Holiday = A new Poem

Permission

to request

attention

Smack down

for tall poppies

Christmas with your family

drunk Englishmen

in summer

wildly good-mannered

still, kind.

Or a twisted

Broadway musical

scene

with my family

an obligation

served by proximity

The apartment is

cozier

because I’m planning

to stay home more

The month flickers

A perfect transfer

twice I walked

straight onto my train.

This represents

another year

without you

No more lamb

roasts

people hardly feel

the need to eat

here

let alone share

I’m saving up for a

feast though

Bring Love

and leave your temper

at the door.

Quietly loudly

I realized that I had all but abandoned this blog, when someone commented earlier today, on a post I wrote back in May 2007. I have been busy in the blogosphere, still i miss this style of blogging and want to do it more. I promise to keep checking in when I have something un-Brooklyn-Socialite-like to say. This will be a good home for my straight up poetry and prosaic vulnerabilities. Accordingly here is a poem dedicted to my good old Bridge and Tunnel Days of yore.

Lincoln Tunnel

Some people swallow the rhetoric hard

I seem to spit it out instead

In a dark tunnel

The Lincoln

And struggling for a pen

To recycle the song

Not hate on the rhythm

Eco warrior blues

Infiltrate

All that swims in ink

On once

White culture-free

pages

Paradise Island...

Obviously thinks highly of itself. Self-reflection was not at issue in the naming of this long strip of white sand. Oprah has a house here and the now Bahamians were once brought here from Africa as slaves to serve the British empire in residence. Now they are referred to as "The Natives" by the resort holiday-makers who line the sand sardine style in their designer beachwear. Paradise as viewed from above would appear something like a Kafka-esqe nightmare, giant cockroaches groping towards their beer. 'The natives' walk around in cabana boy, and modern English maid attire and provide for the resort goers every whimsical desire. Perhaps its time for the island to consider a new name.

Berlin

rubbing across the edges of here, scratching further into peoples space, holding back intentionally to not exert pressure, encorage others to chose in a zone unadulterated by my will. This is complicated though by my desire not to wait. Sure, there is a creeping need to pull off the covers.


Berlin: further mediatations on place and belonging as the carpetbagger travels

Smile

You know those people who just talk way too much? Every time they open their mouths they go into such extraordinary detail, explaining everything so excessively that they never shut up. I can think of one, who by the time she finally stops talking I have gotten so sick of listening, reassuring I'm listening, and expressing the fact that I do indeed understand what she is saying to me, that I'm sure she can see the look of disdain on my face. I don't hate her though, she is extremely kind, so I try my hardest to be polite and patient and hide my sneer. Those who know me will know that I am not especially good at keeping what I think to myself, sure I may not say anything, but other people can feel my ire, see my aversion to them. I just want to scream at her, "Yes, I fucking understand you!" and no, "I don't care about every single inane detail of your daily affairs," "I am not stupid and I don't want you to explain to me how to do really obvious things like operate a refrigerator!!" Instead, the higher minded, new me says nothing and tries really hard to smile.

That sinkining feeling

You want to trust someone, you try to trust that person, you let yourself believe their obvious embellishments but in the end it becomes impossible and you must admit-they're a liar and you've been taken for a ride, but you buck up, dust off, fix your hair and you calmly explain to the liar that he has messed with the wrong bird.

I am not that easy to break.

Something can be learned from "Sex in the City"

Yes there are not many valuable lessons to be weaned from this television show but there is one that comes to my mind today...

That of the GayStraight man. This is a Straight man who intentionally or otherwise carries himself off as a Gay man in order to win over the trust of women, based on his nonpredatorial association. Then once he has won over this trust-he flips the switch and that 'friendlymassagetorelieveyourperiodpain' quickly turns into a seduction manuever. Now I have seen this tactic played out many times before, and though the cast of SC depicts your succesful business man type in the GayStraight man role this move is even more cringe-causing when it is played by your bohemianactivistcolledgestudent type. You want to trust that this man is your friend and sometimes you can-except for those bad apples...

I recently witnessed one of these stray-feed me-dogs, seducing a woman with the signature massage trick and I really could not contain my ire. I had no choice but to wake the unknowing lady from her 'relaxation'stupor and tell her what was what, before those hands strayed any further.

Gentlemen, if your going to try to seduce us at least come out and admit it!