-iviimxm

i
woke up today thinking
of

you.

tenthousand breaths in the night
and the one that wakes me up
is yours

the breath:
floating bits of leaves, color, and the scent of fall
debris from falling leaves and falling
leavings
tinted by the golden orange autumn
warm, holding rays closely
holdings closely

like words on the tip of my tongue, you were
the front of my mind
the top of my cortex
the gasp of the intake
the shudder of my awakening.

you, all you men run together in
the crisp morning
like droplets on windowpanes
Possibilites
For
Life.

and this morning i Am, this morning i am
on the eastern coast of our fair nation
where i will be a year's time where
hellos and goodbyes where

i will reawaken, tenthousand breaths behind me,

to a new dream

The Quilts of Gee's Bend

Quiltmakers

Throughout much of the twentieth century, making quilts was considered a domestic responsibility for women in Gee's Bend, Alabama. As young girls, many of the women trained or apprenticed in their craft with their mothers, female relatives, or friends; other quilters, however, have been virtually self-taught. Women with large families often made dozens upon dozens of quilts over the course of their lives.

The women consider the process of "piecing" the quilt "top" to be highly personal. In Gee’s Bend, the top—the side that faces up on the bed—is always pieced by a quilter working alone and reflects a singular artistic vision. The subsequent process of “quilting” the quilt—sewing together the completed top, the batting (stuffing), and the back—is sometimes then performed communally, among small groups of women.

Most of the quilters were featured in the book Gee's Bend: The Women And Their Quilts (Tinwood, 2002), where extensive biographical information can be found.

Now showing at the de Young Museum in San Francisco.

you were me tonight

there is a moment
where the night takes a breath
yes, you are smelling the night-crisp

when the dishes are done
the papers are filed the
calls left blink-blinking on an abandoned machine and
in that moment

you are.

dwelling inside the
dwelling (we are) the

re-visited

una pausa that those eccentric
southern europeaners know that those
who we brush to the sides
are filling their lungs with it
with the scent of
now.

you are in that you are
the presentmemory you are
))not even here((
the lungs of me.

be the lungs of me.

my limbs are a
mural
(they are m'mural)

)whereas my back is an ache.(

here, i show you,
where i am most vulnerable:
my wrighst.

(wrist where i
writing where my
right writing
wresting
rotator
relieves
re-lives
realizes)

me.

my limbs are m'ural.

culture shock

seven months
twenty days and
nine hours later

It Hits.

'this is not budapest,
barátam.'

and the existence of my secret solitude
,centered, friend
is out of the bag.

at that time, the
streets opened up like
they paint communism to have done
open like daylight, like
space streaming down
upon us, faces upturned like
we were awaiting only
This. Moment.
opened like
stepping into suburbs
opened like
in the lost interior of the City Park
Városliget
opened like
the plane ride out
the plane ride in
the minds of the people who ran
who fell
who dreamt it all up:
Open.

sixteen fortnights later
the shock,
an opening in
my day.

i Fly

when i was a child i learned that the indians ("native americans" i would later learn) believe that to talk about, to actively think about an incident means that you are in effect telling the cosmos to bring it on.

that, like many other bits and pieces of things i have read or heard along my way, i tucked away in the jagged shadows of my mind. it became a part of me and what i believe; it became what i make of myself. it became what i am becoming.

i think now of moving away from here, from these golden, rolling hills and the cracked rocks falling into the oceans of california, the bellissima that is sunset on highway 1 to half moon bay, that is coming down on the bridge to the east bay hills under the redden-purple of the clouds descending to the left and the yellow-green mixing smog to the right. i think of how satisfying my life is here right now:

content.

there is no pursuing of happiness there is no longing to be somedream else there is no pushing to runrunrun there is no discontentment of thisthis moment there is only

(( a breath ))

without the gasping that succeeds it without asthmatic wheezing without the choking for more more more (adventures) (journeys) (yous)

.period.

and when i think of moving, finding that alwaysthere dream on the other coast where i hole myself away in the tower of ivory and papyrus, of onlyme and the written histories of All Those Before

when i think of this, it is easy of me to think of happiness there, too, following me, coming with me (you) being there too

if i believe it (it), too, will c o m e.
(even if this is not mine to promise)

[[third parte]]

and i remember now, connected with these two thoughts, this final (fulfilling) image:
a dream, my mostoftenrepeated, the One that you Feel you Are,
truth fulfilled nirvana seen through and what
you picture heaven to be:

the dream that is not a dream, the one that is alter-image of this lifetime (which is
Actually
only a dream)

i am running so fast and so hard (there is no one behind me)
running without feeling the pain of pushing so hard (there is no one)
and i am willing myself faster
.Faster.
(there is no)
and, leaning forward,
i Go faster

i Fly.

gotten

i

i

called home one day and i said hi did you call she said no

thoroughly confused, i inquired as to whether perhaps another sibling with another name had snatched the phone, used it to call me
she said maybe

she said i think your sister did, she called

and continuing said oh well is there a message for me do you know why she called
she said well

i do believe

(she said)

i do believe that she left a message

what was the message i asked impatiently for now i have a shower to get into i have a pen in hand i am ready for the message don't have time right now for this have a dinner to get to

it was in regard to yesterday,

and stupidly i rush on i ask what, what was it yesterday (please don't play games i've things to)

my birthday.

ohmygod mother i'm so sorry i

i

i

forgot it's because you see all day i keep the calendar of the president of the ceo and i have no time you see to think of myself hey honey i forgot my mom's birthday don't feel bad about it i forgot his too and i have things to do mother you know it's this job--

she,
points out,
plainly,
seven kids,
one household,
graduate school,
hundreds of activities,

none

is

forgotten.

ixxv

there is a street

on which

i am walking
and I am no longer
in oakland
and the echoing noise
is mopeds and frenchpeople speaking
there is a moment

in which

i close my eyes
and I am no longer
on working hours
and the season
is spring and I am walking
from the bastille

there is a time
there is a feeling

upon which i breathe

the listens of your listens

i miss the late-nights up. i miss giggling in bed.

i miss living in this present, this only present, thisthis present, where only you, where only i

where only the smiles of contentment lie
under the covers and under
the radar of the squirrely guy
living above us.

i miss the daring nights
i miss the early mornings we awaken ourselves
i let you sleep just a bit longer
and we set out for some new adventure
somewhere on the coast
somewhere by the water.

and lying on the quad, faces upturned to the
sun and whispers of my wishes and
the listens of your listens.

i miss the long walks home i miss
your home my home i miss
nervousness
i
miss

i miss the tour of my hometown the
moment we arrive
the beginning the first the
moonlight lies

i miss you holding me in your arms
i miss us having secrets
slowly uncovering the pieces
dripping pieces
and pieces

i miss late-night parks
late-night restaurants
late-night games
late-night calls
late-night walks
late-night talks
second-to-fourth
daniel-to-chalmers
fourblocksthreeblocks and
twoblocksoneblock

i miss knocking on your door,

hoping to
open to

a face i knew
i miss not wanting to sleep at the house
i miss my own apartment
the bed in my dorm and learning to sleep
a
top
you.

yet

i am happy here
with my little life
and my pequeno tu

i am happy here
but, dear god,
i miss You.

this hand, your hand, the longest day

there were no fourteenth chances, with this one and
a veces, non lo ricordo purtroppo.

because i believe in youth and i
engage in stando giovene
and and and

nella otra mano, we are all older than
we seem older than we
remember our years to be ::older::

with veins in our elbows a
tickle in our throat and lacking the
smell of eucalyptus when
we are scratched

and so, the twenty-third day of the
sixth month of the
sixth year,
the sun came out and it burnt
the day the
solstice

came.

in questa mano i am holding the sun
in this hand i am holding
this hand, your hand,

i am facing the sun and
il girasole, too, continues to the west
faces downturn
l’ultima fascia di luce

::hits:: this hand, your hand, the longest day.

chiavo

chiavo
kee-aa-vo.
e tu et u et tu y tu eeee-2
tu non eri il chiavo
l’ho detto, con forza!

you.
yoooooou
and you and you and yoooou
you were not the key
the key! i said, with force.
you were a doorway which was lit up
luce (luuuu-chay)

and i was the light.

Remember Them: Champions of Humanity

Recognized as a master of figurative sculpture, Mario Chiodo's artworks are narrative, evocative and accessible. His artistry captures the passion and spirit of subjects, presenting them in a dream-like state as they both emerge from and meld with their environment. Themes of compassion, humanitarianism and perseverance are the lifeblood of his creations, intermingling the realms of realism and fantasy.

Mario is now in the phase of his career that is allowing him to pursue his own life long dream - creating sculpture that exemplifies the concept that all life is connected. Frequently blending natural elements such as animals and botanical subjects with expressive figurative forms, these artworks tell a story about a moment in time. This new style of sculpture is the most engaging way for Mario to reach people and enrich their lives through his art.

Snidbits

Interrr- vue xixxixmxiiv: The Lonely Planet
First question: "Where have you been?" It's a long story...
..."What is it you do not want me to know about you?" (are you allowed to ask that?) I quit my first job after college. It was stifling. I didn't put it on my resume because my father said it made me look bad.
"Do you always listen to what your father says?" Um, sometimes? He's a dreamer. (How in the world did this get so Freudian so quickly.)
"Can you do dirty work?" (What? The? Heck?)

En-tar-vous xixmmciiic: La casa de la vida, a halfway house
"Do you have experience working with mental illnesses?" I have extensive work with people with disabilities of all types... I have several friends with similar mental illnesses to the types this job would be working with. I really love this work.
"You love it? That's kind of a CRAZY thing to say, eh? I mean, what kind of a person says something like that?" (i guess you would know better than i? ohmygodohmygoddohmygod...)
"What do you do to take care of yourself?" (please, let me out...)

INTERVEWESHAUNG! xmmciciicidicmx: Developmental Studies Library
"Say we gave you 50 books to reshelve, what would you do?" (Are you even joking. I worked in a Graduate library for two years. Do you want me to walk you through putting books on the shelf in order. I can?)
MY question: So, exactly how many books do you currently have? "About 6,000."
And HOW are they being organized right now? "Well, they're on shelves, and in boxes."
(Besides making baby Jesus cry, this just makes me shudder... books... not in order... see ya.)

Intervista xcmibbicdddibbibisiscooliii: YMCA in the East Bay
"Yeah, I'm the CEO, and I don't know why they threw you in here with me. I don't do the hiring, I do the other part." (Laughing politely.)
"What makes you laugh?" Children (falling down on their faces).
"When was the last time you cried?" Oh, man. Last week.
"What was it that made you cry?" A book (that was sitting on the floor and which i stubbed the heck out of my toe on).
"What makes you happy?" Children.
"What is your definition of courage and give an example in your life when you were courageous?" (Much stammering... Enter a clearly illegal discussion of religion in the hiring process.)
"When was the last time you were embarrassed?" Um, five minutes ago when I couldn't think of a time I was courageous.

Tips for Job Seekers:
1) Expect the unexpected.
2) Take a week, read the Parachute job book, and really think about how the following qualities fit into your life: courage, fear, motivation, apathy, strength, mobility, COMMUTE TIME.
3) Think of colorful, two-minute sketches how you've demonstrated specific positive attributes in your life.
4) Refuse to commute more than 20 minutes.
5) Believe in your self worth.
6) Be confident of your skills.
7) Interviewers are freakin' WEIRD. Go with it. Laugh at it. Whatev.

Report Cards

xxci

“i’m leaving” he said, and sure enough, he did. he was gone before i could even realize that he had laid the pen down he had torn the page up he had been

lone(-ly)

he was just lonely.

and all of this time the string of curses out through my mouth (invested too much) (wanted too much) (cared too much) accusations

(of the sort a sleeping princess would grumble under her glass enclosure restless for a breath to say them restless not for what might be a fairytale wedding a happy ever after, but a life not beginning with once upon a time for she, meditating for thousands of seasons, desired only to get out of this mess (and) to begin again without a trace of the extraordinary)

you, my friend, unaware of course of this rage, enter, and your fingers deftly weed the thoughts of my mind and (i love you but i run) (i love you but i run) in the course of the (mun)da(ne)y
you you
you

allora, but it was solitude—tu étais seul. and i, too busy closing my eyes and screaming at this world, preoccupied with this glass enclosure and the injustice of it all, ran before i knew

before

i

knew.

perhaps, she reconsiders, i did not do what i was meant to do—i missed the call and the thisthis that makes it all possible

i am sorry for this and for other