i been rappin for about seventeen years, okay?
judo chopped on my unsuspecting neck
by alexander brailowsky with a bowler
in one hand and a leer on his face
- retribution for slammed closet door
my birthday has been shitty! so far.
but my room is clean, i listened to
waiting for godot (the hamster version,
voiced by david rakoff) candles lit,
i've a wee cup of coffee, & i am wearing
a dress in my very favorite shade of
green & i am waiting to go to dinner
with my father, where i might tell him
i'm fleeing the city. it's either that
or drop out, move out & get a job for two months
till i leave for the other one.
there is a yellow rose on my dressing
table. the next time i ever live
in elle ay again twill be in my own
home. thinking about taking the gre
& making my own major somewhere.
i can't focus on one thing at a time -
this is the first year that i won't have
everyone over to smoke blunts (rolled by omar
on my drunken insistence) & drink
cheap wine. spending the afternoon shopping
for daffodils & chocolates & balancing a sink
we found on the sidewalk between two chairs
to hold ice. i loved throwing myself
birthday parties in santa cruz because
there was no way that a lot of the
people in the room would everrr hang
out with each other unless i brought
them with the promise of charles &
dancing. the most interesting conversations
would result from the collision of the
random people i love
this birthday i must spend with the people i've got to
love, whom i do love, but some of whom love me in a way i cannot countenance.
it's perfect i should decide to leave today.
tomorrow i call, ask to be taken back early,
friday i get a check. i could stop in the
bay for the slackers & a lovely birthday
party with dear friends, then a big plot of wilderness
in central california stolen from the ahwahneechee.
i have been putting a minimal amount of effort
into classes, so i wouldn't feel bad about
withdrawing - i have an A in drawing & probably
a B in sculpture because i keep turning paperwork
in late for no reason whatsoever. telling myself
all along that it's purely for the experience,
not the grade. at least i know i am not running
away from my studies - i adore my clases! the
day i hate school i may as well put a pillow
on the oven rack. i am running away from my family,
what took me so long? i regret not spending enough
time with my father the past few years, i think
that's really what has kept me from moving on.
moving to another continent is so final. i am
afraid he'll die or be near death before i see
him again. he's supported me all along & i've
never felt like i deserved any of it. he knows
just how crazy kermit is & doesn't blame me for
wanting to leave.
........................................
...................
warming my heart by the glow of dylan thomas
reading a child's christmas in wales, which
sounds like perfect delight - driving somewhere,
a great distance, with matthew at night,
stopping in wawona to roll a joint at the eerie
gas station that is a pool of light in the middle
of so much blackness, a single car passing slowly.
being glad to be with him,
sleepy, in a car that's black on the bottom
"from going so much
in the night"
bunny-suited busbies and balaclavas for victims
of headshrinking tribes
and once i had a little crocheted nosebag from an aunt now, alas, no longer willy withus.
& bags of moist and many coloured jellybabies
and butterwelsh, for the Welsh i knew i was going to cry at dinner, that's why i didn't
order a drink. as usual, our little family unit (my
father, halfsister, & myself) provided all within ear
shot with comedy AND drama
both my father & sister speak VERY LOUDLY & i speak
hardly at all and usual very low. my sister shouts
the word "FUCKIN'" and pauses for a moment, her
eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open for dramatic
effect, and then says whatever she feels needs to
be heard. every. time. i love her SO much, but
it's painful being in public with her. within five
minutes, all seated within fifteen feet know that:
it is my birthday
i am a "tortured artist" )
i am having a shitty birthday
i was, quite possibly, kidnapped at birth
(when i started to cry, my
dad clapped his hand to my back and shouted, it's allright!
you're an AARRTIST, you've SUPPOSED to be TORTURED!" i started
laughing and then ran to the bathroom & sobbed into the linen
napkin for two minutes, powdered my red snotnose, and reemerged
and walked like i was not embarassed to the table while everyone
turned to stare at me, for i was no longer merely a fellow-diner,
but a caricature in a bright green dress and gold heels which now
felt silly. i was crying not from
embarassment at all, but because i am dropping out of
classes & running away from home & i am finally growing up. this
is it, dearie, get your shit together or drown in it["lord, jesus christ
have mercy on me" i couldn't help but laugh, i always see myself
in the context of literary heroes and heroines])
twenty-three years, yo.
when i returned to the table my sister informed me that
they were taking bets on whether i was going to the
ladies' to smoke "HASHISH"
i cried a little more into my acorn squash but the rest of the
dinner was relatively drama-free.
tomorrow if i work like mad i can finish my sculpture & come
away with all my fingers maybe & then... i'll be fucking done.
p.s. mumsy gave me a cactus & a page-a-day calendar:
a little joy
a little oy
a banquet of jewish humor and wisdommy father screamed "YOU'D BETTER HOPE THE NAZIS
DON'T COME BACK, BECAUSE YOU'LL BE IN DEEP SHIT.
WE'LL HAVE TO HIDE YOU LIKE ANNE WHAT'S-HER-NAME
(he knows her name perfectly well, he was just
being cute. let us entertain you!)
he loves to talk about how i would be at the
front of the line for the gas chambers
& your odds of getting killed doing various things
and living in various staes. (while driving) if your tire
blew out right here you'd fly right over that
cliff & it'd be GOOD NIGHT
this is why i love i LOVE them, & why i can't take them anywhere.
o daddums, i would be in a mental hospital if it weren't for you.
mumzy: i would have never been in a mental hospital if it weren't for you.
dear friends, life would not be worth living without ye.
twenty-three: kid gloves, please
abeilles: keep them smoked into oblivion
from "a little joy, a little oy"
tuesday, april 29, 2008
dead sea scroll facts:
- nineteen copies of the book of isaiah, twenty-five copies
of deuteronomy, and thirty copies of the psalms have been
identified.
- prophecies, not in the bible, by ezekiel, jeremiah, and daniel,
are in the scrolls.
-the isaiah scroll is 1,000 years older than any previously
known copy. in fact, they are the oldest group of jewish
bible manuscripts ever found.
let's hope i meet a lot of rabbis in the next eight months so
i can put all my newly aquired yiddish phrases and dead
sea scroll facts to good use! that's my problem: my mother's
mother is jewish, so my mother is by extension a jewish mother,
though she was raised without religion. the stereotype is true: she is master of Guilt.
on to palestine! paris! new york! thanks to twenty-three, i already
have seed money. i just have to be ascetic this summer to save money,
without tipping over into inanition.
Current Music: rjd2 save me 
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