Desert Tunes

It is high spirits and pumpkins galore out here in the desert. The stages are up and the bands are rolling in. Only waiting on the audience now. They are lurking on the streets of Las Vegas, awaiting the moment we open the gates. Crews are rushing around, putting up the last of the fencing, painting signs, and sound checking. My stage is right next to the Indian food and the smoothies—I’m in vendor heaven if I can find a second to sit down. Here’s to hoping the bands don’t have too much attitude and the generator doesn’t blow a fuse. Party on

Take a Look Outside

Oh, just a few more days in this lonely tumbleweed town. I can’t say I’ll hate to see the last of the Red Roof Inn and the Jack in the Box across the street. I can’t say I’ll suffer by forfeiting the Subway sandwiches and bad Chinese. I won’t miss the giggling twenty-somethings in the next room or the warehouse I’m working in. I won’t miss the mini-van I’ve driving around one tiny little bit (flat tire incident with the compact rental).
But somehow it is easy to get accustomed to a new routine. Just a few weeks and I am ready to accept the hassle of walking outside to the ice machine twice a day to keep the half and half for my coffee unspoiled. With that first hint of the crisp air hitting my face, I wander, body-blissed from a half hour of yoga, out into the morning. I’ve started to enjoy the image of the sun coming up in the mirrored building across the street, a shimmering pink and yellow reflection of itself.
When I get home I will have to remember to walk outside first thing. Funny that it took coming here.

Tell a Story II

I lift my glass as a muffled curse comes through the wall, abrupt and thick. The man’s voice. I can’t make out all his words, but I did hear a distinct “bitch”. I stand up with my ear still to the wall. Her voice is faint and hollow, but it’s there; at least she is alive. She says “every time” and “why are you” and I could swear I heard the word “trust”. A few more hostile tones pass between them until a drawer slams and seconds later the door flies open. I jump and press my face to the peep hole, but only catch a glimpse of a hairy arm swinging past stone washed jeans. And then it is quiet.
The thick plastic curtain is drawn across my window and I pull it back. No one is out on the landing and I press my hand to the glass. The night is just arriving and it carries a chill the likes of which we have not felt in Texas since last February. Out past the railing the horizon is lined with the last misty rays of color, pushing through layers of air pollution and atmosphere. One last look at the city in the distance, the city I am leaving behind, and I drop the curtain back in place. I don’t need to look out there again.

Words to Live by

For this week's Sunday Scribblings I did not scribble, but sometimes a few words are a powerful thing...



This photo, which I've used full form in another post, Inflammatory Comments was taken in Nottingham, England. It was on the doors of a church.

I'm Going to Tell a Story

I hadn't really planned on making a story out of these little ideas, but I'm going to give it a shot. This one's for you, bug:

I can’t hear the couple fighting anymore, even with the glass pressed up to my ear against the paper-thin wall. I sink to the floor and run my hand across the tight-piled rug, staring at the blank wall across from me, picturing the woman in the next room lying bruised and battered on a dingy floor, the man donning his cowboy hat and smoking a cigarette while he stands over her. It’s that kind of place.
The glass I’m holding wasn’t in the room; the glass is mine. I bought it at the Target when I went to get hand sanitizer. The hotel has plastic cups wrapped in cellophane sitting next to a sturdier plastic ice bucket, neither of which I can abide. You can tell everything about an establishment by the kind of glassware they provide in the rooms.
This is the emptiest hotel I have ever set foot in. No coffee maker, no desk, no closet even. There are two twin beds and a television the size of a bread box, a couple of hangars on a silver rod mounted across two brackets. The first thing I do when I walk in any hotel, no matter how nice, is peel off the bedspread. I saw a 20/20 program years ago where the investigators tested for substances on the spreads of ten different hotels. I don’t even want to say what they found on them. If I start thinking about even the corner I had to touch to get it off the bed, I won’t sleep at night. They never wash those things.
I lift my glass as a muffled curse comes through the wall, abrupt and thick. The man’s voice.

I Don't Think the Gamma Ray Thing Worked

Repetition. Repetition. Linguistically I love it. Sonically it satisfies. As a life pattern, repetition seems impossible for me. Today I will be doing one thing at work. Over and over and over again. Cut the gel, label it. Cut the gel, label it. Cut the gel. Allll dayyy lonnng. Maybe tomorrow too. Oh. This kills me. Many many years ago I worked as a temp in a carboard factory, graveyard shift. I lasted less than two weeks. My job there was to take the piles of flattened cardboard off the conveyer belt, straighten it up and put it on a pallet. Over and over and over again. I wore canvas gloves on my hands and a blue bandanna on my head. We took breaks when the whistle blew, everyone stepping outside to smoke, because, well, what else are you going to do when you work at a cardboard factory? You could dance around and sing incomprehensible words like Bjork, but you would probably get fired. Today while I’m cutting gel I will think about the twists of fate and the power of choice. I will think about a woman I met outside while smoking on our fifteen minute break at the cardboard factory. She had had the same job for fifteen years. I didn’t make it fifteen days.

Cosmic Trigger Me

I had a very different topic I was going to discuss today, but this was just emailed to me by a yoga friend. I must admit to loving a little hocus pocus now and then. I'm going to indulge and hope for the best. I could use a little positive vibin' today:



*A cosmic trigger event is occurring on the 17th of October 2006.*
This is the beginning, one of many trigger events to come between now and
2013. An ultraviolet (UV) pulse beam radiating from higher dimensions in
universe-2 will cross paths with the Earth on this day. Earth will remain
approximately within this UV beam for 17 hours of your time.
This beam resonates with the heart chakra, it is radiant fluorescent in
nature, blue/magenta in color. Although it resonates in this frequency band,
it is above the color frequency spectrum of your universe-1 which you, Earth
articulate in. However due to the nature of your soul and soul groups
operating from Universe-2 frequency bands it will have an effect.
The effect is every thought and emotion will be amplified intensely one
million-fold. Yes, we will repeat, all will be amplified one millions time
and more.
Every thought, every emotion, every intent, every will, no matter if it is
good, bad, ill, positive, negative, will be amplified one million times in
strength.
*What does this mean ?*
Since all matter manifest is due to your thoughts, I.e. what you focus on,
this beam will accelerate these thoughts and solidify them at an accelerated
rate making them manifest a million times faster than they normally would.
For those that do not comprehend. Your thoughts, what you focus on create
your reality. This UV beam thus can be a dangerous tool. For if you are
focused on thoughts which are negative to your liking they will manifest
into your reality almost instantly. Then again this UV beam can be a gift if
you choose it to be.
Mission-1017 requires approximately one million people to focus on positive,
benign, good willed thoughts for themselves and the Earth and Humanity on
this day. Your thoughts can be of any nature of your choosing, but remember
whatever you focus on will be made manifest in a relatively faster than
anticipated time frame. To some the occurrences may almost be bordering on
the miracle.
*All we ask is positive thoughts of love, prosperity, healing, wealth,
kindness, gratitude be focused on.*
This UV beam comes into full affect for 17 hrs on the 17th of October 2006.
No matter what time zone you are in the hours are approximately 10:17 am on
the 17th of October to 1:17 am on the 18th October. The peak time will be
17:10 (5:10 pm) on the 17th October. You do not need to be in a meditative
state through out this time, though would be beneficial. The main key time
no matter what time zone you are in will be the peak time of 17:10 (5:10
pm).
Perhaps at this time if you can find a peaceful spot or location to focus.
The optimum is out in the vicinity of grounded nature, likened to that of a
large tree or next to the ocean waves. Focus on whatever it is you desire.
What is required for the benefit of all Earth and Humanity is positive
thoughts of loving nature.
We call this UV beam trigger event, "818$B!m(B gateway. Please forward this
message to as many people as you know who will use this cosmic trigger event
to focus positive, good willed thoughts. We require approximately 1-million
people across globe to actively participate in this event. Please use
whatever communication mediums you have at your disposal. Reach out to as
many people as possible. We require 1-million plus people at the least to
trigger a shift for humanity from separation and fragmentation to one of
unification and oneness. This is your opportunity to take back what is
rightfully yours I.e. Peace and Prosperity for all Earth and Mankind.
This is a gift, a life line from your universe so to speak, an answer to
your prayers. What you do with it and whether or not you choose to
participate is your choice.
*Mission1017*
*Raphiem/Blue*

If I could stop time.....

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt was not inspiring me personally, so I did what fiction writers do...I made someone up:

If I could stop time. If only that argument hadn’t taken place. If only, if only is my mantra. I wander the stinking city imagining that I didn’t drop that coin down the sewer grate. The only thing that was left to me of my grandfather, of his pathetic life. I meander with no destination, no direction. I cannot go home now, not after I was so stupid.
What was I thinking, taking that thing out of my pocket on a crowded city street? A foolish maneuver. A piece of bravado that I will pay for dearly. But I know the old man would have understood, might have done the same thing. I wanted the woman in the blond skirt at the bus stop to notice me. Ridiculous, really, considering there isn’t a chance in hell she would know that the coin was from 1842. Why would I think she would know that? What was I going to say to her?
“Look, this coin is worth a lot of money. My wife doesn’t appreciate me or my coin. She wants me to sell it. You wouldn’t make me sell it if you were my wife, would you?”
I walk and I imagine that moment all over again, the reach into my pocket, the rough cold metal against my fingertips. That is when time would stop, right there, and I would keep my hand in my pocket for that extra beat before passing that bus stop and the blond skirt by. If only.

Be Very Afraid

Last night I watched a program on the Discovery Channel called America’s Tsunami, Are We Next? Despite the scare-tactic name, I sat riveted (I usually refuse to watch any show that tries to sell itself on fear). My husband had attempted to tell me last week that if there was a Tsunami that we would have three minutes’ warning on our little island. I brushed it off as alarmist talk. Remember Y2K? Apocalypse scare in the late 80’s? I wouldn’t join in the hysteria.
Then I watched the show. Respected scientists are saying it’s not a question of whether or not it will happen, but when. They swear it could happen any minute. The target? 30 miles off the Northwest coast. Oh good god. What am I waiting for? I’ve only got a couple of five gallon jugs of water and four cans of food stored. Last night I dreamt about the Tsunami—of myself as the hero (I’m often the hero in my dreams), trying to drag people out of the water, housing and feeding them.
For the first time, I’m glad our house isn’t right on the beach. I’m going to look up our elevation when I get home.

Just a Little Bit

The thing about staying in a ratty motel is that it is humbling. You learn very quickly to appreciate the good things you have at home, the “amenities”you now realize you should have insisted upon before agreeing to the gig: coffee pot, gym, refrigerator. No matter. They’ve always got good cable stations in the crap hotels. (This is me looking on the bright side which is hard to do when you’re wondering if you’re picking up germs by touching the remote.) Mind you, it has been a long time since I’ve stayed in a place like this, so I didn’t even think to bring a sanitizer. I’ll admit it, I’ve been spoiled. So I’ve decided to count this as a blessing. If there wasn’t good cable, I wouldn’t have been able to see Bill Maher show. I decided after watching that he’s my new boyfriend (Dorsey will understand). Brilliance and wit is sexy. But then a few hours later Bill got usurped by Bono, who, lets face it, Bill doesn’t stand a chance against. Bono and Bobby Shriver were on Larry King Live talking about their new (Product) Red that donates 50% of sales to the Global Fund, helping Africans get medicine for Aids. Brilliance and wit is even sexier if you throw in a whooping mound of generosity. I went right out and bought myself a (Product) Red sweatshirt at the Gap. Thank you Bono. Thank you Bobby. Thank you universe for letting me stay in a crap-ass hotel so that I could learn how lucky I am to be in a position to help, even just a little bit.

Yeeeehaw!!

I always enjoy writing the first few sentences of a story the most. How about:

She had always imagined that Texas was hot, that she would live beautifully in the heat, steamy and sultry like Sybil Shepard in the Last Picture Show. Long highways and tumbleweeds blowing-- desolation as a backdrop.

Or:

I can’t hear the couple fighting anymore, even with the glass pressed up to my ear against the paper-thin wall. I sit back on the tight-piled rug and look at the blank wall, picturing the woman in the next room lying bruised and battered on a dingy floor, the man donning his cowboy hat and smoking a cigarette while he stands over her. It’s that kind of place.

Oh ho ho. These are the types of images that come up for me, because, yup, I’m in the Lone Star state. You haven’t heard from me because the Rockettes were calling. They needed me more than you. What are the Rockettes doing in Dallas, you say? Well, their Christmas show, of course. And no, I’m not dancing, nothing as glamorous as that. I’m merely getting them ready, making them look good, all those beautiful long legs. I’ll be here for a couple of weeks until I head to Vegas for a festival— cabaret, rock n’ roll, and hip hop all under one tent (that’s right, my stage is appropriately placed in a circus tent). I’ll be all over the map and lonely as all get-out. Should make for some good writing.

Repeat After Me

It's NUCLEAR, not NUCULAR!
Why do they let people speak in public if they cannot pronounce this simple word? The man was a senator being interviewed on BBC for crying out loud. Our President has set a very bad example and the pestilence is spreading.

Dorkus Amongus

I’ve been thinking lately about what is cool, what is not, in general what a big dork I am. I’ve finally come to terms with that, with the fact that I like to stay in at night, that my tastes run to the nerdy side. I like math, I like science, and I would rather play a board game than go for a drink in a bar. Many years-- all of my twenties, really-- were spent trying to deny my natural tendencies. Many years on the scene, in clubs, at the right parties, in the right clothes, knowing the right people. But it’s just not me. I like wearing sweatpants and I like raking the yard.
What I’m really trying to get at, though, is the materialization of a trend, about what constitutes cool. Let’s talk about two things that have re-emerged over the years: knitting and yoga. My grandmother knits. She’s eighty-seven. When I was ten, I wanted to be like her, so she taught me. I loved it. I knitted all through my teens, but I didn’t do it in public. Knitting was not cool. Now look at it, it’s everywhere. Not only do knitters enjoy their passion in public, unashamed of this previous private pastime, but there are yarn stores and websites (visit Transitions, Ink for links). Nowadays, I feel like I want to be knitting too. After all, you get warm fuzzy things to wear when you’re done.
And what about yoga? I found a book that my mom had when I was twelve. No one was doing yoga in the eighties. It was Twenty Minute Workouts and high-impact aerobics. Now you can’t drive ten blocks without seeing a yoga studio. I am loving the way we’re going: opening up our closets, revealing our true enthusiasms.
There are several movies now about spelling bees—who thought that was cool in grade school? There are shows where you watch people play poker. (To me that’s as boring as watching someone play golf, but people love it.) Personally, I like to participate rather than watch. I’m wondering what’s next in the popular culture program. Hoolahooping? Weaving? Clogging?
My personal preference would be crossword puzzles. I love them and I’m not ashamed to say it. I’m going to start using it as a verb, and see if it catches on. If you need me I’ll be crosswording.

Moon through the Trees

I have been so busy and the moon is so bright, I could not help but get up tonight to say a little something. My brain has been swimming with physiological terms. My mind has been tripping with settings for stories. My body's exhausted and I can’t come to terms with needing so much sleep.
It is time to bed down for winter, and out here in the Northwest, that means cutting and piling wood, getting anything that might have a chance to rust or mold under cover. We seal our houses against the coming rains, every day telling ourselves this might be the last sunny day.
But global warming is making a play for dominance. We’ve had two rainy days in a month. My new dogwood tree is protesting the drought and the rhododendron droops. I can feel the dryness in my bones, in my skin that begs for moisturizer.
I’ve accomplished so much over the last few weeks; I may not know what to do with myself once the rains come. I probably shouldn’t be worried. This life is so full.