Saturday, May 22, 2010

something for a sabado

un suspiro
un suspiro roto
un suspiro roto porque tengo que hablar
y hablo para educarte
espero que vas a escuchar
tres o cuatro minutos por lo menos

he vivido mil vidas
he aprendido cien caras
he tenido mil caras
he hecho cien estrellas

quiero decirte muchas cosas
dos suspiros
voy a empezar
escuchame por favor si desea

a sigh
a broken sigh
a broken sigh because I have to speak
and I speak to educate you
three or four minutes at least

I have lived a thousand lives
I have learned a hundred mountains
I have had a thousand faces
I have made a thousand stars

I want to tell you many things
two sighs
I am going to begin
listen to me please if you would like

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

for kirby.

I am afraid of what I will write.

I read of nights and fights of ageless youth.

And fall asleep inside a drug that maps a web of fires.

Children blowing away, but they are not afraid.

A public restroom teeming with the filth of the faceless.

I see old friends, toothless from drug addiction, climbing a snowy hill in May,

Slipping inch by inch further and further away, but they are not afraid.

Gravesites littered with mementos left by lovers and friends.

A girl sitting cross-legged, in an instant she will leap to her feet to perform. She is not afraid.

Driveway.

A three-year-old boy digs for treasure, a future walking stick upright and airtight and he is not afraid.

I am broken in a room of educational puppet monkeys, stroking their egos and counting their freckles in a competition to win nothing. And I am not afraid.

Monday, January 26, 2009

this is how i feel

these fingers are the same ones I've always had, the same left thumb scar of two stitches
the same fingers that appear longer in photographs than they ever seem to me
I snap them, I pop and crush them
they have never left me, but they aren't the same
they rub and smack my forehead now
they tie shoes that are not my own
they are creased and veiny and the medications make them shake
they pick at the invisible and reach for the out of sight
they forget the previously automatic
writing serendipidty and annilation
backgamon and ferotious
incorrect
lost
they are mine but the drugs now pull their strings
dopamine
serotonin
and all the other give-meaning-to-life drugs on my plate
digging under my back into my mattress
waking to find they are lacking blood
I shake it back down to the tips
and they are still long and slender, but the drugs control them now
and perhaps one day they will forget me altogether
perhaps

Friday, January 02, 2009

2008.

After visiting 14 states and 3 foreign countries in 2008, here are some top domestic and international moments to remember.

11. Connecticut: Skiing for the first time in 9 years. Graduated the first-timers class quickly and proceeded to have a one on one lesson for an hour. Dad did well too, although he hasn't yet graduated to the ski lift area yet. Racing through the gently falling snow as the sun was sinking in the sky. Beautiful.

10. Pittsburgh . . not Shitsburgh as someone once called it. Is 600 dollars too much to pay for a single hockey ticket to watch the Penguins in the playoffs? Turns out the answer is YES. Glad we decided that before any money exchanged hands. But the bar and the camaraderie and the cold beer still made this day one to remember.

9. Poutine in Montreal followed by Patrick Roy's number retired followed by talking hockey with French Canadians until 2 am. Look up Poutine. It involves cheese curds and gravy.

8. The image of the American flag while landing in Fort Lauderdale after having spent 2 weeks in Guatemala and Mexico with little money and improper identification. I was ready to be home. The immigration folks didn't let me through right away and I thought perhaps I'd be moving to the Fort Lauderdale immigration waiting room to live in the United States. But FINALLY . . they let me come back in. Aren't you glad?!

7. Tailgating for the first time in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I didn't believe Jay and Stefan when they told me drinking in Milwaukee was more intense than in Chicago. However, I think the Bush-voting Republican chick who I accosted at the end of the night would agree that I wasn't close to sober. All day in the sun. Wearing my Cubs shirt to piss off the Brewers fans. Grilled shrimp.

6. Climbing Old Baldy in Kentucky. 15 of us doing our best to encourage one another and carry my 2 year old nephew up to the top of a mountain. We all made it. Including Max and Ben. Max ended up having a hysterical meltdown on the way down. Not surprising. Eastern Kentucky mountains can bring anyone to their knees.

5. New York City. February. One short day in NYC. Times Square for 10 minutes followed by the New York Rangers at MSG beating my Sabres. Next, Katz's Deli for some brisket, corned beer and pastrami. Finally, a mad dash to Long Island for an Islanders game. Then some cold beers in Connecticut. We're all Islanders.

4. My 28th birthday in Mexico City. Huevos rancheros, top of the Cathedral, lime sorbet, Coyoacan, Frida and Diego's house, Murphy's hysterical love of all the food we ate, pork soup, coke in a glass bottle, tortas, pan, top of the Latin American tower, Coronas. I ended up with a mysterious intestinal parasite that didn't leave my body for 6 weeks. But, damn, that torta was good.

3. The Monday in July when I got my purse stolen. Rainy and running through Antigua looking for my friends. I was convinced they could help me make sense of being in Guatemala with no passport, credit cards, cash, or identification. Once I located Jay and Stefan I was immediately taken me to an Irish pub. The end of that night is cloudy. Beer. Guatemalan children begging. Def Leppard. Laughing about bad luck and travel stupidity.

2. July 4, 2008. San Mateo, Xela, Guatemala. Hammering all day. My entire Habitat team worked together to finish a project while annoying our Guatemalan mason with singing "America the Beautiful" and other patriotic songs. The sun scorched our ears and the expletives flew, but after 7 hours we had completed 2 wooden plank ceilings in our home. A family now sleeps under those ceilings which keep them warm each night.

1. Chicago. Grant Park. Barack Obama. Yes We Can with my Dad.


Looks like traveling to experience #1 only took about 20 minutes on the El. Sweet Home Chicago.

Happy New Year. Wishing you peace and safe travels in 2009. Always bring copies of your passport. Trust me.


Love always,

Jamie Lynn

Sunday, June 24, 2007

keeping my distance

How is it possible to feel complete despair on a Sunday when there is no threat of anything unpleasant approaching on Monday? I am getting paid to relax and refuel. And although I know it appears to many that I could be the laziest person . . I need this.

There are pauses amidst study, and even pauses of seeming idleness, in which a process goes on which may be likened to the digestion of food. In those seasons of repose, the powers are gathering their strength for new efforts; as land which lies fallow recovers itself for tillage.
J.W. Alexander



And one thing I can count on. In all of this instability and the insane unpredictability that tends to rule my life . . . I will always hurt my foot. Sounds lame, but it's true. At least this time it's not serious.

Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.
H.D. Thoreau

So, since I hurt my foot and can't run, I've decided to just relax about things. There was an absurd amount of Wendy's eaten on Friday night. And the frozen pizza covered in ketchup tonight (thank you bizarre Spaniards for turning me on to that) was damn good.


I'm lucky. I just need to begin to examine why I am always attracted to disaster.

Costa Rica is coming. There are things I don't want to leave. It's always this way. I never want to leave. I'm already looking forward to coming home. Things will be new here. I need that. I need new surroundings . . the possibility of newness in Chicago when I come home.


This above all I know is true . .

A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.
G. Moore



It's 1:27am and I'm out . .



Tuesday, December 12, 2006

last night. 10:18 pm

I am a hole in the ground.
3 feet wide and sufficiently round.

My mind is taken through a ski lift's escape, an exploding plane ride broken in two
plummet. plummet.
to the ground.

Rigid, wooden bodies buried in shallow graves.
My brother packs them tight.
And Civil War soldiers pass me sprinting into the night,
stacked up 10 feet high
broken, disjointed, after Gettysburg, Antietam, Appomattox Courthouse

I am a hole in the ground.
Who loves boxes of coffee lined up on ancient shelves,
waiting to find their way into your veins.
You doubt I can see the sun and find Aldebaron,
and it takes old genius boyfriends to make me laugh.

Outsiders.
Dirty sheets.
Stewing sardonic afternoons.

I am a hole in the ground.

I'd cut your fingers off if you'd let me
and serve them to your mother battered and fried.
I'd pin your photo to the wall
and beg for ears, and mouths, and eyes.

Lascivious.
Yellow, lavender checkered pillow cases
freshly washed for Mother Nature's sanitation.

I'd sleep until I'm 30 if I could
and take a beating from your fingerless fists until I am blind
and black
and blue

Just don't step inside of me again.

I am a hole in the ground.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

You have to go to task in the city

Hey now, little speedyhead,
The read on the speedometer says
You have to go to task in the city
Where people drown and people serve
Don't be shy. Your just deserve
Is only just light years to go

Me, my thoughts are flower strewn
Ocean storm, bayberry moon
I have got to leave to find my way
Watch the road and memorize
This life that pass before my eyes
Nothing is going my way

The ocean is the river's goal,
A need to leave the water knows
We're closer now than light years to go




And that's all I have to say at this point.