I Picture You in the Sun

There are those moments. Those super cliche I-feel-so-alive moments? I have those sometimes.

I don't like being alone when I have them.

Most recently I was home alone
in my bikini
opening all the doors
playing The Mamas & The Papas Anthology
on my first turntable
patching it through to backyard speakers
dancing like I do
and falling asleep in the sun.

And I had no one to share it with. Until now, I suppose.

But you should have been there. We could have been ourselves
in our suits
in my yard
in the sun
in the spring
in my wildest dreams.

Song of Myself: Benevolent and Biodegradable

[an Honors American Literature assignment in the style of Walt Whitman...in the context of me.]

My soul is a blank sheet of paper,
100% recycled and folded numerous times.
I struggle to begin a memoir,
To color outside the lines.
I rhyme accidentally.
I prepare felt-tip markers, pastels, finger paints, and fountain pens
For futile attempts to plaster said canvas
With vivid life and unadulterated emotion.
I stay away from computers and ignore pencils completely,
Favoring typewriters, Sharpies, tattoos, scars, and the notion that change is permanent.

My soul is split among many
Ideas, people, places, things, and their descriptors.
I stand taller than my mother, shorter than my sister, and against world hunger.
I stand, cheering, for victorious baseball teams, Academy Award winners,
And graduation’s proximity.
I stand somewhere between the stars and the sky.
A light rain drip, drip, drips from a benevolent sunrise,
Painting familiar faces with the pinks and oranges
Of a new day’s hope.
Strangers’ faces sparkle simultaneously as students’ smiles
Greet them graciously,
Pass them peacefully,
Confuse them completely.

My soul is enamored with compassion.
Is altruism dead?
Donors gain a cure,
A T-shirt.
Volunteers log new homes,
Service hours.
Tutors accumulate pupils,
Credentials.
Thrift store contributors pass on clothing,
Clutter.
Selflessness is sacred, sworn off by swindling somebodies.

My soul is eternal.
After raising a double major from grade point ashes,
Raising salaries as Editor in Chief,
Raising four children
And an herb garden,
I will be pulled from my preserved pedestal
By a crippling yet curable illness --
Cured with the help of my (by then) monthly donations to a worthy pharmaceutical acronym.
Having benefited from these final acts of benevolence,
I will prove that altruism can die
At the hands of old life found.
My soul, having become a scarred and tattooed, striped and tainted sheet of paper
Will withdraw from its authored -- though flawed -- cautioned, borrowed body
Beneath the sunset’s song.

You got a fast car
And I got a plan to get us out of here
I been working at the convenience store
Managed to save just a little bit of money
We won't have to drive too far
Just 'cross the border and into the city
You and I can both get jobs
And finally see what it means to be living

-- Tracy Chapman, "Fast Car"

Listen on last fm

Thoughts Written On Napkins as Though That Makes Them More Earthy and Legit

the twisted truth is that
to survive in this world
many a man trades
his language of love
for the language of commerce.

devotion to business
bridges oceans
but never souls.

...

writers blocking me out
like there's no tomorrow,
yesterday, or between.

one can do their best
and still rely on words' ability
to fail.

for letters entangle thoughts
while managing, to some extent, to instill
unrelenting hope for their freedom.

I've Always Wanted to

view my life from the outside. Like it's a movie. I want my streaming thought process to be the overlying narration and my mixes to provide the soundtrack.

I don't know. I'D watch it.

Speaking of watching movies about myself, I watched a home video a couple of months ago of a much younger Christmas, and boy was I annoyingly articulate. It's one of those cases where I needed public schooling to smooth out the kinks, if you know what I mean.

Pigs

a nickel for your thoughts
five pennies in the bank
no pennies in the bank?
well.
a talent for your thoughts
a poem for our day
there is no our?
no we?
I'll go alone today?
then give me back my nickel
and I'll return your thoughts
telepathy is futile
go back to where
we stopped.

Bulletproof Assignment

It won't protect you from gunfire -- rather, it's a blog challenge.

If you read Dear Soulmate and liked or related to it

or even if you didn't. I need you to do this for me.

This American Life, previously plugged in my post about the Rubber Room, broadcasted a special Valentine's Day episode called "Somewhere Out There." Featured are three stories about the difficulty, excitement, even possibility involved in finding The One, either in friendship, romance, or comedy. It deals so much with the topic I'd considered that I second-guessed my originality...and then realized I posted Dear Soulmate in the same week as Valentine's Day and during the rise of Natasha Bedingfield's "Soulmate" to the top of pop song charts.

Okay, so my thoughts are culturally influenced. Accidentally, I might add. Anyhow, do you and your openness to chance a favor and consider the real life results in This American Life experiences. Subscribe to it! Listen to it! Tell me what you think about it! I'll love you even more than I do now!

P.S. A good time to knock out the hour long audio episodes is in before-you-start-dreaming installments. Give yourself something to think about while wondering why you're still awake at 1:45 in the morning.