Gunn for President. Greatest Interview Ever.

How it felt.

[Len Prince/Jessie Mann - Untitled]

sunshine daydream

The kind of Saturday afternoon that leaves folksy guitar melodies in my head and the desire to ride bicycles or spin in circles in the grass until I fall down. Take the dog for a walk. Sip tea. Paint. Hike. Wander through art galleries. Shop. Sing. Organize something. Redecorate. Laugh. Dance. Create something beautiful.

Be happy.

Proven true.

There was definitely a pervading air of desperation amongst the single bar-goers, lots of agitated crowd scanning and eyeing of each other like ravenous wolves.

Felt fantastic to admire the general awkwardness.

Survived the evening with little more damage than lack of sleep and smudgy leftover eye makeup... which my boss actually mistakenly complimented. There is just no explaining my life.

for the record

Valentine's Day 2K8 and I'm happily single, thank-you-very-much. I'm dressed up, I look fabulous, and am headed out for a grand evening of jazz and cocktails with my fellow sassy singletons. I did not spend any cash on silly trinkets of love and adoration, I didn't have to fight for romantic reservations, there is no pressure to be more delighted with my significant other than I really am (because he doesn't exist... except in the form of a charming gay fiancee of mine), and I'm not depleting Nature/greenhouses of unnecessary bouquets of blooms or botanical treats.

And I'm also not the last-minute jackass trying desperately to find suitable gifts/stuffed animals (gross)/Hallmark cards at half past 6 on a holiday.

... and for these reasons I'm off to celebrate.

Feb 12, 2007: Blizzard... Feb 12, 2008: Blizzard

Very grateful not to have been a traffic statistic today. These sleet-iced avenues seem to have a mind of their own... and the lack of respect for them seems only to aggravate the monsters within. Putting mankind in control of beastly steel machines on wheels certainly seems to bring out the inner immortality complex, icy streets and gravity be damned.

I truly don't know how this climate - today's current sub-freezing bite - can be what some call home. It's romanticized, this 'winter wonderland' of icicles and blustery breezes and Frosty the Snowmen... except in reality it's mostly street-grime-slush and ice-slick sidewalks that never seem to clear and minutes and minutes spent scraping my car.

Not to complain. The briskness of winter can be invigorating and there is always that sense of half-nervous, half-excited anticipation before a storm hits... I just truly cannot fathom waking up to this for 9 months out of the year... or more.

Like in Away From Her, that beautiful coupling of cross-country ski tracks and fuzzy matching turtlenecks and poetry in front of the blaze of a warm fire. Growing old together in a Robert Frost glistening snow globe world.

"Shhh... you're sexy. Stop talking."

Spring Cleaning.

Time to take an inventory of my life.
Time to make it happen.
Time to grow up.
Time to fight for everything.
Time to act.
Time to detox.
Time to help.
Time to acknowledge myself.
Time to fix flaws.
Time to love... and be loved.

Today I want it all. It's scary... but it's possible. I have to believe that. Terrifying changes on the horizon. Completely, paralyzingly terrifying events. If I'm not strong now, I'm going to be completely drowned. Time to be the strong one after so many years as the unstable mess. They deserve that.

[I'm frightened]

And my heart aches for them. Why did they both have to suffer the same fate as I? I'm just so helpless, so devastated on the sidelines while the all-too-familiar pattern repeats itself in their worlds. And he's so young! Exactly the same age I was when the storm descended and the darkness blackened a decade with its soft whispers of inadequacy, failure, disillusion, hostility, bleak acceptance, loss... why this horrible legacy? What can I do, the one who should most compassionately understand, when all I feel is this despondent helplessness? What if I can't fix this one?

If you can't stand the madness, get out of my life.

Brief overview:

Tuesday: work. Tatiana's poetry reading. Chance encounter at Steak n Shake with Bro White. Cocktails with Karson/Eric in 'Mardi Gras' plastic cups. Crash with the Prince.

Wednesday: work. Hangover. Straight from work to Retro. etc. Typical madness. Crash with the Prince AND the Princess.

Thursday: Hangover. Play house with Eric. Rearrange things. Start projects. Dance around the house. Complain of hangover. Shudder at wednesday's photos. Wish we had champagne. Magic carpets inspire fantasy vacation sequences. Rush home and prepare for interview. Meet at Skyline. Home after in sweatpants eating applesauce. Change. Walk across the street for Jesus Christ Superstar. Fall madly in love with Corey Glover and debate whether it is sac religious to have crushes and inappropriate feelings for the disciples. What can I say, I love Jesus Chic. Walk home. Change... into matching tshirts/heels/perfume. Head down the street to watch IU kick some Illini ass. (deservedly or not). Hit up Metro karaoke. Come home and crash drunkenly into bed as a collective.

Friday: Hangover. Work. Eddy comes down for the most incredibly decadent spontaneous girls' evening complete with delicious wine and long overdue conversations. [P and E for life] Head north in the rain. Meet Matty for one drink. Head home early and collapse. Sleep in my clothes. It's fine.

Saturday: Finally... no hangover. Head south for gymnastics invitational... which was amazing. Now home and motivating to get in the shower before birthdayfest commences.

Oh, and I'll give you a hint at tomorrow: hangover + work. pretty excited about it.

"I don't know why I go to extremes" - Billy Joel

A typical Wednesday...


...followed immediately by a Thursday trip to an energy specialist/holistic healer.

Welcome to my life.

Lessons, today:

1. Be careful what you wish for.
2. Embrace the unexpected.
3. Bring extra lip balm.
4. Enjoy sunshine in those rare winter afternoons when it appears.
5. The 'snooze' feature on my alarm is a dangerous trap.
6. Take some dayquil and be optimistic.
7. Always travel with Halls ginger ale cough drops.
8. Don't bother with makeup if you plan on spending most of the day blowing your nose.
9. Never doubt the possibility that Superman III and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert are linked.
10. Dreams often fall short of reality.

hope.

gravel angel in front of the Virginia Tech memorial.

maybe I'm just sentimental, maybe I'm over-medicated on dayquil and vitamin supplements (home, sick/miserable), maybe it's hormones or cosmic star-crossings... but this to me is beautiful.

I realize the paradox of symbolism - it has the power to inspire and yet lacks to power to itself act or promote change... so often many of us hide behind labels, flags, emblems, slogans, membership cards, resonant rally cries and yet maintain our lives of distance and quiet, turning a blind eye when we're most needed because we're uncomfortable or unwilling to risk our voices, time, reputations, comfort, money, self-image, etc.

And ironically it is most often the smallest and most minute of events that serve as catalysts for significant changes or enlightenment.

So often I think people just need someone to listen to them. The elderly are a perfect illustration of this... fear of mortality and the mysteries of life beyond our own tiny understanding of the universe compel some desire to leave behind us a legacy, some proof that our existence not only was real but somehow mattered.

We none of us seem to truly relish the fact that we are transient beings, just one of a succession of billions... Our misinterpretation of our own importance is the heartbeat of our ego-driven madness and anxiety. We inflate our worth far beyond the truth, develop grand notions of entitlement, as though the world owes us something. We live! Is that not enough?

Beyond that bizarre miracle our lives are our own, destinies our own, choices our own. Why is gratitude for existence so continually sneered at and discarded? The world can be terrible, cruel, wrenchingly painful, devastating, hopeless, unjust, and maddeningly overwhelming... and yet the sun rises, the tides change, leaves turn, and winter is always followed by the promise of spring.

It begins, it ends, it begins anew.

And in the midst of this we have each other... and angels made of pebbles as a reminder.

So kiss me when I'm hurting, whisper loving words in the ears of children, stare softly into the eyes of friends and extol their beauty, believe in the possibility of happiness, lend your strength to others, tread softly upon the earth, dance between raindrops, and sing in the starlight.

Gifts

My dream is the dream of a pond
Not just to mirror the sky
But to let the willows and ferns
Suck me dry.
I'll climb from the roots to the veins,
And when leaves wither and fade
I will refuse to mourn
Because I was dying to live.

My joy is the joy of sunlight.
In a moment of creation
I will leave shining words
In the pupils of children's eyes
Igniting golden flames.
Whenever seedlings sprout
I shall sing a song of green.
I'm so simple I'm profound!

My grief is the grief of birds.
The Spring will understand:
Flying from hardship and failure
To a future of warmth and light.
There my blood-stained pinions
Will scratch hieroglyphics
On every human heart
For every year to come.

Because all that I am
Has been a gift from earth.

- Shu Ting,
translated from the Chinese by Carolyn Kizer

self-improvement.

1. surround myself only with those who bring me joy.
2. more involvement in the arts scene.
3. remember to take more vitamins.
4. personal focus, internal: honesty despite the cost(s), sensitivity, forgiveness
5. personal focus, external: punctuality, accountability, return of ambition.
6. more naked time. obviously.
7. resume letter writing.
8. yoga.
9. 'in the now' mentality, carpe diem attitude, joie de vivre, etc.
10. channel energy toward positivity, light, calm, compassion, happiness.
11. happiness.
12. de-clutter physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
13. remembrance of those lost.
14. activism.
15. travel = priority.
16. acceptance of life outside of 'perfect.'
17. independence.
18. take more initiative... in all things.
19. read the rest of all these damn half-finished books.
20. release of unnecessary vanity.
21. reach beyond my comfort level, explore the world of the new, the mysterious, the unknown.
22. willingness to sacrifice... even the good times if necessary.
23. admit fear.
24. vacuum more often.
25. unconditional allegiance and love to those who love me.

Because this is what you do

because this is what you do. get up.
blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late
to work. go to the couch because the bed
is too empty. watch people scream about love
on Jerry Springer. count the ways
it could be worse. it could be last week
when the missing got so big
you wrote him a letter
and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work
to go to, whole day looming.
it could be last month
or the month before, when you still
thought maybe. still carried plans
around with you like talismans.
you could have kissed him last night.
could have gone home with him, given in,
cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm
around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing.
shower. remember your body. water
hotter than you can stand. sit
on the shower floor. the word
devastated ringing the tub. buildings
collapsed into themselves. ribs
caving toward the spine. recite
the strongest poem you know. a spell
against the lonely that gets you
in crowds and on three hours’ sleep.
wonder where the gods are now.
get up. because death is not
an alternative. because this is what you do.
air like soup, move. door, hallway, room.
pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold.
wish you were a bird. remember you
are not you, now. you are you
a year from now. how does that
woman walk? she is not sick or sad.
doesn’t even remember today.
has been to Europe. what song
is she humming? now. right now.
that’s it.

Marty McConnell– survival poem #17

courtesy, caitlynintherye

Full Time Whore.

This weekend's antics have inspired me to recreate an old college tradition... the Wall of Shame. Home to scandalous visual evidence of all one's sins, regrets, revelry, merrymaking, misbehavior, general mayhem, and civil disorder.

... and photogenically-challenged moments, of course.

Because everyone needs to see their darkest hours face-to-face... and there has to be some marvelous place to collect all of the things too inappropriate for public (and/or online) view.

The past 5 days... let's just say I won't have to dig too deep into the archives to fill the WOS.

the way it was.

This morning, College Ave, 10 am, on my way to jump my car battery.
Wearing Eric's pajamas, last night's clothes in hand.
Disastrous.

favorite.

I would know that
before this life closes,
a soulmate to share my roses -
I would make a spell
with long grey beard hairs
and powdered rosemary and rue,
with the jacket of a tux
for a tall man
with broad shoulders,
who loves to dance;
with one blue contact lens
for his bluest eyes;
with honey in a jar
for his love of me;
with salt in a dish
for his love of sex and skin;
with crushed rose petals
for our bed;
with tubes of cerulean blue
and vermilion and rose madder
for his artist's eye;
with a dented Land Rover fender
for his love of travel;
with a poem by Blake
for his love of innocence
revealed by experience;
with soft rain
and a bare head;
with hand-in-hand dreams on Mondays
and the land of fuck
on Sundays;
with mangoes, papayas
and limes,
and a house towering
above the sea.
- Erica Jong

typical.

me: haven't had it in so ... LONG

Chona: oh, i thought you were talking about sex

Chona: you're talking about pizza

Robert Creeley

For Friendship

For friendship
make a chain that holds,
to be bound to others, two by two,

a walk, a garland,
handed by hands
that cannot move
unless they hold.

For Love

Yesterday I wanted to
speak of it, that sense above
the others to me
important because all

that I know derives
from what it teaches me.
Today, what is it that
is finally so helpless,

different, despairs of its own
statement, wants to
turn away, endlessly
to turn away.

If the moon did not...
no, if you did not
I wouldn't either, but
what would I not

do, what prevention, what
thing so quickly stopped.
That is love yesterday
or tomorrow, not

now. Can I eat
what you give me. I
have not earned it. Must
I think of everything

as earned. Now love also
becomes a reward so
remote from me I have
only made it with my mind.

Here is a tedium,
despair, a painful
sense of isolation and
whimsical if pompous

self-regard. But that image
is only of the mind's
vague structure, vague to me
because it is my own.

Love, what do I think
to say. I cannot say it.
What have you become to ask,
what have I made you into,

companion, good company,
crossed legs with skirt, or
soft body under
the bones of the bed.

Nothing says anything
but that which it wishes
would come true, fears
what else might happen in

some other place, some
other time not this one.
A voice in my place, an
echo of that only in yours.

Let me stumble into
not the confession but
the obsession I begin with
now. For you

also (also)
some time beyond place, or
place beyond time, no
mind left to

say anything at all,
that face gone, now.
Into the company of love
it all returns.