poetry, you've got me where you want me, on the sofa unrequited again

Photo by Rosie Lindsey

Poets on X+ was great, laid back, fun, funny, entertaining, happy, loving, sharing, and amazing. I'm so glad to know such wonderful people who just happen to be the most talented poets, artists, photographers in the OC ! What a life!

Nice short list of strong poets, followed by Lilly Penhall who took the spotlight and spread her energy all around. She was brilliant! I'm so glad she agreed to do our feature. Carlos and I stayed late at the gallery cleaned up a little and locked up and went out for a late supper. When we got home we collapsed. It was a sound sleep.

I didn't go to yoga yesterday, and I am already regretting it, as I won't be able to go today either since I am in charge of the store today. Tomorrow I'm going to slow flow and give it a try out. My muscles are not sore anymore, and I kind of miss that. I want to stretch them out again.

The AC is out in the shop. This has almost surpassed the slowest week of my life at Tyler/Davis. It's been dead, and today it's Saturday and I can't get a bite. I know there are alot of events going on in Dallas this weekend, but DAMN, can't I catch a break? The AC keeps anyone from staying long enough to linger, the door open with all the car exhaust and the annoying music from across the street.. and damn.. nobody wants to read anymore. I'm slipping into my negative cycle here. I know I need to stop, but sometimes, I just want to scream. Everyone sees on the outside what a dream it is to have your own business, when in actuality, its a nightmare most of the time. We had to close early yesterday because it was just too fucking hot to stay. I'm frustrated. lets move on.

Sweet P is with me at the store today. She's reading Gaiman short stories. We ate gorditas for lunch and were having a great little conversation till I asked about boys and then she crushed her coke can like the hulk and sulked for the rest of the meal. I have no idea how to talk to her. She is some other kind of beast. I guess I sometimes forget we are not friends, we are mom and daughter. It kinda makes me sad in a way, but I understand. i just wish I could have it both ways sometimes, but that is MY affliction. I just want a good friend, and I need to not put that on my daughter. I need my own friend.

But last night. Sitting in the gallery with uncle steve.. telling him that sometimes i want to pinch myself when we are there having the reading. it's really all I ever really wanted. I just wanted to host a reading that takes its own personality and movement and growth. i like to sit back and just take it all in. All these great people. all these great spontaneous moments..with my arms out ready to fly.. the words give me wings..it's just like me to feel that way.. another way to escape.
got drunk, jack would have been proud,rambling down the alleyways to the greasy diner and in the last red vinyl booth the old timer in his cowboy hat and western suit talks and laughs to himself, all the waitresses and even the cook, who unfortunately looks like she may have hit the pipe one too many times, white face, skeletal features, hollowed out eyes, well she moves like a dancer in front of the grill, breaking eggs into silver bowls with panache, flipping burgers and sprinklling cheese, toasting bread and slathering butter, turning pirouettes as she flips pancakes, she almost has 8 arms, this skinny girl, in baggy skinny jeans with rhinestone designs on her pockets that are sagging over her skeletal body, while the other waitress cuts a huge slice of chocolate merange pie like a skyscraper and places it inbetween us with two forks and two white napkins..and his eyes are tired..and mine are rolling back with drink and smoke and all the words i wanted to say to everyone of the people i know and love, shake thier shoulders, hey, don't you know i love you? don't you know that even in your darkest hours im shooting love bows and arrows into your hearts? that i long to feel your embrace and see your smiles and hear your laughter at all hours of the day echoing in my mind..oh humanity, such and eggshell of delicacy and purity and pure potential..every moving onward..oh this life is so beautiful, with its pirouetting cooks and starlight, moonlight crooked smile peeking at me thru the chainlink fences of this suburbia dream..then i look up and like a cat he's sitting there smoking cigs in his boxer shorts, he listened to every word we said..and I wish I had said something more than my drunken rambling, and i wish i could have yelled up to him, hey you, don't you know that crooked smiling moon is seeing you in your boxers? and he'd laugh and break the serious in his face, his lines would melt and shoulders would bend low in relaxation..and the door of the gallery, the back door I mean, it was letting in ghosts all night man..dig.