6,000 gallon Chevron oil spill in Puget Sound

local news in the NW I would like to point out that according to all other sources I've read the spill was 2,000 gal. None of those sources are locally based or seem to have talked to the Coast Guard. I feel like screaming expletives, but there is no energy and it wouldn't be the same typed anyway. ...it also snowed today.

The sweetest-sounding little old lady just called me with a wrong number. She was so stunningly kind-sounding and polite that I sort wish now that I knew her.

Last night I fell asleep in the middle of a sneeze, wishing I could have been awake enough to talk to you just a little bit longer. I wore your sweartshirt that nearly reaches my knees that I tucked up to my chest, cradling my stomach, waiting for the usual blood. In the night you came and asked me to move just an inch or two over, to uncurl, to make room for you. And I did, glad that you were not going to go try to make a bed on the balconey, that you would instead sleep by me. But I fell asleep before I felt you lay down, and sadly you were gone in the morning when I woke. I know you have been near me. I can feel it in my heart.

Today...

...Janus has not called back. ...I am sneezy. ...I listened to Fluffy's poem about angry boys. ...I finished binding two books for two mom-people. ...I watched Amelie. ...I made a pot of tea. ...I finished rereading The Handmaid's Tale. ...I will go to the groccery store because I'm tired of popcorn, oatmeal, and toast (even toast with pesto).

I hate the mall, and the mall hates me.

Some Christmas Eve I will refuse to accompany my parents to church and the evening will become less annoying, more pleasent. I am waiting until I am no longer going to college at their expense. In the meantime, that church scares me just a little more every time I visit. Luckily the children were bored and so amused themselves/ annoyed their parents/ amused me. If I'd had bubbles in my bag (the lack thereof was a serious oversight on my part) I'd have passed them to the children and had a truely enjoyable experience. As this stood I was amused when they lost track of their powerpoint & when the minister got visibly overzealous and salvated on his bible, otherwise I gripped the brass key in my coat pocket and tried to zone into the Christmas tree lights, spreading them appart in my minds eye until they looked like stars. Christmas as a practice annoys me. A time of year when people stress out about the right envirment, food, perfect gifts, to prove that love exists. If you mean it the year is enough. Why set aside a day to get so close you step on each others' toes with expectations that are only really a hundred percent fulfilled in fifties movies. Give me a break.

Literature is news that stays news. Ezra Pound Real education must ultimately be limited to men who insist on knowing, the rest is mere sheep-herding. Ezra Pound When you cannot make up your mind which of two evenly balanced courses of action you should take - choose the bolder. Ezra Pound

I talked to Fluffy today. She knows thinks now that she did not know. She is sorry I did not tell her about X before. She cried, but I think maybe that she understands alot of things now that she did not understand before. I hadn't meant to tell her but I had to in the midst of explaining why I am learning to be brave and how I have not been and why I do not want to go to the Poulsbohemian right now, even though she says that people are asking after me and are hoping that my writing & art are going well and are so prooud of me for going to NY. I know they mean well but sometimes meaning well is not enough and I don't want to right now. I think though it maybe something to work up to because it used to be a good place to me and it should allowed to be again. I will be brave enough to growl. She, Fluffy, says she remembers how strong I was when she met me. That gives me hope I guess, I had thought I was just too silly to be afraid. *l*

I just thought I was doing so well...

keeping busy, not letting my self fall into the normal dark little trains of thought, keeping the music (not too dark) going in my room to stave off lonely night thoughts when I might havve worried about so much and instead let the music and the candlelight and the book or the project wash over me and fill my consciousness. On the way from the airport Fluffy told stories about the rapes at her campus and a man who has ben sneaking in girls' rooms at night to watch them, sometimes cut their cloths off them. That sort of thing makes me so aware that I sleep next to a big window. That's been going on far away though, north of Seattle. It's so quiet here at night, I need to keep the music going until after I pass out. I haven't slept more than six hours in a row yet. I wasn't self-depricating until you thought I was falling and that make me suspect that I am, somewhere in the back ground falling, even though I've been so carefully not doubting/blaming myself. I had thought I was being so good and brave. But you think I'm falling apart. So maybe I am. Maybe I'm fine. I shouldn't start doubting myself just because you do.

'Say Hello Wave Goodbye' to WA

"Take your hands off me, hey, I don’t belong to you, you see, And take a look in my face, for the last time, I never knew you, you never knew me, Say hello goodbye, Say hello and wave goodbye, We tried to make it work, you in a cocktail skirt and me in a suit but it just wasn’t me, You’re used to wearing less, and now your life’s a mess, so insecure you see, I put up with all the scenes, this is one scene that’s goin to be played my way Under the deep red light I can see the make-up slidin down, Well hey little girl you will always make up so take off that unbecoming frown, As for me, well I’ll find someone who’s not goin cheap in the sales, A nice little housewife who’ll give me a steady life and not keep going off the rails." I'm done with you, your scene, and your ways. I'm done lying so much, backing down so much to keep the peace with my enemies, though there are still things I'd rather not say it's not to save you from the embaressed silence after abrasive honesty. I've been carrying your filth on my feet but I'm washing them and sanding down the hard bits. I want to have baby-soft feet that can still feel the difference in the soil of each land. You will no longer be the veil between me and everything. And you will not claim me just because I'm back in bounds.

Observations from a holiday interspersed with notes to her lover (revised)

November 26, 2003 11:25 a.m. My mother met me at the airport. I wanted it to be you even though I left you this morning with sleep in your eyes three states away. It’s been eight hours since the last time I hugged you. I miss your shoulders and your smell and the way we talk in museums. 12:10 p.m. I am here to have Thanksgiving with my biological relatives Thanksgiving is a sham holiday you are my home, and as much family as I could want or need 3:40 p.m. my relations went their own way to pay respect to memorials to politicians and their acts of violence I feasted my soul on icons Bodhisattvas and Buddhas 10:15 p.m. I tried to call on beauty there was no answer I played on my drum tonight I had not touched it since summer it is smaller than I remembered fake fire in the fireplace black satin to my toes a not very convincing princess Yesterday was the first time in weeks you turned adjectives to pronouns. “Hey Beautiful. Hey, come here, Amazing.” The words resent you. And I in my angsty self-awareness imagine they resent me for being unworthy of them. You scold me for it. November 27, 2003 5:30pm the wine is very red everyone is watching football I’ve read all the books I brought I’m waiting for them to go to bed so I can go to bed or for a call to get through P.S. we sure fooled those Indians. 10:45 p.m. I want to drum for your anger I want to drum for love of you the rest of the house is sleeping send a prayer to the space and I long for the passionate, raging—sometimes peaceful— magic we weave between us November 28, 2003 4:40 p.m. Security did not blink at my drum or at my miniscule pocketknife next to my flight it says, “On Time” I want to go home but I’m going to Brooklyn it is home when you are in it soon soon 5:35 p.m. the man across the aisle is bald as an egg on top with dark brown fluff all around a taxi will be waiting for me in Queens in Brooklyn I will sleep as long as I can November 29, 2003 12:30 p.m. The man on the subway looks like Yosemite Sam. His voice takes over the car miming a conversation between himself and his mother, “YOU CAN’T SEE HER! Oh please, Momma. I WANT HER SO BAD. NO! Please, oh please, her ass smells SO GOOD, Momma.” I cower despite myself. He stares into my chest, wants to sit next to me and to call me Judy Garland, wants to tell me about how hard his life is. I am not Judy Garland. I care about suffering, but not his. He scares me, if he didn’t I’d give him some of my groceries, but as is I bolt off the G train a stop early. I wish I was carrying the knife you gave me.

'Ceramic Lunes' (revised)

The clay turns. It's beating against my hands imitating a heartbeat. Thumping, off center-- too tired of this year to center clay. Red, like wounds, but pulling away from edges-- another ruined bowl. Plain blue cup made exactly for my hand by my hand. On pants: glaze, clay, and pieces of quiet carried around daily. Gazing into revolution, metal-plastic turntable and slip-- there's my peace. Hard to believe the glaze--chalky and milky-- becomes glossy bright. I'm too cowardly to sleep, he said, when pots need throwing. Words drown me, clay conquers thought, then drowns under my hands.

having achieved cheeseballness I'll now return to work, or something

You are Form 3, Unicorn: The Innocent. "And The Unicorn knew she wasn't meant to
go into the Dark Wood. Disregarding the advice
given to her by the spirits, Unicorn went
inside and bled silver blood.. For her
misdeed, the world knew evil." Some examples of the Unicorn Form are Eve
(Christian) and Pandora (Greek). The Unicorn is associated with the concept of
innocence, the number 3, and the element of
water. Her sign is the twilight sun. As a member of Form 3, you are a curious
individual. You are drawn to new things and
become fascinated with ideas you've never come
in contact with before. Some people may say
you are too nosey, but it's only because you
like getting to the bottom of things and
solving them. Unicorns are the best friends to
have because they are inquisitive.

Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

which reminds me I should get back to the poetry revisions

You are naturally born with a gift, whether it be
poetry, writing or song. You love beauty and
creativity, and usually are highly intelligent.
Others view you as mysterious and dreamy, yet
also bold since you hold firm in your beliefs.

What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
brought to you by Quizilla

I suppose this sort of thing only happens because WA wasn't an option *sigh*

Oregon is a nice place, isn't it? Yes, it is. You
should live there. So should I. As of now
it's not crowded, but you never know. So
ummmm, ok...Oregon....yeah.

What State Is Perfect For You?
brought to you by Quizilla

'Home..., or something like it' revised

a house built into the side of the top of a hill outside the city limits of a fairly average town with a Norwegian name barking of a dog who fell asleep two summers ago with a needle in his vein and never woke up again a graveyard on a hill by the Pacific where the sun sets like a postcard picture and the stars looks like pin pricks where magic leaks into a world that needs more the town that curls around Liberty Bay and the coffeehouse that hangs over the boardwalk; the comfortable, maddening trap of town and coffeehouse soccer-mom mini-van breaking speed limits and blasting Brit-Indian techno entering the homes of my friends without knocking because to do otherwise would be unnecessary two girls with the same name, Sara(h), one the mother of hearts, one a reader of souls a girl who is my opposite, "Jazz," my negative reflection, Lilith to my Mary, of Janus because we are cannabis in the backyard with sweet peas, lilies, dahlias, and climbing roses, mosaic goddess dances motionless in the center, fresh eggs from nagging chickens crumpets from scratch, acid coffee, French onion soup by the light of saint candles (I cut all the onions without shedding a tear, she did everything else, and looked like the Madonna) clouds of brightly-colored paper cranes, a yellow submarine, huge finger-painting, and sunset, all floating overhead two bookshelves of fiction and poetry, alphabetized by author, or editor, if it's an anthology an easel, made of scrap wood by my father when he was an art student, too large and awkward to accompany my own scholastic voyage blanket of pin-pricked night sky beneath five bright Tibetan prayer flags when my roommate is silent, by which I mean, when she is absent the smell left in a clay-colored sweatshirt that I wore to sleep every night when I slept in my own bed for a change big hands, big enough for mine to disappear inside a bed that smells the way we do, not just as I do

'Cemetery & Beach' (revised)

night dancing didn’t end until the sun was rising didn’t rise until midday squirmed under the sheets until I woke you took subway lines I’d never taken before N R W names at either end of the lines chimed in my ears unfamiliar and off-tune Greenwood Cemetery seems like it should be closer to Coney Island the neighborhoods are of the same mold should have known the cemetery from all the trees in cities there aren’t room for trees among the living the catacombs will remain unopened despite plans they would have been opened for the first time in 165 years stay on the paved roads mostly avoiding the attention of security guards clearing overgrowth from low set stones when they aren’t looking watch you take pictures of stone shapes and carved records names cut in stone have outlasted the minds and hearts they signified will outlast you and me when you return to the earth and I to the ocean more graves to clear then I can manage feeling like a lost child I try to take your hand rebuked for offensive action: disrespecting the dead it isn’t hard to understand but I hope that when my body is cold I would not begrudge another some human warmth it takes so long to reach the gates my heart aches by the time we reach the street travel on to Coney Island trying to remember how to breathe without thinking about it you bought me ice cream walked barefoot to the water tried to convince me to touch dead undersea creatures it seems so much worse to me than holding hands in a graveyard ran into the waves until you stopped chasing me came back though let you take pictures of me until I was red and bashful walked on the boardwalk carrying our shoes could feel every board and nail but didn’t get splinters ate a large order of fries from Nathan’s I always forget how large a large serving is on this coast but half of a large is fine you tell me that Nathan’s is famous for hotdogs I’ve never heard of them both vegetarians anyway the only meats I missed were Polish hot dogs and pastrami smells of cooking meat make me nauseous now waiting in the train station you tickled me until I shrieked went home the way we had come

panel response

Stacy Wyatt December 2, 2003 Friday Forum Response “You really can put the cattle prod to the butt of the muse.” –David Groff The discussion panel, ‘Publishing Your First Book (and Staging a One-Person Show)’ primary point seemed to be to emphasize the value of having a community of fellow artist—particularly other writers—and the necessity of perseverance in order to succeed. These points were repeated many times and through various examples that were sometimes reassuring and sometimes somewhat gut-wrenching. One instance they spoke of that fulfilled both was of an author (I can’t recall her name) who sent out the same book for some seventeen years, while continuing to write. It is an instance that I think will stick with me for some time. It forced me as a writer to think about if I can develop enough confidence in a piece to continue to send it out after it has been rejected time and again, and also if I have enough confidence in myself to continue to produce work while a piece I believe in is being so constnatly rejected over a period of many years. The gravity of the situation is only escalated by my youth. I’m nineteen years old, seventeen years is more of my life than I can consciously remember. I only have one or two ideas that have stayed with me and that I still hold to be true to me over the last ten years, and none of those are personal creations of my own. To someone older, seventeen years, although still a long time, is not a lifetime. The idea of a writing community was an idea that seemed to have most of it’s support with the moderator, Elaine Sexton, with some back-up from David Groff. Sexton talked about her group of poet friends meeting together roughly monthly to read their poems to each other. Groff admitted to having friends read his work and the nessesity of getting honest, possibly harsh feedback. The latter seemed more to my taste, rather than having a large set of people as an audience. The audience-reader setting doesn’t appeal to me as a way to get feedback on an unfinished piece if I do not know the audience, all of it’s members, reasonably well, well enough that is to know what I think of their own writing, personality, and thought process. It comes down to this: it makes no sense to me to take advice from someone who you feel is unqualified to give it. I have a hard time accepting advice on my writing from people whose writing I don’t like, even more so if I dislike the writers they admire, while on the other hand I am always willing to listen to, and give thought to, critisism from persons who do not consider themselves to be writers if they have a literary taste that I agree with or at least have respect for. For the most part I found the panel interesting and informative. It was particularly intriguing to hear the different opinions of various author when faced with a given topic and also to see how those authors interacted with each other.

keep the stars in my ears so I can always wish if I feel like it

*cough*cough* that is all.