-07-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

"There were days when she was happy without knowing why. She was happy to be alive and breathing, when her whole being seemed to be one with the sunlight, the color, the odors, the luxuriant warmth of some perfect Southern day. She liked then to wander alone into strange and unfamiliar places. She discovered many a sunny, sleepy corner, fashioned to dream in. And she found it good to dream and be alone and unmolested.
There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why- when it did not seem worth while to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation. She could not work on such a day, nor weave fancies to stir her pulses and warm her blood." -Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Home

2009-07-09T22:38:00.000-07:00

josh ritter tells dani that her cabbage dress is beautiful
the dress that she wore when she re-met her ex-boyfriend
her ex-boyfriend, now fiancée’s favorite dress
on a 3 microbrew afternoon
my thighs and calves are sunburned
ache from my tranquil nightly rides
buzzed
my sister flips the grilled cheese sandwiches
with pickled jalapenos on the side
i make salsa and scramble eggs
we listen to Michael Jackson
as her new bf tries my banana bread
we moonwalk
out to the white christmas light lit patio
i try my bean and egg burrito
the salsa tastes just like pebre

Hogar y una extranjera

2009-06-29T23:15:00.000-07:00

reformatting self
compartmentalizing Spanish
English overload
foreign
regina says breathing is just a rhythm
bike ride sunburn
idaho sunset
just because your life’s in a suitcase, doesn’t mean you have to run away
key lime martinis
remembering my voicemail password
how to drive in 5 o’clock traffic with a stick shift
dani softly plays sufjan on her record player while her babies are sleeping
if i could tell you one thing, i’d say thank you
(okay 2 more things… and she’s still a bitch and you should download regina’s new album)
strange
trying to look responsible for my government job meeting
renee and i comb out my dreads
and she chops off my hair
the floor is littered with my forlorn chunks of hair
fresh start
am I forgetting something?
chad’s sunny blessed oatmeal breakfast
lavender smells the same here as it does in chile
“you pass through places and places pass through you
but you carry 'em with you on the soles of your travelin’ shoes...
and I'm gonna quit these ramblin' ways one of these days soon”

El fin

2009-06-21T17:21:00.001-07:00

packing savoring peaceful bus trip saying goodbye wondering if i should feel more than this last fruits smuggling alfajores last sips of wine buying scarves and pressed flower earrings time to close last hugs imagining the next phase wondering what if i stayed leaving beans pasta and libros en ingles forgetting spanish itching skin last quiet morning ciao chile po last besitos ojala no' vemo'

Te amo, Argentina

2009-06-21T17:10:00.001-07:00

spoons and ribbon at an antique market

vintage dresses and sunlight

bottles for unknown purposes

tango dancers sharing a chat in between numbers
chandelier pieces and sunlight again
argentinian spanish makes life seem so much more dramatic and exciting
iguazu falls and a rainbow

this is just to say

2009-06-08T20:30:00.000-07:00

(with apologies to William Carlos Williams)

i have not forgotten
your birthday
that is today,
june 9th

even though
you know
we aren't communicating
anymore

honestly
i still think of you frequently
but i think it's better this way
felicitaciones
and i wish the best for you

Lately...

2009-06-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

Santiago Winter Sunset. Fresh snow on mountains.
View from the roof during Adam's despedida.

We are love.

the expat dichotomy

2009-05-28T19:40:00.000-07:00

after floundering about fins flicking and flapping
ducking in and out of the shallow pond
soul searching in the reflection
subtly suffocating
what am I
eventually, I slipped a toe from my threadbare tail
warily tested the cement

felt the cold hardness
felt firm
rooted
assured
breathed sharply with my own lungs
relieved
i unzipped the suit
wiggled out
shed skin
packed it away carefully
never know when i’ll need it again

Mala Onda

2009-05-24T19:31:00.000-07:00

He picks me up from the santa ana metro station and I start crying as soon as I see him.
“Why are you crying, linda?”
“I was just confused and didn’t understand. And didn’t know where I was supposed to be and I couldn’t hear you very well on the phone because you were underground and Spanish is really hard to understand over the phone and I didn’t have plata on my phone to call you back.”

We go eat sushi and I feel greasy and my head itches.

I walk home. She asks me how I’ve been and I can’t smile. I just say I’ve been okay.

“This is where we are and this is what we’re doing.”

I’ve got a buzz goin’. I’ve got that.

I chop up magazines and one central image emerges. A bench. In the autumn.

listen... psychologically speaking... after what's happened in the past, one finds him/herself at the juncture of 2 alternatives... 1. being a slut 2. being a prude. i've just gone more in the slut direction

David, who comes late, wears black eyeliner, hates his mother, has an angular haircut and nose piercing, wears tight plaid pants and heavy metal t-shirts, says that one time when he felt “anguish” was after his dad died, and he was self- mutilating, taking lots of drugs and tried to kill himself 3 different times.

2 Chilean women, presumably mother and daughter, sit on an overlook of the ocean near Vina del Mar. The mother’s eyes are squinted closed and she drapes her arm over her daughter, while the daughter leans off balance into her mother’s arm and gazes just over to the right side of the photographer, not looking into the camera. What is she looking at? The mother is dressed primly and her daughter wears jean shorts, aviator glasses, and a t-shirt.

Libertad a Palestina!!

Lee tells me that I don’t understand what I’ve got. He says I can’t just run away from life here. He tells me to just stay a bit longer.

The Cusp

2009-05-18T20:09:00.000-07:00

She says it's been kind of silent without her computer and ipod.
Just give me one reason to stay here.
He says it's been silent after his girlfriend of 5 years left to go back to Prague.
Give me one reason to come back.
Soul searching.
Leaf collecting.
Exam grading.
Hugging.
Basil picking.
[im]permanence questioning.
Kiwi munching.
Walking.
Tracy Chapman groovin'.
Coffee drinking.
Sun rise watching.
Wintering.

The Fine Line

2009-05-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

Olivia grimaces as she tells me that her birthday is next week.
My software students tell me I look like a doll with my new hair-do.
My adult beginning students tell me to be careful when I walk home.
My Spanish teacher feels my forehead and tells me that I have a fever and should go home.
He tells me that I can have all he has. That he just wants to love me because that’s what I need. Every day is an adventure. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. And I thought he was a player. Quien habria pensado. Te quiero.
Pavel tells of the man who jumped from the 13th floor of his apartment while his ex girlfriend observed. He didn’t die immediately.
Shoulder remains withdrawn. I’m still trying to catch up.
Avoiding the IRS and wintertime.
Anticlimactically, I run into Elle at the metro and we say good-bye for now.
I pass an old woman walking with her uniformed care-taker. The caretaker holds one arm and the woman uses a cane to balance herself with the other hand.
I’m not afraid of getting mugged, but I am scared of getting old.
Young heart, old body, gradually increasing age.
We die a little every day.
The rain finally comes and tries to scrub away the remaining fall leaves. For the afternoon, the smog dissipates. As I walk to school at twilight, the sky is purple. The leaves are plastered to the cement. Framing Cerro San Cristobal and the mountains, clouds are stirred with violet and mauve. The sky is reflected in the rain drenched asphalt and the 5:00 traffic’s brake lights mesh with the sunset. Glorious. Lucky. Alive. Here.

Trip to the Dread Doctor

2009-05-11T20:37:00.001-07:00

I had one of the most interesting days ever in Chile today. Here’s a bit of background information. My lovely friend, Renee created dreadlocks in my hair 9 months ago. Shortly thereafter, I moved to Chile. Shortly thereafter, I stopped taking care of my hair. Once in a while, maybe 3 times in total, I twisted my hair and put wax in it. But, that was all. I was kind of in a state of denial, in which I believed that by not caring for my dreadlocks, they would magically become more dreadlock-like and would magically develop into the beautiful dreadlocks that inspired me to get dreadlocks in Portland Oregon and Seattle Washington. Now, kind reader, I am not sure how well-informed you are on the art or maintenance of dreadlocks, but you must know that dreadlocks are the antithesis of what they appear. They do take work. And, lots of it. (Believe me, after sitting in a salon chair and having my buttcheeks fall asleep and have someone yank on my head for 6 hours and 40 minutes in a torture session that would have put my sister’s petty hair-pulling cat fights to shame, I now fully understand the work that should have been put into the maintenance of my dreadlocks). Apparently, dreadlocks like many other things do follow the law of entropy in which all things tend toward a state of disaster, similar to the bathtub, a bedroom, a bikini line, or the leftover spaghetti in the back corner of the refrigerator. I now understand the contradiction of what dreadlocks are… painstakingly maintained chaos. The next time you see someone on the street with perfectly maintained and created tangles, instead of thinking, “Oh my god… how disgusting is he… I bet he stinks…” instead think, “Wow- what a work of art. His hair takes more work than my straight hair, even though it doesn’t look like it.”
Okay, so back to my story. Today I went with my Columbian friend, Pavel Delgado Luna to the “dread doctor.” We met at the metro and scurried to “Eurocentrics,” where we had an appointment for 11am. Pavel was late, and we arrived at the salon, which was located in the basement of a “galleria,” which in Chile is like a mall with random mixes of shops. Once in the salon, we learned that our dread doctor, “Negro” was not there yet and wouldn’t be there for a while. We decided to dar una vuelta or take a walk back to Pavel’s apartment and pick up some cds he had forgotten. We walked to and from and that took about an hour. When we arrived back at the salon, 2 thug-looking guys were standing outside the salon, wearing black sunglasses and with their hoods pulled up over their heads, but with tell-tale waist-length dreads hanging out the front. Pavel walked up to one and greeted him with a “Oye perro!” (or, Hey Dawg!) and gave him a firm hand clasp. I dutifully greeted each of the thugs with a Chilena kiss on the cheek. Pavel got right down to business and started asking “Negro” how much he was going to charge us. After taking one look at my disastrous hair, Negro said it was going to cost 25mil pesos. We agreed and proceeded into the salon, which I would soon learn tripled as a hair cutting salon, dread creation and maintenance salon, and tattoo and piercing application station. Negro led me to the back corner of the small salon and told me to sit down in the cracked vinyl swivel chair. Looking around the salon, I noticed one man, who I would later learn was the dueno or owner of the salon. This man was in his fifties approximately and had bleached blonde long, thin hair. He was balding and had taken the initiative to shave the sides of his head. He was sitting in one of the salon chairs carefully combing over the top of his thin hair to try and mask the balding spot and then proceeded to powder his face, neck, and top of head. I set my purse and bag down on the hair strewn floor and stripped off my jacket. As soon as he saw the back of my head, Negro requested one of the other salon artists to get the digital camera to take before and after photos. That’s when I started to realize the true state of the disaster of my hair. Negro started working on my hair by separating out the sections and re-dreading them, while Pavel took documentary photos.
As Negro worked, I complimented him on his long perfect dreads. He responded in Spanish, “Yes, it’s because I take care of them.” Stab.
As Negro worked on my hair for the next casi 7 hours, I had ample time to take note and observe the goings-on of the hair salon. In many ways, I realize that this salon represents a type-of microcosm of Chilean society. While living in Chile, I had noticed this occurrence of boys with dreaded mullets, mullets in general, rat-tails, and girls with normal haircuts with the exception of 2 or so dreadlocks hanging out and down from the napes of their necks. In observing these hair styles, I had thought them to be the strange exception and not the fashion trend that I saw enacted throughout the day as I sat in the back corner of the salon having my hair ripped out. In many ways, I felt that the pain I was enduring was some sort of penance for being such a poor miscreant dread keeper.
As Negro worked on my hair, one man came in with his girlfriend. He had shoulder-length brown, curly hair and one long thick dreadlock about 3x as long as the rest of his hair starting from the crown of his head. Somehow this dread had developed a bit of a hole and he came in for some maintenance and repair of this hole. I watched as the other “thug” used fake hair to weave and wind into his hair and repair the dread as well as tighten up the dread and make it more organized. When the dread doctor was finished, he flipped the dread over the top of the man’s head and he and his girlfriend felt the dread and inspected the “fix” and both seemed pleased. As I watched, and felt constantly in pain, I laughed inside a bit at the strangeness of having one lone dreadlock in the middle of your head.
My pride was quickly snubbed as one father, his daughter, and daughter’s pololo entered the salon. The daughter wanted the trendy lone dreadlock at the nape of her head. This trio inched their way into my corner and stared at me curiously as if I were some strange new zoo animal and Negro explained that I had gotten my hair done in another country, but had neglected caring for it and now it was a disaster and he was trying to reorganize it. They stared at me quizzically and made tsk tsk comments and Negro even showed him “before” and “after” photos from another dreads-gone-awry victim. The girl seemed a bit hesitant to undergo the dread-do after inspecting my head, but was quickly convinced by Negro at the 2 luca deal he offered. Negro asked me to get up out of my seat and wait while he did the dread in her hair.
After the girl paid her 2 luca and left, I realized how ridiculo my judgmental thoughts had been of thinking the crown of the head dreadlock man and this girl’s lone dreadlock, when my own hair had been a walking Charlie brown’s “pigpen-esque” disaster for the previous 9 months.
As I settled back in the chair and continued observing, now feeling smaller, uglier, and ready to call it quits and just ask Negro to shave my head, I started looking at the photos decorating Negro’s corner of the salon. There were 3 pictures of girls with long, exquisite dreadlocks, which I later learned were all Negro’s creations. Pavel and Negro reminded me that having dreads means having patience and Negro’s frequent exits to take smoke breaks, light incense, heat up water for his mate, to turn on more reggaton, or to argue with his boss, made me feel not so alone and that this process could be endured.
In my continued observations, one man came into the salon with normal longish hair and left with a mullet. And after checking himself in the mirror seemed quite pleased and content with it. Another man working at the salon, seemed to enjoy spraying himself with water to keep his nearly shaved head wet and shiny. In this particular salon, hair washings were not given, but rather a few spritzes of a spray bottle and on with the snipping of scissors. This same man frequented the bathroom at least 2 times per hour and emerged each time with his shirt drenched in water and face and hair dripping with water.
As the day approached an end, my head was buzzing from pain and the sound of the tattoo gun constantly humming, and I questioned myself for the umpteenth time if there was a camera hidden somewhere in the salon and Negro pulled my head and I found myself starting sideways and straight up at the basement ceiling. A mother entered the salon with shopping bags and two daughters in tow and asked the bleached blonde dueno how much a “boca” or lip piercing costs. After hearing that it cost 12 luca, she handed her teenage daughter over to the piercing specialist and soon the daughter sported a black studded piercing on her lip. Mother paid the bill and mother and daughters exited the salon.
Finally, as Negro unclipped the last disastrous dreads and soothed their frayed ends and gave me permission to stand, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I now have short bob-ish dreadlocks that are about 1/3 shorter than they were. I paid 30 luca and left the salon with my constant companion, Pavel and we went and ate Columbian food at his favorite restaurant. Anyhow, from that day I learned several things. 1. Dreads are a lot of work. 2. Chile has unusual hair styles. And, 3. I should never pass judgment on other people’s hair choices.

Thanks tree

2009-05-08T11:51:00.000-07:00

Today, bundled into my fleece, mittens, scarf, and ear warmers, I glumly looked out the window of the micro that I was riding in heading toward the soul-sucking business park. I was reflecting on places that contain beauty and places that lack beauty. Places containing beauty that came to mind included the sunset in San Pedro de Atacama’s Valle de la Luna and the salt flats, the sparkling lake, Villarrica with the volcano rising in the distance in Pucon, the Teton mountains rising in the distance in Wyoming, the Blue Mountains outside of Boston, the fall foliage in New England, the saguaro cacti in Arizona, and the redwoods in NorCalifornia, the sparkling snow drifting in feet countable on one hand in McCall, Idaho, the mushy swamps in Mississippi, the random wildflower field in Hilton Head, North Carolina, and green overwhelmingness of the Pacific Northwest. In contrast, places lacking beauty of note were the gritty depression in Reno and the gaudy tackiness of Las Vegas, Nevada, my least favorite places in the world. And in addition, my thoughts started bumming about the gray blandness of Santiago. The Andes mountains have been shrouded in the “contaminacion” or smog for the past several days and the murals that used to bewitch my eyes, now look musty and dowdy. Suddenly, as I looked out the window, one lone tree screamed into my vision. In the surrounding forest of monochromatic brown, yellow, and green trees in the well-cultivated park, this one spindly tree stood radiant in fall colors. Almost unbelievably so, its leaves seemed decorated in mauve-near purple, rust red, orange, gold yellow, and green, as if it were a Christmas tree tie-dyed in color. Its dried seeds seemed like brown stars and the dousing of color seemed well-illuminated despite the misty smog. As my eyes locked on this tree, it felt we shared a moment, as my ugly thoughts were diverted by its stark beauty. It seemed the tree was saying to me, "Hey lady, eschuchame, beauty is everywhere if you just open you eyes and look for it." I suddenly felt a slight wave of shame and realized that with all my recent negative thoughts, of not giving Santiago a chance, of not looking past the stray dogs, the smog, and the tacos or traffic jams, I could easily be missing more trees such as this brave little soul, displaying such legitimate beauty for at least one chilled chica riding a bus toward Ciudad Empresarial.

Out of habit...

2009-05-06T09:12:00.001-07:00

i feel like i woke up on the wrong side of the bed
like i can’t focus
paralyzed
overwhelmed/underwhelmed with the possibilities
bored and stimulated
not ready to move on
uninspired to stay
the space between the parentheses
the pause from the comma
the white after the semicolon
aversion to searching
it doesn’t really matter
nothing does
conflict of the halves
boston boots
against the chile chalas
to the right or to the left
a new best friend
or a mugging in a dark alley
summer beckons
winter shoves
a warm shoulder offers
abrigarte
you’ve had your fill of me
easily transmutable
adapt when you must
grow where you’re planted
drink tea when your head aches
ordenarla
and go back to bed when you can

clanier feels like a lost soul sometimes

2009-05-04T13:01:00.000-07:00

and wonders if it's counterproductive to be looking for jobs in Idaho, Buenos Aires, and NYC simultaneously.
i'm doin' okay. i have no idea what i'm doing at the end of the month. i don't know if i'm coming back to the us, traveling, or staying here longer. and, i feel i have no coping mechanisms to figure out how to decide because what i want changes minute by minute. this morning when i got up at 6:15am to get ready to go teach and the house was fucking cold, i was thinking, "jesus christ i hate this fucking shit... i hate teaching... i hate the cold... i hate getting up early..." but then just now when i was walking back home, it was warm, i'd taken off my coat, scarf and was veritably sweating and was thinking, "oh wow, that lesson went really well and boy i love my spanish class and speaking in spanish and what a nice fall day and maybe i should stay here until december..." yeah, that's really how things are... WTF!?!?

Reclaiming

2009-04-29T21:23:00.000-07:00

Cecilia says that her people have a natural impulse to put their feet in the ocean whenever they get the chance, no matter the temperature, no matter the weather, no matter the time of year. Upon their arrival to the beach, they throw off their shoes, roll up their jeans and run to the ocean. Feeling vindicated and at peace, Ivonne’s daughter stands akimbo, waves washing up against her knees and she stares out into the horizon. Reclaiming loss by touch. Barghouti reclaims his lost Palestine by reaching through the fence and grabbing the branch of a bush. After Chile took their sea in a war over 200 years ago, Bolivians still feel lost and trapped by the land.

75% Continuous Assessment, Lolita

2009-04-29T21:09:00.000-07:00

This Saturday marks my 9 month anniversary of living in Santiago, Chile. Although I’m usually not big on celebrating or even noticing dates and anniversaries, I would like to take a few moments to jot down the ways in which I have changed over the last ¾ of a year. Here goes:
1. I will eat white bread (after staying in numerous hostals for 5 luca a night, the mermelada, butter, and Nescafe look pretty appealing in the morning, but that doesn’t mean I like it…)
2. I eat peanut butter with hydrogenated vegetable oil (often you’re lucky if you can even find peanut butter…)
3. I eat flavored yogurt (it’s either flavored yogurt with live cultures or plain without...)
4. I don’t drink soymilk anymore (I don’t like the ades variety that is chock full of sugar...)
5. I don’t eat organic vegetables/fruit or anything organic really for that matter (after being an organic/whole wheat/fair trade coffee/locally grown snob for a good part of my life, I am way less picky about what I eat now. At the end of the day, I ask myself, did you eat 3 pieces of fruit and at least 2 veggies and 1 ice cream today? If the answer is yes, I think that is satisfactory.)
6. I kiss people on the cheek to greet them.
7. I don’t use plastic anymore (debit cards). (With the awareness that with every step I take out of my house, I could be mugged any and every time, I fiercely limit what I carry on my body. Namely only what I need for the day and nothing above the bare minimum of BIP card and 5 mil pesos.)
8. I do laundry less than 1x per month. (Few people own washers and dryers. I take my laundry to the Laundromat and each time it costs 5 mil pesos or $10. Therefore, I rarely do laundry.)
9. I went 8 months, 2 weeks without eating sushi. I have no explanation for this. I missed it.
10. I enjoy drinking Starbucks… daily. (I used to think of Starbucks as the equivalent to gas station coffee. Cheap, shitty, but gets the job done and has a nostalgic likeability to it. After drinking Nescafe for 3 months and then receiving a gift bag full of Starbucks samples and the ability to use a French press, I look forward to the next day like it’s Christmas morning.)
11. Sometimes I even go out of my way to go to Starbucks. (I’m not going to lie. I used to be a coffee snob. I will even admit that I looked down on Starbucks. Now, when I want a tall soymilk latte with one splash of carmel flavoring in it, I think of it as a rare treat, a dessert for days gone wrong and furthermore, I savor every sip…)
12. I have matted hair. (I once had regular hair. Then I got dreadlocks. Now my hair is a mess that can be best described as fuzzy and matted. I honestly don’t know what to do with it.)
13. I have “South American curves.” (I used to be a ballerina. Then I used to bike 20 miles a day. Then I was a trail runner. Now if I walk to and from school and skip the escalators, I consider it my exercise for the day. I’ve also been eating exponentially more ice cream.)
14. Sometimes I don’t wear makeup on weekends (my view on makeup has changed slightly. I’ve realized that A. I enjoy wearing makeup. B. I feel that I need to wear makeup so my students will think that I’m 22 instead of 12. It’s a respect issue.)
15. I drink mate semi-daily.
16. I don’t talk on the phone while walking. (I used to love almost more than anything… walking around cities and catching up with family and friends. Now, I text rather than call because calls are so freakin’ expensive and furthermore, I can’t even remember the last time I made a call and furthermore, it’s not the safest idea to take out your phone in a public place anyway at the risk of getting is ripped out of your hand. Gone are the days of listlessly chatting while wandering around Newbury street ignorantly shooting the breeze on free minutes.)
17. I like it when people ask me for directions (because it makes me feel less like a foreigner.)
18. I’m not afraid of getting mugged anymore (it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.)
19. I feel more confident speaking Spanish (and I thoroughly enjoy it.)
20. I feel more confident teaching (and I almost thoroughly hate it.)
21. I feel more comfortable, calm, and at peace with who I am developing to be. (I feel more like myself.)

What I'm loving right now...

2009-04-29T13:08:00.000-07:00

the verb conocer to talk about people you know and places you’ve visited… verbal intimacy
how much Jolu loves palta
the confidence with which Chileans take their Nescafe
the word, “po”
heather’s enthusiasm for dancing
our house
wednesday language lunches
ben’s humor
picking fresh basil at night
fleece- worthy mornings
beyonce and julieta venegas
chad’s comfort
running into old students
running away
adam’s smile
shopping for fruit and vegetables
texting malicious Spanish words to my mugged cell phone #
getting enough sleep and getting up early
making coffee in the am
putting direct objects before verbs
quinientos

clanier...

2009-04-26T16:14:00.000-07:00

is no longer in denial about owning cleavage
and curves
whatup.

Today's Truths Coming Right Up

2009-04-25T16:41:00.000-07:00

1. you know, my philosphy with cooking is, if you like it, why not just throw it in too?
unfortunately, i have since learned that vanilla soymilk and annie's mac and cheese don't go very well together.
2. and furthermore, i like having never-ending to-do lists, thank you very much.
who really wants to finish everything they set out to do?
3. excessive drinking often causes extremely lazy, sleepy, and fuzzy saturdays.
why do i feel i have to have a reason to stay in, finish laundry, sleep, catch up with old friends, eat palta for dinner, and listen to brandi carlisle on repeat?
4. i like traveling.
but, i do not like traveling alone. after finally facing this, i'm okay with it.
5. i simultaneously miss the US and want to stay in Chile longer. when i feel homesick, i go cybershopping on forever21.
like mari says, i want a man who can make me feel alone. similarly, i want comittment and i want independence.

All in the scheme of things...

2009-04-23T21:29:00.000-07:00

I know someone who is anxious about whether or not he will pass his next test in Fluid Dynamics. Someone else who is carefully pondering whether she and her husband should use cloth or disposable diapers for their newborn. Another person who is worried about whether he should re-invest his retirement in mutual funds instead of the stock market (and I’m not even sure what that means). One of my students is troubled by his father who is slowly and painfully dying from cancer.
Ivonne hurt her back and at age 6, Lecaros stopped asking his parents questions after his dad yelled at him for asking about cardinal coordinates. Ruben doesn’t believe in free choice and thinks his happiness levels disintegrated when he started cognitively thinking. Cristobal and Alejandro say the hardest parts of their lives were when they felt uncomfortable and unsure, like in collegio.
Statistically, married couples' levels of happiness go down after the birth of their first child.
31 billion searches are conducted on Google every month.
Seth says that it’s not that life gets easier as you age, because it doesn’t. He says, “Who looks back on 2nd grade and thinks to themselves, Boy that was easy.? No! 2nd grade was stinkin’ hard… You could barely see over the kitchen table, your feet never touched the ground, and your head was constantly being filled with new bits of information and sometimes you felt funny when mom and dad started talking in low unintelligible tones and looking accusatorily in your direction. The only difference between 2nd grade and now is that now you have more tools to deal when life throws you curve balls, but life doesn’t get easier. Life is hard. Life is discomfort and the curve balls are gonna keep comin.’” (blatantly paraphrased and transposed…)
Right now I’m debating about whether I should go to Chiloe or Mendoza, Argentina for the next 3-day weekend and ultimately I’m also contemplating whether I should try to come back to the USA sooner rather than later and get a responsible job with a 401K and health insurance preferably including dental care. (And you know, there's never an ideal time to shave one's head because there are always going to be weddings to attend and winter is always coming... ) And in all honesty, I wish I could stay longer and then I’m thankful for the excuse to go home. I say, It's okay to have loose ends. Asa says, Today is your opportunity to fail.
My sense of adventure waxes and wanes.

I <3 Chile

2009-04-19T04:37:00.000-07:00

I went trekking yesterday with 3 Chileans, an Argentinian, and an Aussie. Throughout the day, I felt a sustained sense of awe and thankfulness. As we were sharing a gourd of mate after lunch at the side of a pristine lake at the base of a mountain overrun with glaciers, I begged the universe for the upteenth time, "Please give me a solid reason to go back to the US." I felt so affirmed by my decision to move to Chile and filled with love for the country. But then I reminded myself of my daily fights on and off the metro and realized that these feelings of exultation will probably fade slightly come manic Monday.

Ahora Yo se

2009-04-15T09:18:00.000-07:00

just when i was literally packing up my spanish and suitcases
mentally saying goodbye to my fellow gringos
cramming in spanish classes
denying more english classes
planning last minute trips
investing more time in my chilean friends
job and apartment searching in gringolandia
imagining my next phase of life
looking forward to browsing forever 21
urban outfitters
trader joes
whole foods
winco
local cozy coffeeshops
used book stores
garden burgers
kashi
organic spinach
silk soymilk
mom dad sisters
ann, ciara, megs, rosanna
jordan audj jdiz
USA mari and heather, adam and evan
my rainboots and snowboots
left behind dresses, skirts and sweaters
hiking in the tetons

and then my heart settled
grains of frustration and
depression slipped through the murky mezcla
contentment befell
walking 45 minutes to and from norte
for nothing didn’t phase me
i put more energy into preparing classes
calm
no importa
i smiled at the construction workers
turned up my music
and asked myself why am i going home again?

and then the marriage proposal...
in spanish,
will you stay in chile for 20 years with me
to join my walk of life?
and then you can go home to your family for a vacation
i’ll accompany you
for a month
and after i retire
after my 20 years of service
we’ll move to patagonia
and ski
please think about it
i laugh
en serio? chistoso?
i laugh
oh what grand plans,
drunk off whiskey and coca cola
yes, en serio
i wouldn’t have asked you if i didn’t
mean every word from the center of my heart
i stop laughing
necesito pensar po
and pensar i did

i love you chile
i know your good sides and your ugly sides
i know your beautiful landscapes and your diversity of space
i know your insular dialect
neruda’s poetry and allende’s love
victor jara’s strength
santa rita’s sauvignon blanc
i know your insular people
but i also know your racism
your sexism
your machismo
your crowded metros
piercing sun and disappearing ozone
i do love you
but i love you as a friend and i cannot stay forever
i must return to mi familia
mis amigos
mi pais

Self-portrait Metamorphosis

2009-04-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

De la tierra a la tierra

containing two separate worlds
picture of a picture
in book with a story about a story
about a world within a world
within a story within a book
with a picture of a world
forging an alter-ego
creating a separate identity

Rang truer than one might imagine...

2009-04-13T20:55:00.000-07:00

Nicolette says: hi sissy![4/7/2009 3:24:35 AM]
Nicolette says: come to thr usa[4/7/2009 3:24:57 AM]
Nicolette says: come to the usa[4/7/2009 3:25:16 AM]
Nicolette says: (this is a small voice inside your head)[4/7/2009 3:25:20 AM]
Nicolette says: come to the usa[4/7/2009 3:25:51 AM]
Nicolette says: lol jk. from looking at your pictures, chile looks sweet as all get out and i would stay ther[4/7/2009 3:26:03 AM]
Nicolette says: but i still would love to see ou!][4/7/2009 3:26:17 AM]
Nicolette says: anywya i love you gnigght!

Pish posh google goggles

2009-04-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

i feel kind of like the bitch in the side car if you know what i mean.
i feel like i've been to hell and back in the last week if you know what i mean.
i feel like i'm looking for a new apartment that accepts cats if you know what i mean.

mira, no se, po.

i'm painstaKINGLY trying to spell everything correctly and say the right things, but it's inevitably gonna come ut wrong even if i'm sober and anyhow i was just at this bar dancing my heart out to CCR and it felt so right and i'm wondering why i should even come back to the ststaes.

i'm sad with you/i'm sad without you.
i hope you've had some goo thai food this past week. i miss the diversity of culture. i guess that's one reason to return... besides you... and all the nostalgic romanticizng we've g0tin our bakpockets... that of winter picnics and summer lovin'...

I throw my hands up

2009-04-01T07:34:00.000-07:00

Instance 1: Today I almost got hit by a car. I had just exited the metro and quickly noted the illuminated green little walking man signal and started crossing the street without double checking for cars. My head was obviously in the clouds. I was noting the fierce blue shade of the cloudless sky, the dully turning leaves of the autumnal trees, the different way the sunlight falls on things in comparison to the summer, I was twirling my rainbow yarn-full scarf and feeling the swish of my dress against my legs, when all of a sudden a red Toyota corolla came to a screeching brakes against rubber hopping halt in front of my knee caps. The woman in the car was gabbing on a cell phone and I looked into her eyes and noted the anger and her lips mouthing the words, “Conch su madre!” I looked back at the illuminated little green walking man and threw up my right arm gesturing in that direction that I clearly had the right of way to cross the street. I continued walking, she continued driving, and the little green man started blinking, signaling that I had better get my ass across the street pronto if I wanted to avoid another near collision and having my blood and guts smeared across the asphalt mixed in with my favorite rainbow scarf.

Instance 2: I am standing at the intersection of my street and a cross street. It is an un-extraordinary day. I am not wearing my running clothes of shorts and tank top, but rather by dowdy teacher clothes consisting of Mary-Janes, long, modest corduroy skirt, and flounced blouse. A truck drives by. 3 men are sitting in the front seat and the passenger leans out, whistles loudly, smacks his lips in the faux kissing sound, and exclaims, “Oye mamacita! Que linda!” The car continues driving, he continues leaning out the window, and I throw both my arms up into the air and stomp my foot. In my head, I am exclaiming, “Venga po, que quieres hueon?!” Or, “Come on, what do you want man?!” Although, I’d like to think I looked like a strong-“Don’t give me this shit”- type of woman, I probably looked a little more like an insolent little gringa throwing a temper tantrum.

Instance 3: It’s 3am. Our adopted little stray weiner dog has been barking, whining, and bashing her head against the 5 liter water jugs hung outside my window for the last 3 hours. I have a headache. I am tired. I have to appear bright-eyed, chipper, and bushy tailed for 20 male and 3 female software engineers in the morning. I am stubborn, I do not want to give in to our spoiled brat puppy who thinks that she can whine just to get her own way. My comments of “Cayete po” and sterner “Para po” and “AYUWM!!!” have had no effect. I get out of bed, slip on my flip flops and open the back door with my arm outstretched into the air and say “Venga po and for pete’s sake, please be quiet!”

When I feel disempowered, I throw up my arms. When I’m in Chile and a car nearly runs me over and technically, I do not really have the right of way, because the “right of way” only exists for cars and pedestrians simply have to keep a constant eye out for cars exercising their “right of way,” I feel disempowered. I do not have a car. I have no hopes of ever having a car here. Only the upper middle class can even dream of having a car and I am on equal status with the average middle class citizen who has to fight their way on the subway and metro and who must defer rights to the upper middle classes who have more money and more metal and more power in the little boxes they use to commute about the urban-sprawled city.
When I feel sub-human, I throw up my arms. When I am in Chile and the machismo men who are rampant here treat women like a commodity, I feel like a thing. My question is, what else am I supposed to do besides throw up my arms? Am I supposed to drop my grocery bags and chase after the truck, calling, “Oh my God- you are obviously my soul mate. Oh heavens! Your words make me feel so unique and valued. Please marry me right now. I want to love and serve you for the rest of my life.” (all in Spanish, of course…)
When I feel exhausted, grumpy, frustrated, and have a splitting headache, I throw up my arms. When my Chilean roommate insists on our dog sleeping outside at night, for God-knows- what- reason, I throw up my hands, rebel and let the dog sleep inside because I really want a good night’s sleep… and so does Ayuwm.

Wisdom from "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

2009-03-30T10:02:00.000-07:00

"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself." -Paul Varjak to Holly Golightly

Park Benches

2009-03-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

He’s sitting on a bench in a park.
She skips up to him and asks, “Hey dude, can I join you on your bench?”
He balks. He hesitates. He stutters, “Ehhhh, no, why don’t you just go sit over there on that bench, by yourself? It will be better that way. I-I-I just like to have lots of room to spread my books out and I-I-I mean, what if my family sees? I just don’t want my parents or friends to get the wrong idea, you know. It will be simpler this way, you’ll see. I’ll give you a call or come visit your bench when I have time.”
“Suit yourself,” she replies and flits off to her bench.
Time passes. From her bench, she can keep an eye on him on his bench. He is always busy, and she rarely sees him. His face is always covered with the newspaper he is reading, or the books piled up around him and the papers flying as he pounds out formulas and math equations. He only leaves the bench to go to the library and collect more books to pile around his bench. Occasionally he invites his friends over and they shoot pool and drink pints of beer standing around the bench. But, he never meets her eye and never stops by her bench.
As she watches his life, she constantly stays by her park bench, she is afraid to leave because she doesn’t want to miss out on the time when he will come over to visit her. She tries to busy herself and so she plants a garden around her park bench and plays with the children at the nearby playground. She invites her friends over for a cup of tea at her park bench. She always keeps an eye on his bench, hoping that maybe someday he’ll glance over, but he never does.
Seasons pass and she stays by her bench, sometimes bundled up in snow clothes, scarves and mittens and during the autumn, she feels the leaves fall from the trees and land on her head and her bench. In the spring, she is awoken by the birds chirping and all the blooming plants in the summer make her sneeze.
She starts getting a little impatient because he hasn’t come over or called yet. She checks her facebook and myspace accounts daily, hoping for a small sign, an email or comment. She checks her voicemail and text messages, but is informed, “You have no unheard voicemails” and her text message status states, “0/24.” She checks her 2 email accounts, but has “0 unread messages.”
Her impatience grows to annoyance and so she willingly joins her friends for roller skating in the park when they beckon her to join them, but she leaves a note on the bench, saying “Just in case you stopped by, I’m out roller skating, but I’ll be back soon.” When she returns, her note is intact and untouched.
One day, a random hot boy stops by her bench and asks if he can sit down. She glances carefully at his park bench and sees that he is still buried in books, so she tells this hottie that he can join her. She is a little scared that he might see her with someone else on her park bench, but she is also a little hopeful that he will because then maybe he’ll finally call her or stop by. The afternoon passes and surprisingly this hot boy has brought a bottle of wine with him, tucked secretly under his jacket. The girl and the hottie open the bottle of wine and sip on it all afternoon. Before she knows it, the girl realizes that this hottie has started kissing her neck and shoulders and then her lips and then things start to get out of hand. She doesn’t care about the other boy on the park bench anymore and she has almost forgotten about him. In the morning, the hottie leaves the girl on the park bench and returns to his life and the girl feels very foolish. She gets dressed and returns to her senses and realizes that she still cares for the other boy and hopes that that boy didn’t see any of her actions from the night before.
Time passes and that boy is still buried in his books and the book piles keep getting bigger. One night while the boy is sleeping, the girl goes and tips over the pile of books so that she can see him. He sleeps on.
The next night, she leaves him a nice note on his piles of book, but in the morning, he still studies.
The next night, she leaves a bouquet of flowers on the books, but in the morning they are wilted and set off to the side of the park bench.
Finally, during the day, she goes over to him and knocks on the pile of books. He answers and says, that he really can’t talk because he’s too busy and has a lot of problems. She quietly tells him that she feels really sad and has been kind of giving up on him. Suddenly, he gets really angry and scatters his books and papers all over the ground. For the first time in a very long time, she can see his entire face and body in full sunlight. He looks almost like a skeleton. His face is thin, his hair isn’t as luminous as it used to be and his eyes have dark circles under them. They continue to talk and argue and he denies her feelings and tells her that she is the most selfish girl in the world. She starts crying and runs away before they finish the discussion. She runs away from him, his bench, away from his park, and out into the city. Once out in the city, she is struck by the strength of the sunlight and the bustling crowds of people, and the honking traffic. She finds a dark alley in the city where she can be shaded from the sun and have a quiet place in which to cry. She slumps down into a corner and hugs her knees to her chest and cries. A while later she feels a cat rubbing against her ankles and meowing. She picks up the orange cat and he purrs in her lap. She stands up, holds the cat in her arms, and goes out into the city, hunting for an apartment that accepts cats.

Supressed Rage

2009-03-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

In his book, The Art of Travel, Alain de Boton writes about the idea that there are multiple ways of traveling, various motivations for traveling, and specifically, there are two ways of seeing the aforesaid landscapes that one has traveled extensive distances to see.
He talks about the idea of seeing to consume and possess in contrast to the idea of seeing to know. With the idea of seeing to consume/possess, the traveler may arrive at a beautiful cathedral in Florence and exclaim, “Wow- how beautiful” and then spend 2-3 minutes snapping photos before moving on to the next landmark. This person has recognized the beauty of the place and then has sought to consume and possess it for later when he/she chooses to revisit the photos he/she took from his/her European sightseeing trip.
On the other hand, a different type of traveler may see this same beautiful cathedral and will take a few minutes to stare at it, to note the lines of the arched windows, how the sunlight is streaming across the top left corner of the building and why this person finds this cathedral objectively beautiful. This person may even sit down near a bubbling fountain in order to pull out their sketchbook where through drawing the cathedral, they are able to “capture” it and know it much more intimately by noting even more details about this foreign structure such as the well-worn center part of the steps and the dedication plaque dating it to the Middle Ages.
While there is no value judgment between these two types of travelers and each type certainly exists, each one encounters something objectively aesthetically pleasing and treats it completely differently- one in a consumerist, possessive type of way and the other in a want to know, understand, and appreciate type of way.
In a similar way, I think that this analysis of the two types of travelers also may illuminate the interactions of men and women. My personal opinion is that men typically fall into the type one traveler category of trying to consume/possess women, although there DO exist men out there who fall into the type two category, although they are a bit more challenging to find. I believe there is also a burgeoning group of women that now falls into the type one category of men, (fictional Samantha from Sex and the City may represent this type, for example), but I think this type of woman is more of an exception that a rule.
Take for example, exhibit A, my classroom of 5 male software engineers. My blonde-haired, attractive boss pops in and out of my classroom to borrow the shared computer. Upon her exit, all focus on gerunds and infinitives is instantly lost and I hear undertoned mumblings and laughter from my students about “como una caja.” I question their “like a box” statements and they get embarrassed and tell me they’ll tell me when I’m older. Well later on, after a few beers during happy hour with these same students, my naïve self was educated on the intimate workings of 5 male brains. The entire phrase, in Spanish translates to, “I’d do her like a box.” The entire story is that, as children, they were often given boxes to play with, and these boxes served as vehicles for extensive imagination and play. The boxes were transformed into houses, cars, rocket ships, etc. But the sad part of the story with those childhood boxes is that they often ended up, torn, broken, dirty, worn out, and ultimately unusable. The idea with this Spanish phrase is that these men would use this woman sexually so much that in the end, she would be torn, broken, worn out, and unusable.
With their shared cultural connection, these men continued to talk and laugh about their explanation of “like a box” and I found myself speechless and beginning to feel nauseated.
That same night I also learned the phrase, “Yo comi la chica toda la noche…” which translates as I ate that girl all night long, simply meaning that one made out and then had sex with someone for a night. Again, I feel a little alarmed at the consumptive nature of many of these Spanish phrases.
I think the icing on the cake was when my students started to criticize flaites or the white trash of Chile, when they have heard these men call a girl passing by, “eyaculable” which in English could translate to mean “ejaculate-able.” My students thought that was very low class to describe a girl as either “eyaculable” or not “eyaculable.” Maybe ironically, to me, the flaite’s evaluation of a girl as being either viably sexually attractive or not, seems a little tame in comparison to the violent demolish of a woman with the “como una caja” joke.
In a society that prides itself on machismo values and touts its men proudly for their gentlemanly actions, such as letting women in and out of the elevator first, holding the door open for women, giving up their seat on the subway for a little old lady or occasionally a woman in high heels, or not allowing women to walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic, it seems a hypocritical to me when I read and hear of what goes on behind closed doors and in the “back alleys” of men-women relationships. These sham gentlemanly actions seem like a mockery in light of the astoundingly high statistics of femicide, the estimation that fidelity in monogamous relationships is a mere suggestion, the stools crowded with “family-men” clad in business suits during their lunch breaks in the cafés con piernas, and the lewd glances from men obviously in a relationship with their significant other in tow next to them. I suppose it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that women are treated thusly outside of the public eye, because of the way in which women have become commoditized. Maybe my biggest issue with this way of viewing women as objects to be consumed and thereby destroyed comes down to a basic issue of feeling that women are not seen as dynamic three dimensional beings. From the cat-calls, whistles, clapping, kissing smacking noises, and comments of “bella,” “mamacita,” “mi hijita rica,” etc. while running and sweating profusely, I can’t help but feel like an ad or flat 2 dimensional object for personal entertainment, or worse, a sub-human. I mean, how could women possibly be seen as multi-dimensional people when they’re being compared to items such as boxes, are evaluated on terms of sex-able or non-sex-able, and can be described as “eaten” or consumed similar to food satisfying basic human needs? Maybe it’s also related to the fact that I received more validation from 3 preschooler boys when I was a nanny for a year than from any man in the past 7 months - I would descend the stairs from my room wearing a dress and preparing to go out with friends for the night and I would be showered with spaghetti sauce kisses and hugs and comments of, “You look like a fairy princess, Caitwin.” I don’t understand how 3 year olds can be more adept at validating women than some of the grown men I’ve encountered here.
In the end, I return to Alain de Boton’s idea of the two modes for seeing. I believe the men I have encountered here represent the first type that of verbally exclaiming their appraisal of the object and thereafter seeking to “consume” and possess it through photo taking or their “como una caja” utilization. However, I know at least 5 men, (3 of them being below the age of 5) and the other 2 residing in the United States who fall into the 2nd category of seeing. These men are gems- they take the time to get to know women, they desire to know and understand women, and furthermore, they appreciate women for their character quirks and physical flaws- their birthmarks, ridiculously large calves, and fierce senses of independence. They do not desire to consume, use, or possess women, because they know that once something is consumed or possessed, the novelty is often lost. In return, I cherish these 5 men. I want to give their mothers hugs, and furthermore, I would like to tell them thank you. Thank you for validating women and for sitting down and taking the time to understand and know us.

Interview with Chile at Large

2009-03-20T08:34:00.000-07:00

what’s going on with your hair?
idk [long story. trying to be less OCD, but now i incessantly pick at my skin]
why did you come here?
misperceptions of cool weather, comprehensible spanish, spicy food [neruda, wine, landscapes.]
do you want to get married sometime soon?
no [yes.] no [idk.]
you must be really introspective.
mhm. [and independent.] [and strong.]
do you want a running partner?
no. [i get away from people by running.]
do you think bush allowed 9/11 to happen?
i wouldn't put it past him. [and i’m really sorry for my country's involvement in your sept. 11 too.]
you look really young and naive
right. [appearances can be deceiving.]
what’s the first thing you notice about a guy, like first impressions-wise?
age. [beard, tummy, arms.]
you’d be the prettiest girl ever
if you had straight normal hair
[trying to be pretty is really exhausting, cachai?]
have you ever considered modeling?
no [but i am considering shaving my head…]
snapping photos freakin’ paparazzi body guards
teacher, I don’t like this exercise
me neither [furthermore, i wouldn't like it either of i came to every class 45 minutes late and missed the grammar presentation.]
thank god samuel, Ricardo, maritza, and Sebastian got the present perfect!
i’d do her like a box
[wtf?]
i ate him all night long
[wtf?]
que rico!
estar + caliente = blablabla
just be honest
you’re complicated
confused
scared
don’t express your feelings
verbally or physically
don’t say what you really want
do what you really want
why do you come here when you love someone there?
straddling the panama canal
tugging my covers up to my chin
sip my coffee and try to ready my head for the day
doing the splits over the gulf of mexico
[but then I found quinientos]

Otoño Sorting

2009-03-13T08:14:00.000-07:00

i’m packing up my Spanish
relegating it to the likes of my last season mud-dried rain boots
shelving it with my seldom used stats book
worn out frayed pointe shoes

i’m studying maps of Brazil, Argentina, and Peru
considering Portuguese lessons
brushing up my resume
sending out applications

ants have pulled out significantly
troops dwindling
slowed down their invasion

waking up in the dark chill
pile on extra blankets
sun fades earlier
caffeine buzz
still avoiding the silt in the bottom of my coffeecup

dreaming of NYC
looking for community
central park lazy summer afternoons with sushi
late nights with girlfriends
staying out all night dancing and coronas
Sunday chocolate brunches at max brenner’s

you really miss your pais, don’t you?
you have commitment problems, don’t you?
moving on

wondering how I’m gonna live without the circle of sisters
without constant fresh fruit
my students
my sola mornings with a cup of coffee
my walks home
the andes
the heones cachai’s and si po’s
wonder how I’m gonna pass off for anonymous
with all the stories inside
the resounding quiet when I run

From the North to the South

2009-03-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

Some photos this past month's wanderings:
View from top of Volcan Villarrica in Pucon (in the South, lake region)
The aforesaid [active] Volcano

One can go skiing here during the winter...

View while climbing

At the beach on Isla Teja in Valdivia

Rock climbing at Toconao in San Pedro de Atacama (desert region in the North)

A beautiful adobe style church in an indigenous people's village outside San Pedro

Valle de la Luna (valley of the moon)

Salar de Atacama (an enormous salt flat)

Marzo Home

2009-03-10T20:34:00.000-07:00

as the puppeteer holds the swinging harvest moon
hanging suspended over the Andes
like a dusty beige Chinese lantern
dimensionless mountains are obscured by the lately draping smog
leaving them like paper cut- out navy lumps
propped against a wall by a child
shadowed star-shaped leaves lace our hurried walk
listen to your intuition
feel startled by the 2 men drinking escudo behind the bush
paranoid
glance over your shoulder
less than a luca in your pocket and joni lulling in your ear
tranquilidad
may jasmine and yeast commingle on your premature departure home

"Her Morning Elegance" by Oren Lavie

2009-03-04T04:01:00.000-08:00

(I've been intrigued by this song a lot as of late)

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in it's case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And She goes...
Nobody knows

Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And She goes...
Nobody knows

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
Where people are pleasantly strange
And counting the change
And She goes...
Nobody knows

My Valentine's Day Tribute

2009-02-15T15:45:00.000-08:00

http://revolver-magazine.com/travel/59-travel/299-valentine-pololeando-living.html

el verano en la mes de febrero

2009-02-09T14:43:00.000-08:00

again amid cramps the initially cirrus clouded cerulean sky transformed into overcast brimming full grayness. trying to detect rain’s muddy musk, the ghostly breeze billowed the filmy curtains but caught only manzana shampoo. soaking in the clean house's tranquility and overloaded with summer's bounty, I ate a mango for dinner and had fresh goat cheese and tomatoes wrapped in basil leaves from the garden for dessert.

Cheers to Chile

2009-01-30T08:07:00.000-08:00

With the probable onset of either culture shock and or reverse seasonal depression, I would like to take a moment and honor Chile, my current residence for several things I am thankful for. I am trying to focus on the positive aspects of life here. So here goes… five thanks to you, Chile, and y’all stay classy now.
1. The People: from the people who are constantly pointing out that my keys seem perilously close to falling out of my loosely crocheted bag to the people who have not even attempted to rob me, from the man who grabbed my arm to help pull me out of the subway when the mob seemed deaf to my “permisos” and to the woman who doesn’t yell at me when I drip fruit on our kitchen counter and to my Chilean friends who make me feel like I’m really living here, I’m not just a traveler, not just a vagabond passing through, not just an outsider, a gringa, quietly observing Chilean culture, but that I’m a part of Chilean life, that I have assimilated to this culture in some very small capacities and who patiently try to hear me out through my 2 year old sounding Spanish voice.
2. Costa Fibra de Cocao cookies: they have been called cookies posing as healthy snacks and they almost pull it off while still tasting good. They can be dressed up with a bottle of red wine, or dressed down with some peanut butter and jam. They work wonders in terms of extrinsic motivation for hormonal, unmotivated teenagers and one roll can even substitute a meal. They are best consumed during walks home from school while listening to Joni Mitchell’s “California” song.
3. Fresh Fruit: Succulent mangoes, blueberries, peaches, bananas, green apples, honey-dew melons, and oranges. The concept of becoming a fruitarian doesn't seem too far fetched around here.
4. To B, an unnamed friend and fellow teacher whose sense of humor, lightheartedness, shaggy hair, pacificnorthwestness, and brilliance, reminds me of you. You’re like a ray of sunshine, a taste of “home,” and a constant reminder of who I love.
5. The Andes mountains: for never ceasing to amaze me, one glance up reminds me that there is a world outside of Santiago, there is a world outside of me, and there are people who are starving, suffering, and dying, and I have A LOT to be thankful for and I should really stop complaining about my stupid sunburn and headaches.

the day of endless metro stops

2009-01-29T18:37:00.000-08:00

for a moment, i felt pretty today.
while i still felt my tree trunk thighs
beer belly
double chin
greasy, poofy, fuzzy, untamable hair
lobster in a white bikini unsymmetrical sunburn
love handles
saddle bagged hips
bigfoot feet

but i still felt pretty for a moment.

and it wasn’t when the boy whistled at me
after passing him on the steps of the metro
feeling his eyes boring into my ass
and it wasn’t when the bunch of boys
tried to get me to sit down with them at the bar
calling me bella and bonita
or when the construction workers did their "thang"

it was when i was alone,
heading home leaning against the wall, legs crossed standing
caught my reflection in the zooming train car reflection
red abstract skirt and ruffled shirt
still noting my chubbiness
my new “south american curves”
but in that moment I felt my strong, tan calves
my painted toenails
and I felt pretty for a moment inside.

Trying to find me here, now

2009-01-20T19:30:00.000-08:00

Find me walking home with chocolate smeared all over my face and hands, like a pre-schooler
Balancing a melting mega bar on its wrapper and spooning it into my mouth with its faulty popsicle stick
How do I arrive at this place?
Why did I not drop another 990 pesos and buy another non-faulty mega bar?
Why am I so desperate to suck down my almond studded chocolate shelled ice cream mega bar while balancing it on the wrapper, holding 10 pesos and my cell phone, and my bag loaded down with textbooks and dry erase pens?
Why did I stand in line for 15 minutes and let the friggin' mega bar melt and cause the potentially faulty popsicle stick issue?
And why are there always boys eating completos smeared with palta at all hours of the night in the gas station?

Find me picking at my mosquito bite scab and feeling calmed by the blood surfacing and my finger stopping and starting the blood flow before a scab has a chance to form.

Find me rushing to Norte dripping in sweat, Mauricio calling my cell repeatedly to tell me que necesitas tomar un clase anoche y donde estas?!
Tonight? En serio? Of all nights? Murphy’s law states that I would oversleep by 10 minutes and leave my house 10 minutes later than normal and the metro would be late by 10 minutes thereby putting me at Norte 10 minutes late…
The night of all nights, where I usually sit in a stifling hot room with 4 clear walls, feeling like a goldfish, reading my book, letting the oscillating fan muss my hair, and waiting for students to come be evaluated and placed in levels, whereas tonight when I arrive at norte dripping in sweat, bangs plastered to forehead, Mauricio meets me at the door, runs around getting me my marqueador and then shoves me up the stairs to the sixth floor to meet 8 eager students who have been waiting and wondering why their teacher, Gabriel is absent.

Find me wanting to scream at Jose Tomas' homophobia and wanting to hide my eyes at Sebastian's racist impression of Chinese people.

Find me 4 years ago collecting serrated knives from the silverware drawer and experimenting on my arms with spiderweb patterns, seeing how much pain I could stand and finally feeling like the abstract internal pain meets with the literal palpable physical pain.

Find me trying to watch the Obama election to slow, stunted streaming internet footage
from the soul-sucking business park 5th floor office building.

Find me in the bathroom in shock, it came… today, suddenly, with no warning, gushes, disintegrating, my flesh flushing my body, my self, purifying itself, and washing out its transgression.

Find me stunned in class as Ruben enters with both wrists bandaged and with tape and gauze and his explanation of an accident… something about personal problems with his wife and 2 kids, he leaves class and chain smokes with a purpose, avoiding eyes, with a singular stare.

Find me cutting up a peach and accidentally cutting my index finger and my blood mixes with my morning bowl of fruit, the burgundy heart of the peach and my blood,one.

Find me closing my curtains, feeling attacked by the southern hemisphere’s summer sun, wearing sunglasses incessantly, semi-constant headaches, hiding in my bed, reading Murakami, drinking from my bottle of wine, abandoning grad. school apps, and eventually coming alive at night, after the sun has gone down, and I’m walking home desperately gulping down a mega bar and dreaming of February vacations to Valdivia with German beer, lighted boats bobbing through town Venice-esque, and no metro, no rush to teach and plan, lush trees, rivers, and a respite.