The Second Half

My Vogue came on Wednesday—it was waiting for me in the mailbox when I arrived home from the beach. Before I got home that morning, I sat in the waiting room of the Nissan dealer while the mechanic looked over my squeaking brakes. I read Spin magazine and soaked up new music like I had just discovered rhythm and tone. Then I got home, unpacked, got my Vogue and repacked to come over here to Queen Anne’s County and house sit for three days.

Yesterday at work I took my Vogue and a copy of Saveur that belongs to the man I’m housesitting for. Savuer is a magazine of “authentic cuisine” and this months articles include incredible succulent recipes involving pineapples and also some Mexican dishes that make me salivate to think of them. Here’s the deal, it’s the second half of my cycle—and I’m receptive, in a scope of mood I call juicy. I’m mellow and relaxed from two days on the beach and now my natural pulse of energy is to soak in soul savory information: good music, good food, and ohhhhhhh shaky insides, amazing clothing, colors and couture, shoes and travel-spots and culture on the pages of Vogue. That is me, my soul music calling to me. If you don’t know your second half—try learning it…I go by the moon and chart my energies—and it has become such a way to really get to know—and therefore coincidingly—become myself.

The other thing that happens during my second half is my spontaneous download, it’s like a sea the way the deep song comes out of me—I keep a book handy for when the words like a fluttering cloak in my consciousness start to move and arrive—here are some examples from over the past few months…

Got to run, off to work….

*
5.15.08

And I asleep out here
on a dying river
on a larkspur’s diamond
on a feast
made of gold
I asleep where
the dragon bit my toe
un even, un ready
too scared to fire
or to go
come come with me now
come with me dawn
say my name
speak my
golden broken reflection
speak my disastrous
rank-boned game

2
my belly’s a fool

a secret scratched white

lit by the dove
of fire

in the clear, plain day
I am no use
No more use to this

I take my own grace

3
I want more, I don’t like
Myself
For this
This filth
You gave me
This mess this filth
I am meant
I am made to disappear
Fire come to take me
Queen is done
Or seems to be
W me
For now

*
Have now for yourself
a good life
propagate the species for you may you
go on and on at nights first light, this delight this hand
this way you have of going down
this way you don’t ever want
to say goodbye
this backwards glance grin
this way this way we give merit this way we lie this way we tell ourselves:
It is all okay. Have now for yourself—the good life

May you go & on w
this madness. A brave thing it is to acknowledge, to accept, to deem true and bless
this humanity craze, this madmax flash this absurd human’s dance.

Or is it natural—to sublimate?
Thereby negating—it?

Which? Which is it? Look, look at you. Which is it

Which You?

4.3.08

*
There is a place where I go to hide from the street behind the trees—where I can watch the farmer’s pass on the country road next to our farm but they can not see me. Sometimes I get naked & they don’t know it. Sometimes, like today, I go there to blot out the numbness—and I think about him. I sit in the sun& feel close as I can to real. The sky is blue like when you can’t tell if it stops at all, anywhere, infinite blue blue lens stretching on in to forever far enough to reach out to someone else somewhere who’s maybe also a lot like me. The edges or what makes for the edge of the sky from here which is the trees are more pale like a gray blue or pink hue and this is it, summertime, I, the sky and the edges above the trees. And it is bright out and hot sort of and here I am, hiding from farmers, perhaps missing my life.
6.2.08