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Shawnja
Thursday, January 20, 2005
 
Forced Communion

Did I just witness an inauguration or a church service?

I'll be under the covers, undercover, if you need me today.

Sunday, January 09, 2005
 
New Year. Old Reminders.

-Fall in love with taboo all over again. Show your humility. Then transform it.

-Exercise your right to be wrong. It's how we learn. Most of your loved ones can see through you when you are trying to save face anyway. We are not perfect, nor are we designed to be, and that fact alone makes you wonderful.

-Regain control of your thoughts! Take what you hear and see from the media with a grain of salt, and throw it to the wind. Become your own media outlet, your own celebrity, interview yourself on all things worth reporting about, then live by it, as much as you wish.

-Swim, hike, run and fly against tradition. Keep the masses guessing, and let them in only on your accord. Apply this to your art, your love, your ethics, and the words you speak. Create a new color and throw it into the face of the suburban flatlands.

-Curb your jaded self and your hard sneers. We are entertained by drama queens, but we rarely ever fall in love with them. Heighten your senses, and the rest usually follows. Become present in those judgmental moments and change your scope, even by a few degrees.

-Turn off the computer and read a damn book. Even one with pictures.

-You are a writer, a actor, a singer, a director, a dancer at heart. Therefore, you are not called to be a role model. Break the molds! Use your eyes to see the signs around you and show us the truth, be it the real truth, or your own. Rules don't apply when you are grasping for notes or finding the word.

-You must love even if it hurts you. You will hurt yourself more if you don't love.

-It's perfectly all right, if you're straight, to say that someone of the same sex is beautiful. And it's just fine, if you're gay, to watch a tiny bit of football. We won't be dumbfounded, we promise.

-I really don't care how serious or over kids games you appear to be. Buy a coloring book. Play a video game. Get a rubber ball for a quarter. Hopscotch your way into work. You may find yourself grinning by doing so. Seriously.

-You are multi-layered and complex. This does not isolate you from everyone else. It actually brings you closer to people, so try to make something of it, even if it's just a cake.

-Drink wine, but not too much. Overindulged in small doses.

-Personify your hopes and fears into gods. It's great for the imagination. Dream is everywhere, Delirium may be just around the crooked corner. Discipline is knocking at the door. By giving these ramblings in our minds a physical entity, we can tackle them easier. Plus, it's fun to do so.

-Take a one day mental fast. Refuse to digest information and emotional charges. Stretch.

-The hatred in this society can transform you. It can literally change the shape of your body and the scope of your ideas and interests. Fight it. Utterly. Don't let them win. You have been given some space and some time. Float, or flee, or run, or dash.

-Keep your true friendships holy and support them as best as you can. Simple, but true. Sometimes challenging, but worth the effort.

-Try.



Monday, January 03, 2005
 
Happy 2005 To All!!

.....and more words soon, with paragraphs and stuff, by the end of the week. So sorry for not keeping up. I have no other excuse besides giving in to the rain and the slip of the moon. All you people with blogs of your own are doing a mecha-fabulous job! Amazing Friends.
I'll see you soon.......

Friday, November 05, 2004
 
Not Again


"The Bush Administration has had success in carrying out its policies and implementing its intentions, aided by majorities - political and, apparently, ideological - in both Houses of Congress. Substantively, however, its record has been one of failure, arrogance, and - strikingly for a team that prided itself on crisp professionalism - incompetence."

-The Editors, The New Yorker, November 1, 2004


Ohio was still a colorless looming question mark as I left for work. By the time I approached the nightclub, the looks on the happy hour barflies confirmed my newfound political fears. As Florida fell into the red, the rest of us just stared at the television screens, trying hard to find a solution to the new equation that presented itself to us. "They're calling Florida too early again!" I yelled at Tom Brokaw, not really knowing if it were true, but trying to find some simple problem, some way out of the mess. Anxiety rose throughout the bar. While many around me tried to cover it all up in nervous laughter, the rest of us knew otherwise. I started to become my hard hardened self, that part of me that I try to reserve for only the most pressing of matters, because it takes such a toll, it consumes my thoughts and posture, it usually wastes precious time. But by the time I had arrived home, that part of me had won, and was now reduced to tears and long pauses in the lonely night air. This had hit me harder than I thought. After months of having two candidates faces ingrained in my mind, the one I thought was the obvious replacement had lost himself in a land of Red bookended by lakes of Blue.
And it all sounds so overly dramatic, doesn't it? Judging by my words, you may want to shake your fists in the empty space and label me a liberal crybaby. You may want to give in to all the jargon you have amassed over the years via local news and instant gratification that currently spellbounds the sound bite society in which we live. You have chosen your pipeline of information, be it Fox or Harpers, the AP or the net, and you have combined it with the church you attended or didn't attend, what mom and dad told you was right or wrong, what you learned in college and afterwards, the school of life. And you chose to listen or not listen. To truly Listen or not Listen.
And you voted accordingly.
I don't know where to put my anger right now. My deepest hope concerning the whispers and shakers in Washington is that the Fortunate Son who has gained four more years will find a way out of his exclusive faith based bubble he has created, and will learn to listen. I don't think that is asking too much. But looking back, I have reason to be concerned. Profoundly concerned.
What bothers me the most is the black and white mentality that seems to have shackled the country. Does it really exist, or is it another easy way for the media to define us? Just because you don't believe in the war does not make you unpatriotic. And just because you are pro-life does not make you a God fearing patriot. I don't believe that most human beings live that way. But do they think that way? Has our laziness and lack of curiosity about what goes on past our own backyards completely warped our worldview? I don't want to believe that people don't stop and question and think for themselves. But again, looking back, I have reason to be concerned. When eleven states oppose civil unions for gays ( and I trust this audience knows why those propositions were really placed on the ballot ) I don't only feel personally attacked, I feel like a pawn and a tool for people that have nothing......nothing to do with the way in which I live my life. How is my biological structure harming a family that lives in Montana? My God, am I really that threatening?? I wish nothing but the best for that family in Montana. I hope they live long and free. I hope the children go to good schools and achieve all that they want in life. And yet they want to deny me certain rights. Just who, I ask you, is being perverted here?

This landscape in which we live and play, political and otherwise, is it going to get worse before it gets better? Now that many of us have validated the president, will anti-Bush protests around the world be transformed into anti-American ones? The president says he will work to earn the trust of those that voted against him. Fine. I am listening. Truly Listening. And for those of us who tried to push the national agenda into a more honest and worthwhile light, please allow whatever anger or sadness you feel to create a new pull for yourself. I think that this election process showed us that every deed, small and large, plays a role. Imagine patterning that kind of mentality over your own hopes and artistic deeds. It is so easy to become jaded and misinformed in this world, and that's unfair, but in this moment, right now, that's life. So fight for what you believe in, the words you write, the songs you sing, the smiles you offer both the stranger and the lover. Be cautious and free flowing at the same time.......it can be done. There is too much at stake. We need to be the balance, we need to make the difference.

"Let them remember that there is a meaning beyond absurdity. Let them be sure that every deed counts, that every word has power, and that we all can do our share to redeem the world in spite of all the absurdities and all frustrations and all disappointments.
And, above all, let them remember to build a life as if it were a work of art."

-Abraham Joshua Heschel

Thursday, August 05, 2004
 
Two Seasons Two

If there was never any doubt in all his life that he knew that this was the proper moment, it was then. It was two summers ago, and the city was constantly forced awake by the concrete tiers that absorbed the bitter heat and sent the old and young either outside or in, depending on their motives. Having overslept, he was sensitive and alert that day, and cut through the park to finish the hours with a book, and the usual quiet meditation that sometimes takes place among the grass. Flipping through the crisp pages, he wondered just where his cat had gone off to, as it had always wandered off at this hour, but he knew it was safe, and he knew it would return. He sat beside the parks slivered path, body down, the sprinklers to his left quenching the dry wind, providing a fine mist. To his right were the old Russian men, who with little discussion concentrated on the chess boards that lay before them, while their wives walked together in sane and varied circles. The men looked like military strategists, he thought, warhorse hands moving a black or white piece, mirroring thought. He watched the men play, and then the moment, the one he had no doubt of, occurred suddenly. The men turned simultaneously, observing the figure that stood in the sun, paperback Tolkien as guide in small hands. He stopped. She caught his forward grounded glances and brushed the hair from her face. Above them, a tiny aircraft flew, and for reasons he did not fully understand, he found himself invested in the way she took in the heavy tone that surrounded the air above them. He lowered his book, and she stood in his sun now. She waited. Time, as it were, did not freeze up, but then and now, swiftly pulsed at such a pace that they had never experienced before in the past. He focused, squinted, and crushed pulled grass between his fingers. She grinned hard, than swallowed, pushing herself closer to this boy who had obstructed her path. She saw hair as black as night with dark eyes to match. Sienna skin and a crooked smile, a knowing smile. She saw a thick neck and flat, long hands, and a bracelet made of cloth around his wrist that had been worn away in worried places. His face was solid and soft, and full of a rare curiosity. He was confident in the the face he witnessed, and as he looked closer her eyes became more weary and sincere. There was a willingness in her face that filtered down her body, a tall T swerve with arms open. Her skin was the color of liquid ivory, and as she graced her arms out, the smile she offered did not sway. In the foreground, the women continued to wander the parks and the men played chess. He set his book by his side and gazed at this newfound mirror. She regained her posture and resumed her stare, and reached out slowly for the broken grass.

The study lasted for many moons, between a unforgiving rainfall, branches that snapped and a cat that missed his faithful owner.

And then he knew, as time restored itself, that it was indeed, time.

She slowly arched up, and began to walk away. He watched her go, and closed his eyes.

The words, the poet, completed the circle.

Friday, July 16, 2004
 
Two Seasons

If there was never any doubt in all her life that she knew that this was the proper moment, it was then.  It was two Junes ago, and the city was in hibernation, a quiet sleep before the more sweltering tiers of heat crept in, forcing the very old into those climate controlled dens, and pushing the young out towards the plastic byways and neon angles,  innocence lost by dusk.  She was tired that day, and lacking deep sleep she cut across the park where her home, and the cat, hopefully, awaited her.  The cat wasn't hers,  but it greeted her on the steps to her modest apartment, and would patter with her to the door, and for whatever important reason, this gave her a sense of security as she tightened the deadbolt, leaving the cat to its original owner.  She walked along the parks narrow path, face down, dodging the waterworks from the sprinklers to her left.  To her right were the weary Russian women, in packs and scores, talking silently, walking slowly while their husbands played chess together in huddled masses on thick concrete tables.  The women looked like Greek philosophers, she thought, necks slightly curved and hands behind their backs, stoic steps keeping tempo with the topic at hand.  She watched the women sway, and then the moment, the one she had no doubt of, occurred utterly.  The women glided to the left and right, like human curtains, revealing the figure that lay in the sun, Proust as pillow, bits of paper and pulled grass resting on his chest.  She stopped.  He caught her sudden frozen disposition, and brushed the grass from his shirt.  High above, an aircraft flew, and she found herself focused on its low pitched tone.  For reasons her eyes and legs did not understand, this tone provided comfort, and a willingness, however small, to walk towards him.  She lowered her backpack, and he lay in her shadow now.  He waited.  Time, as it were, did not stand still, but in this instance, accelerated at such a pace that they might never experience again in the future.  She blinked twice and tapped her side.  He swallowed hard, then grinned, pushing himself up to sit and to see more clearly this girl who had eclipsed his sun.  He saw auburn hair with wise eyes to match.  Pale skin and thin lips, knowing lips.  He saw a long soft neck, and small hands, and polish on the fingers nails that had been chipped away in nervous places.  Her face was round and tight and still, and he held his grin, his place in this shadow.  She was certain of this face she observed, yet as she drew closer his eyes became more dark and pleading.  There was a curiosity in his face that matched his body, a long S curve planted heavy on the green.  His skin was the color of coffee and milk, and as he placed his palm to the back of his neck, the smile he gave implored her to stay.  
In the background, the men continued to play chess and the woman wandered the paths.  She placed her backpack near her feet and sat, gazing at this newfound twin.  He straightened his posture and broke his stare, slowly pulling out blades of warm grass. 
 
The study lasted for many months, between a relentless snowfall, sparrows that hatched and a cat that missed his apartment stoop greeter.   
 
And then she knew, as time resumed its proper place, that it was, indeed, time. 
 
She slowly arched up, and begin to walk.  He watched her go, and closed his eyes.
 
"Every moment it's deepened, restored,"  she quoted the poet. 
 
"Cada segundo se profundiza y renueva,"  he quoted her back. 
  
  
  
 










Tuesday, June 29, 2004
 
Albuquerque, New Mexico, June 29, 1973, 12:19 AM

Happy Birthday To Me,

Happy Birthday To Me,

Happy Biiiiiirthday Dear Shawn/One Who Loves/ Honest Smile/ Samwise/ Love me Yeeeah...

Happy Birthday To MEEEEEEEEEEEE.......

....Whose your American Idol now, ya bitches???

(Clenches fists towards the heavens )

WHOSE YOUR AMERICAN IDOL NOW????????!!!!!!!!!!!!







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