Yesterday morning I left the gas tank nozzle in my tank
and drove away
A stranger yelled or I would have pulled out the entire thing
I had to take him to the vet, and I knew it wouldn't be good
Today, eyes swollen from tears
Knowing I rescued him, gave him twelve and a half good years
a life on two different continents
and a gentle ending, the only option
I always wanted him to have a house, not an apartment
A relaxed owner, not a stressed one
But he was loved, my little black rescued cat was loved

I want friends as percentages
that would be more realistic
in "social media" that makes me feel anti-social
I wish we could go back to a time
when we saw each other face to face
looked each other in the eye
and didn't exploit the fact that we're too lazy
to get up and do that
the isolation increases, the fantasy heightens
Reality doesn't matter so much anymore

Left to die, unable to survive on your own
a child thinks this. It is the greatest fear
Doesn't last long, but makes a big impression
A bigger fear than being abused
But today, it means, can mean, freedom
from abuse mistreatment, your insults
their disdain, being his personal punching bag
the scapegoat for his broiling troubles
your neglect, and preference for under age girls
Abandonment is a respite
a place of renewal
a silence that terrifies, but then rejuvenates
as I can think on my own
let my thoughts be my guide, for a better me

I sat with my attention deep into the computer screen
As he came back with two biscuits on a paper towel
"do you want one?" he asked
and a little line was crossed of caring I haven't had
in a long time and I was afraid, like a feral cat
reaching out furtively for a treat offered by
a concerned lover of the feline and
I reached out slowly for it, pink chipped nails
and fear, overcome
and he feeds feral cats around where he lives
a man who feeds cats...I never thought I'd know one

You have been together since birth
Do animals grieve?
You seek out my company now a little more
on the back of the couch, head draped over my shoulder
as I write, your fuzzy head on my knee
You, the runt, the littlest one grown into the biggest
Over twenty pounds of Israeli's finest cross eyed street cat
Rescued at the same time, you were near death
your brother tried to escape into the inner workings of the car
stopped by my grabbing his tail
He was always the stronger one, the faster one
the normal one
You wait for him now, when it's time to eat
While he struggles to his feet, nothing but a skeleton
We will have each other when he's gone
but I think you will miss him, too

I awoke, it was 5 AM or some such ridiculous number
and there are definitely at least two types of people in this world
morning people, and people who like to sleep in the morning
but I am trying to forget him
a feeling I have, this isn't even going to be anything
not a passing friendship, I think he decided yesterday
because I am what I am and I'm glad the Netherlands outlawed mink farms
and he likes to dissect them and I can't, I read a book today and it says
you can't be who you aren't just to please someone else and I love
animals and hate those who persecute them and I find myself
on the freeway, in the dark, practically a traffic jam of morning people
and then streets filled with them like they think it's noon
and I arrive at a steaming factory where it looks like people are being
boiled alive there is so much steam and human arms rising out of the water and back again
like they are struggling to the surface, only to be pulled back down and boiled
waving for help and no one helps.
It's 6:05 when I finally get to split a lane with someone I can barely see because
human figures dissapear 25 meters away in what now looks like dense fog and
the coach smiles at me, like he sees I'm crazy too
Rush hour, underwater is clear, but who called this strange meeting of people in water?
A stressed, crowded swim and I'm back to the silent phone with ice toes that might
break off so I take drink and begin to sweat
And I deleted all the numbers last night but there was a text so
I look and there it is, and I only look at the area code because I can't
memorize that number. That is death.  You can't escape then.
And by mid morning I've called again and there is no answer
and by mid afternoon I remember to delete all numbers and I missed one
call from a collector, but he hasn't called back and I've been rejected
by someone I don't even like and somehow it makes it worse
because I had planned to tell him I didn't want to see him
that I wasn't sure about this, day trips, all that when I've never
ever had a conversation with him I've enjoyed.
And I sit at my desk, because by God, I must do work now and
desks make you do more work and I don't want to leave the house
because I'll spend money and there is no money and my big giant
grey and white cat takes up at least half the desk.
And the phone is silent
And I do some work
And look up silly things like how you get a stallion to ******* into a device
and it's actually pretty easy.
And a married Polish composer starts chatting with me on Facebook
and so I get off.

You know you shouldn't do it
You know it won't solve any of your problems
You try to talk yourself out of it
You can predict all the bad stuff that will befall
You feel safe for a few moments
Then you do it.

Is what I want
I can feel it now a little, had it once
just kind of side by side for awhile
just check each other out, not keep a file
let things unfold in a relaxed normal way
I want you as my friend
first of all
that's the only ways it's ever worked for me
I guess it's not the most gushy and romantic
or the most tantric or spiritual or connected and then rejected
Just a natural kind of thing, that comes easily
to my being

My X kicked me back here, to my home town
I thought it was his greatest revenge
Every crack in the sidewalk was a painful reminder
of the years of silent suffering with a smile pasted across it
I call growing up and
as I'd the therapy habit now, begun in LA and
reinforced and practiced in New York in the Therapist infested Island of
Manhattan
I got one here, and strange things started happening and
the sand of the filthy beaches started to sing to me and
my old high school looked like a pleasant nursery
and I started to groove here again,
feel strong here again like I'd never had
and I learned to love
my home town
after 500 years of therapy

I've slept for two days minus some hours I went out to buy cat food
Today I went to the pool in the rain, and chugged along back and forth
out of breath, encased in a partial wetsuit, watching the water steam at
times, and then glitter, with bright designs as the sun came out for a moment
And I return home to a monumental mess.  
Somehow it just didn't matter, this mess as I struggled at work, fighting
a lame diagnosis that "you are just too anxious for this job because you get nervous
before evaluations" from a man easily as anxious as I am, but much less aware of it
The work rained down on me like a waterfall, and I couldn't stay dry
Weekends gave way to endless work sessions and some sleep
Suddenly, as if for the first time, I see how much paper is strewn on the floor,
arranged by cats who inhabit this place far more than I do.
The piles of unsorted things I would "get to on vacation" are now
there, waiting to be gotten to.
It's clear I am one who values work above housekeeping and the happiness of the
little creatures who inhabit my world before order.
And that's just fine with me.

is supposed to be lonely and scary and empty
but at this stage in my life, being alone
is like building myself up from within
I crave this time, like I've run a marathon
without a drink
and it is so satisfying

Your ringless finger misled me,
but I can't blame you.
Months ago, wondering, flirtations,
gaps of time, trying to forget,
going back to take the drink of you.
Truth should have pushed me off this horse.

What does love feel like?
Inside, the child is still alone,
waiting for her mother.
Watching for a sign of her,
Bereft as wind howls through her empty heart.
What does love taste like?
If I knew, I wouldn't lie like this,
Watching and waiting like a hungry cat hunting for your glance,
Like an ignored dog, wagging it's tail at the slightest sign of attention.

I come home and my cats greet me
One, poor soul, has cancer
I give him his drugs, pills in the back of the throat
a spritz of water to help him wash it down
Pain lotion smoothed on his ear

I am not lonely
I walk through streets filled with couples
I work with people who are with someone
Always someone to text, to tell what their next move is
I watch, an anthropologist learning something
My patience is endless, I feel like a different species
I study faces at a bar
What is going on inside?
People tell so much by how they look

After divorce, I thought, being alone was the worst thing
Desperately, I went on dates, riding a roller coaster of my own making
As I got better, the dating stopped

Now I just watch.  
I still feel relief
as I walk through my own door
there is no one to rage at me
No one to insult me
No one to not be there when he's supposed to be
No unwelcome company
I left that eight years ago
And I still am so relieved to find only
animal faces, who only care about their next meal,
a drink of water, a warm bed

This work, reflecting on who I am
doing what I want, taking up the space of me
I should have done many years ago
but we do the best with what we have at the time
I can't look back and regret, I did what I thought was right

I am alone, but not lonely
I'm doing work.
Constructing a stronger foundation
that someday will welcome the close company
of another

Who is she?
She's not from around here.
Suspicion surrounds me like fog.
These are tough times, she's from out of town.
A stranger.  Should she work here?
She grew up over an hours drive away.
And I've lived on the other side of the Earth and found comfort
in the company of others
and found that human throughline
written still in cultural, spacial, geographic differences
that sameness, those recurring human themes
Returning home, another town away
I am unknown
Can't you feel the lesson I've learned?
Can't you know what it's like to walk through
the streets of Tel Aviv
The back alleys of Paris
and see human struggles
playing themselves out before you?
And know them from deep inside
as the ones you felt on another continent?
She's not from around here
And I speak English
Don't you know what it's like a
bond in a crowded subway pushed up against
those who don't speak your language
swimming in a different culture every hour of the day
And I am a stranger here.

When we met, you were an eye in the storm
Stressed, hired at the last minute and expected to perform
without training or experience in front of the big male bosses
You gave me comfort and little endearments
a well dressed if not too handsome man
in tight fighting  pressed pants and shirts

And I took notice as your gaze lingered
and your ringless finger waved at me
causing me to wonder

But now I know you're not all that
You are ringless so you can flirt and I've seen you in action
a couple of times after you tired of me because you
always seem to tire of us and go "home"
and now you no longer seek me out or take much notice
except in passing or on accident and I thought it was me
but it's not, it's never me with a guy like you

You went to the next and the next
And there are now layers of them padding your world
and I am on the outside

One layer new in your office to make the year bright
such a pretty young face infuses your world with life
and you seem more energetic and have let what's left of your
hair grow out around the lower half of your skull
in a thin layer of fuzz to remind everyone that you are
still a man with a body that produces enough brown colored
hair to still be visible and not a plucked chicken with nothing

Forget him, I am told and have tried so hard to do
but I don't like being discarded like my mother tossed me aside
it brings it all up again, all the pain and desperation and self hatred
Sitting in the silence where you want a presence
Being unnoticed when you want attention

But I did better without her, felt better without her
and if I could survive that, I will be OK now

In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of

Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and  
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering

And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise  bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now

I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain

And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her

But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation

and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here

She sends pictures of a very happy self
Her two kids in Miami and of course, herself
She loves Cuban food, the warm weather, the wine
In fact, everything looks quite fine

It's nice to see her happy right now
She lives in rainy Oregon, so why not go South?

She was the Homecoming Queen, it was quite a big deal
For us, just kids in high school I stood on the field

Standing in a band formation, I was holding a piccolo
I watched her be "crowned" and "her life will be perfect," this I know

I was very wise at seventeen
If I could handle what I was presented with, I thought I was keen
I really had no idea what it's like to be alone in life
I got educated, worked hard, even became a wife

But I always expected a rocky road
And I got it--some things did just plain explode
But what of it? That's just me
But my perfect friend, it is different for her, you'll see

So now where is the father of her beautiful kids?
Not there with his family, you can be sure of this
He didn't want to be with her anymore
So, he just left, didn't want to work it out, just said "no more"

And if it could happen to her, is anyone else safe?
I guess the answer is no, and I guess I'm figuring it out pretty late
I had more in common with the homecoming queen than I thought
Now I give her encouragement and kind words, to help her through this lot

So many stories of men on the run
To really think about this, no this isn't fun
I was so naive as a girl
I thought the love of a man was lasting, like a pearl.

And his eyes were bluer and his lashes were longer
and its not just men who want to see long lashes on  their objects face
and he just seems so much more beautiful since I found out he used
to volunteer to save animals
but he just stares at me dumbly, as if I can't see him
and he can only see me through a lens of a microscope as he
studies me like a specimen and it just isn't really right yet
I can't read him at all

And my tormentor, my soon to be X boss, he flew back to the midwest
where his dead brother lay and it must be a terrible thing
and I know he didn't die suddenly like my cat, with the benefit of a relaxant and then
anesthesia, and then a heart stopped, because it kept beating past the point of where
the body could keep up, and the door to the next world opened up to him

And I know this person's heart didn't stop suddenly,
there was pain and gasping and desperation as the heart attack took hold
and a life flying past his eyes and falling and finally a comforting white light

And it's the living who grieve, including my soon to be X boss
who grieves now, naturally, this man who has tormented me and
taken the pleasure out of many days like mud wipes across a windshield
and I always thought, as he contentedly read his computer screen staring
into that as if it was a window to the next world and held the answers to all
creation in it
I thought, he never suffers, only I suffer.
The cold people never suffer thought I as I looked down at the latest bruise
and ached and found a slow way out
but it's not true
they suffer, he must be feeling the pain I can't imagine, the loss
and fear and reminder of mortality and the void that can't be filled,
but only by time.
And he is in this void, somewhere in the midwest
perhaps fielding calls about who he wants to replace me
and he suffers, he is not immune

I didn't make it through the movie "On the Road"
It didn't translate well to film, or maybe it's me
worry grips me and I cut my clonozapan carefully into fourths
and take one fourth and smash my finger into the dust and lick it off
I value it more than their benzodrine
The moment I awaken, the fear grips me, and then what?
One pill is consumed every few hours in the morning and early afternoon
leaving the next, for the panic of the evening
how will it end.  I don't want to go back. I am told not to think of it anymore
there is nothing more to be learned and it is only like rubbing my wrist
against a razor, trying to get through those tendons to reveal the pulsing red
their faces, my bosses, with their pasted on smiles, Stepford wives every one of them
the male, the female and everything in between
focus on the students, they will lose a good teacher soon
I am sad for that, yes and buried down in some black hole of my consciousness I know it is true.  I am that good teacher for
the girl who must move again this year, like last year and walks home
to the poor neighborhod where she lives and hears gunshots every night
My intervention and pleading for her teacher
to please reach out to her, because she is failing, and is afraid of you
even if you don't believe in gunshots or her cousin shot and dieing in front of her
and yes having mercy is one of my strengths, as my pancreatic cat rests on his catnip toy
and I care about those kids
not the stupid school
and even if I've put myself on the line, I am no phony Stepford wife
and if their reality, those kids reality is ugly and we know about it, we must help
even if it makes my bosses uncomfortable and squirm in their eggshell world of middle
class comfort.   I don't care anymore.
The kids are what matter, helping them with whatever time is left.

chemistry, yes
I feel it
so hard to just not think say
ambiguity
uncertainty
you are welcome here and I can
just sit with you and s'ok I don't have to know
how this is where it is going how it will
end

I remind myself as I stare through the blue water blemished by floating small objects that
I don't want to know what they are
It is me, who once again, will save myself, and take a turn,
and I am determined, that after I slog through this stinking muck
and have washed off, and have recovered from the fatigue of escape
there are fair days to come, days which open out to me now as the
beach dunes near where I will live, stretch out into the distance, forever
shrouded in gentle fog and my cell phone area code,
my home area code, will again match my locale
and I'm no gangster, but this simple fact,
represents returning to hope and strength and sanity on my Earth
and better days are to come, I know

Lamentation of a slight Indian girl
wearing a perfect tiny Sari
as her grandmother insisted
she eat something, holding a morsel
partially unwrapped
I couldn't understand a word she said
But everything was clear
Anna Kee Do.  Over and over
As grandmother increased her sales pitch to the
point that I was ready to eat it
The girl would not budge
grandma turned to me and gave me a wry smile

It rises up like a wall
A flaming, raging wave
I think of a cliff in Santa Cruz
In a storm, the water hits and sprays

So suddenly, without warning, in my private precious moments
The ones I looked forward to to savor
My feelings, suddenly foment
And here I am in fear, without a reason, without a cure
Something awful is upon me, of this I am sure

Zen tells me, back to the body
And hurriedly I go
Back to the breath, just counting
This isn't fair, say it isn't so

"It's like an anger addict, it just flares up, without notice"
I am told this, so here I will post it
It goes back a long way, to a time when I was two years old
This can be defined by science--do I feel better now? No.

Why me? I wail, feeling sorry for myself
Why must I suffer like this when others walk, a carefree self

Back to the body, count the breathes, and for that moment I return to "here"
Until another anxiety attack sends me into fear

Didn't see you, not one time
and everything was fine
I honestly couldn't believe it
to see you, I thought I need it
but there was more space in my head
and I was surprised where it lead
I walked around at lunch
admired, a crystal clear unused pool
and wanted to jump in that moment, like a fool
and walked around the football field
the vast expanse, the pride, the high yield
of attendance and it's fully equipped
Tickets, food and bathrooms, nothing missed
And lights, really can't forget those
You can see them from very far I'm told
And then past the soccer field
truly ghettoized, not well healed
a few trees for shade, maybe some water
a shake and back port-a-***** the amenity that matters
This is our culture, this is where we stand
To play football is to be a man
Then past the solar panels
and the hot sheered sheep
standing underneath
the grass they are to eat is dry
So someone has added stale roles to their diet
and I saw a little lamb
and that was the best part, of this I am a fan
And when I came back everything was OK
and I hope one day
I won't think of you at all
and at last I will stand tall

Out of the pain, like jumping from a pool
Senses reawaken
Body optimistic
Feel the crisp strength of being

Behind the building,
a one hundred percent green certified building
an amazing feat of engineering-science-forward thinking
fabulously energy efficient cutting edge building
sit solar panels in the sweltering heat,
extra heat from the toxic clouds in the sky
which now envelop the Earth

There, under the panels sit a small band of sheep, who represent the
last little bit of progressive wonderfulness
visionary design and research based and proven
and the future because they eat the grass
and there is no need to use toxic fume producing
loud unnatural unsustainable lawn mower

But the grass is long dead.
It is just white and yellow and there are lambs
baby sheep who sit and pant underneath the
sustainable solar panels without a decent meal
in sight. Only stalks and yellow deadness

I suggest vitamins or supplements
after all there is no grass, only grass out
that is watered sustainably and is carefully fenced off
from the living sheep underneath the dead panels
behind the dead building.

Outrage from the forward thinking cutting edge
Wi-Fi custodians of the cement and metal building and panels,
panels that emit a high pitched hum
from a hot metal box and regulate the CO2 in each room automatically
The sheep are there to eat the grass
if you feed them, even to make them healthier
so that they may get up out of their hot suffering
and eat some stalks in addition to a little bit of supplemental feed
they will not eat the dead grass, and they are there to eat the grass
they are not there to be comfortable or healthy they are just sheep
But sheep are only living non human feeling beings
and not part of the forward thinking cutting edge metal and cement
technology that is worth a lot of money and was written up
in the paper and got the custodians attention and recognition.
And they are just suffering, hot, miserable animals
and despite all of our technology, Mars landing
solar panels to electricity advance thinking technological wonders
our compassion and empathy remain tight and selfish
and the dead things, not the living ones, are what we value

The guy I'm obsessing about
I saw his picture and without a doubt
I was horrified at the sight
Dear God, it's taken all my might
To rid myself of this recurring dream
my morbid fantasy
and I could scream
When it comes to men I'm truly crazy!

An Israeli pilot was missing for years
and presumed dead
somewhere in the vast desert of the Sinai

I don't want them to die
my old relationships, I don't like killing
I'm No ****, nothing must die under my watch
even unhealthy relationships that are only anxious attachments
and it's better to accept the finality of their death
let them provide compost
nutrients for a better one to grow
that is the life cycle

Out of the emptiness of the Sinai, grew a date palm
Strange, so much so, that a search crew landed and dug around it
And they found him, the pilot, who ate dates, and put the pits in his pocket
before he died.

Every once in awhile in therapy
there comes an epiphany
Last night came one that blew my mind
And really, it's about time

Suddenly I could finally see
Something she's been telling me
I don't believe I can actually do it
Over and over I've tried, but can't get through it

The feeling I had the day he said "thank you"
that inner glow, it came from me, not from an outside "you"
She said I can learn to create it
from just me, not go through a relationship grater

I said, no, I'm way too flawed
I felt good about myself that moment and I'm still in awe
Of how good it felt, what a natural high
But now the feeling is gone, I've made peace with goodbye

But no she said, playing the role of my advocate
and it is a part for which she is quite fit
You felt good about yourself and you can do it again
all by yourself, without a faux friend

All these guys have done nothing for me
When I felt good about them, it was only me
creating that inner glow
it wasn't something about which they know

It really all depends on me
On learning how to appreciate my inner sea
and my outer self, and all the rest
And its not just about being put to a test

It's about silencing that critical inner voice
I developed when I was a child, and had no choice
But to blame myself for my parents flaws
And it's a habit I live with till this day, the card I continue to draw

What a concept
What a sense of power
To think my feeling good can be all up to me
to think I don't have to depend on someone else
for a sense of worth and everything else

I don't think I can do it
But my medicine woman does
So, I will try to take that leap of faith
So, fly, I tell my inner dove

It was only a moment a few days ago
like I want a dog on Sundays
at a dog beach
that I thought
Wouldn't it be so nice to go home
to a warm man in my bed?

How cold I've become,
in this life alone
that this thing I used to think was a necessity
I can totally live without
and there's hardly a time where
I feel even the slightest desire
to open my heart to another

Covered in a coat of silver and black
Trills at me now that I'm back
I run a brush through his thick, glorious coat
So glad I saved him, of this I take note

The farm houses on the cliff's edge
are remodeled into grand and glorious mansions
with bay views and high prices
And the rivulets of water run down the cliff
taking with them tiny pieces of land each winter
And some day the cliff will wash away

I met you, and you meant nothing to me
But somehow I began to care
You became a beautiful painting of love
teasing, tantalizing
But now you are gone
Time passes, second by second, breath to breath
Each piece of time I don't see my painting, the image fades a little
And someday soon it will fade away

A different view on the world
birds, a flock today so high up
how I wish I could just jump off the
ground and fly
in a strange formation, coming together
moving apart, not how they're supposed to be
they looked confused and sometimes there's clouds
Cold clouds, even rain, and I track the shapes and every
move that will reveal the sun and warm this place

What are you thinking?
What are you made of?
You brush against me, it's like steel
what is it, to live in a body made of granite?
Your expression so down
In the afternoon, come to think of it
in the morning, too
Why? You tell me nothing
The power, you must be a blank to me
I see you eye so many women
Their ******* make you hot, I see in a meeting
Their long hair, like your daughters
When they hold it up, and sway towards you
As they pontificate, arching their backs
in your direction
Showing you their feminine articles on their chests
As your eyes zoom in
You are wicked, little man
You can't hide it. Never learned.
Mouth moves, like a baby wanting a meal
You are aging
Painting your "girls" rooms
While your wife wrings her hands
The girls have grown and don't come home
Will they come if you spackle?
What drives you?  
Little man, with power over me
I imagine, myself covered in oil
Doing a dance before you
Seeing what it's like to be naked for your
emptiness
Oh, power, that I don't have
Oh, little man, that is what I want
That power, not what lies behind your eyes

Some people live a charmed life
I haven't
How to live without the worries, the memories overtaking the present?
Just be here
In this moment, everything is OK

Sunday morning
Quiet out, even the freeway sounds are dimmed
My neighbors who get visits from three giant police officers
with weapons, and they all look eight feet tall,
are asleep and quiet for the moment.

Birds outside
I wake up with my coffee and almond milk
A bitter drink, but cruelty free
That is so important to me
After all I have suffered at the hands of others
Not to be an exploiter of a senseate being
Not to ever be like those who hurt and walk away

I go to my half couch
Sit and cover myself with a fuzzy blanket
Little Julietta, my tri-color semi-feral rescue hops up for a pet

There are memories
At 45, I have regrets and pain
and fear of more pain
But not in this moment
In this moment, everything is peaceful
The tormenters are absent
I've run away from them
Excised them from my life
Ignored them, they are all gone
There is a day ahead to live, moment by moment

The flashbacks, the dark thoughts come
Pray, let them pass by like the cars on the distant freeway
To experience them once is not avoidable
To extend that, is
They can float by like clouds on a windy day
There is nothing more to learn from them
No more healing from experiencing their pain

Here.  Now.  Is OK.  That is all we have.

I confront my prejudice
How will the girls in my script look?
I admit, I expect them to all be Disney Perfect
But that goes against my values
I know the damage perfect does
There is no perfect, there is only diversity
How can one genetic look always outshine the others?
Tall, thin, blonde with large *******.  Long legs and arms. Size 0.

No, there is beauty in difference
and it can be put on film
not as a side show, but the main attraction
I learned from my mother
Beauty is a mirage
An eternal struggle of pain
of hunger, the knife, the self hatred
that is never attained
A petite Scottish woman, medium *****
a dancer with a beautiful body and face
and a slasher for an inner voice, striking her at every move

It's in me, too
I learned the lessons of beauty as I learned Calculus in my high school texts
This is the formula, this is the way it is
The proof is it is all around us in the media
Body very thin, ******* very large
Size 0 without ribs, and hip bones and shoulder bones sticking out
How the stylists repel when they see that evidence of starvation
And large, engorged *******, ready to feed an army of babies
"nature doesn't make women like that" commented a model
before she had "augmentation"

If I am to create this world, my story
I must confront myself
I must accept my form, and its history
A body never born to be size 0
without ribs or bones showing
or six feet tall
or small *****
or large breasted without extra flesh everywhere
A body scarred by the affects of poverty
worry, and struggle
A resilient body, a strong body
and one that does not fit the mold
of "beauty" and never did
but at the same time, is beautiful
but not in the accepted form
like my mother

If I don't accept myself
if I can't look at myself and say this is OK
This is who I am and it is just fine
How will I accept it in my characters?
How will I look beyond appearance to the soul?
You don't make a good story with models
That is a fashion show
You make a good story with people who are unique
with their own configurations and unique qualities
even in their flesh

I returned
dripping in soundless blood
Flesh torn open on the side
Gaping wound, organs exposed
aching

Dragging torn flesh
down the street

I was body meat
Human remains of a suicide bomb
lost in translation

No one could see

I sat in your free office
Next to stacks of
colorless government peaches
Donated clothes, a promise of delight

I sat in the invisible blood of others before me
What can I do about this wound?
My silent question

Is what I feel like today
that in America is supposed to be
a heart's fantasy

I just couldn't reisist
a little flirt, chance at a kiss
and then on that big V-day
come what may
he's out with someone else
and I'm splattered all across the room
i don't know when
I'll ever be
ready
to face love's chance again
but this is not when

I'm not playing the dating game
just trying to escape
just trying to be
just trying to feel me
ok and not retched
not spending my lunch break
over my desk,  tears on the laptop
God, this is over the top

And this is what I thought
if it's easy, I can not
avoid it
but if it's this same old stuff
All the dating, rolling in the rough

I can't handle it
I'm still just a stiff
when it comes to taking a chance
on a little romance

That ends with the object of my desire
the one I'd admire
on a date set up by his ex

and this is just a step
and not his fault or nothing
because we're just atoms
crossing nothing and ramming into each other

and now I am completely lame
and down for the day
finished all the ***** in the house
feeling like a louse

And I'm not having fun
So it's time to stop, the game is done

Anxiety quelled by more medication
and an anxiety class where I learn
it is all about fight, flight, freeze and saber tooth tigers
and every symptom can be explained scientifically and
tabulated and put on a balance sheet where insignificant
experimental mortals like me can put check marks
in little boxes and the totality of my existence
can then be clearly defined and understood by someone
wearing a plastic name card around her neck announcing PhD.

The room has no windows, only a hand written poster
from an AA meeting and stale air and three anxious women
out of the ten people who are supposed to be here.

No one knows, but I am in boot camp inside my head
It is the mindfulness of anxiety
anxious thoughts, thoughts of you are to be
immediately exterminated
Perhaps the hand sanitizer that is available at every corner
in this place will help

I had to do it, since I wanted to see him again
one last time, it was OK
Just a guy in a typical poofy too big man's shirt
Funny how men try to puff themselves up with their clothes and suit
and we try to look smaller,
undershirt borders underneath too big white sleeve his wife bought
A married weight, a paunch that began at chest level
and made him look like a mango and brown slacks
a tan, and that curly hair with the little twirl on to that seemed to asked to be
grabbed onto and pulled back
and his authority the sexiest part
I needed him to sign a form and he took a long time to sign it
read every tiny thing, as I squirmed inside, but sat up straight and
perky so happy to be here.
was he drawing out--for me?
Then he looked at me with those baby blues
up from the paper on the desk, with those deep rivets in his forehead
all these huge scrunched up muscles
why do they need muscles even on their forehead?
and I was pierced to the center
and I know I'd think he's a bore
and as I drove away I saw him walk out of the building
carrying a lunchbox his wife probably fixed for him
and no, I'm not proud that I feel like this
and no, it's never something to act on
but as I drove home, I thought of him
despite the mango body, the huge shirt
and my not in shape profile that would have to be
crammed into a corset I thought about a lot
and if I could forgive him his middle aged flaws
I should be able to forgive mine
because humans are much more complex than those
dumb two dimensional magazines let you believe and
we haven't been photographed for all the thousands of years we've been reproducing

I walk along Pacific Avenue
Santa Cruz, CA
I walk down past the nice parts
to the bus station
near seedy bars
and a sandwich board reads
Cafe Pergolesi one block
with an arrow pointing

It's not too early to scout locations
It's the location of my opening scene
I approach, and I see, it is still alive
in this summer evening
people outside and in
a trod upon, worn and comfortable air
various levels to the porch
even ash trays on the tables
like Vegas, everyone is welcome

Inside, this is no Starbucks
You don't see a line clearly where you must order
and pay
like a theme park
or a hospital
or a slaughter house
where you are funneled

It's not too clean
But it's filled with comfort
Huge couches beckon
A Victorian house
One people lived in
with spaciousness and windows
Real air permeates the place
An ATM is casually smashed between a couple of tables
but no one cares
you can't mass produce this wonderful mess

A friend's band CD blares through the speakers
badly recorded
a barrista in carefully torn fishnets sneaks a break
on the back porch with her cell phone

I buy water and a cookie and settle into a huge worn chair
Every room has a different theme
But I want comfort
I pull out my notebook and write
I have a shopping list of scenes
And I add another one for this place

Would they let me shoot here?
I don't know
But I think I could live here
It's so non judgemental
People buy things
But there isn't that corporate pressure
There are no special names for dumb things
just small, large, cookie, beer

This is cafe bliss

What am I doing
I don't even know you
I'm done with this, everything warm and vulnerable forever you know
was betrayed, now closed up shop, the end
love can't touch me
why open myself to hurt again
that felt like it would **** me?
and yet, still alive
I move toward you

To this mess, that has shown me
how awful I can be when I forget me
and let myself get pushed around
Did I say that?
The hatred, a boiling Spring, with a nuclear core
that won't die out, not for a million years
It sits in me, abrasive, I can be
Did I do that?
This place, unshapes me, like play doh
and I, mishapen, lash out with barbs
Barbed tongue
words so not calm, cool, collected, the proof
to myself of what they say
But I am not this
The persecuted, begins to persecute
to lose sanity and act strange and wander around shouting
outrageous insanity
can't find my center, the salvation
the sanity within, please
let me in and
let me stay

One of the beautiful animals
a vet in Haifa said to me
"I don't like cats!" says my Aunt at dinner
"The vet bills!" moans my mother
Cats haven't changed much since their inception
because they are already such a good design
They eat what is living at the time
as other species fade in and out
I love cats
Back at Thanksgiving it is loud and cold
and I am so tired so I get up and go downstairs for a nap
just like a cat

and much maligned
As beasts, dangerous and endangered
hunted to the last and yet they are exquisite
the most beautiful animal and the small and
vulnerable ones are also endangered
fed to pit bulls or smashed in crush videos or just killed in a shelter with a heartstick
but they are the strong ones
surviving even on their own, even despised
by stealth, intense sensitivities and that will to survive
I am a cat

I have a dream of a house full of cats and more outside
there will be plenty of black ones and lots of kittens and all will be street cats
given a new chance at life.  And there will be adoptions and trap, neuter, return for the ferels
and a low cost spay and neuter clinic close by to everyone in need and I will be
surrounded by cats, little beautiful creatures living out there lives near me
and there will be a cat's house in Haifa, and children and their families will
comes and learn about these animals and how to take care of them and not abuse
and surrounded by cats and infused with education, people will learn to be
what they can be, gentle, good and kind to the voiceless little survivors

A pair of flip flops
are delivered into his lair
also known as my apartment
they have been coated with some dust
from alongside a lake, where wild things roam
then washed in the lake,
just for his enjoyment
and he tears into them, kicking and biting
in the morning, they are presented to me
in a new style: the corrugated look
a bug he's found on the patio and killed
is brought in and he sets it down in the middle of the living room
freshly vacumed rug shows it off well
then back to more stylizing
Last year's Walmart's purple flip flops
are now objects d'art
and now eating the expensive hypo-allergenic food
meant for the old cat, his foster father/mother
who used to chew off his whiskers when he was a kitten
and then, time for nap

that advice, it's amazing
take the weekend off
do what you want
I did
Yesterday, dark glasses
crying up a mountain
today, swimming
I'm feeling better
So good in fact, could it be this easy?
Am I cold?
Turn off the TV
silence
Tears again
I love you, I will always love you
I hope you are in a better place
Stolen from me,  by cancer
I did all I could, but it wouldn't be enough
I knew from the start
Everything as planned and well executed but horribly scathing
all the feelings back, saturating my soul
unbearable
an empty place that can only be filled
by pain in order to heal
subsides
Some quiet again

one of the most difficult things
something that can relieve you of want
is to find a place to just be here
no thoughts to be clung to
they pass by like clouds on a windy day
only the present moment
4:42, rain drops on the porch
refrigerator hums
bring this hereness to your biggest challenges
into the throws of your battles and deepest sorrows
let it ground you like a ship's anchor
to your true self