Love Song

Somewhere 50 years from now
There's a home with warm pillows
On wide soft couches
And sunlight
And a big King Sized bed
And hers and hers bathroom sinks
And slippers - her's purple and orange, her's pink
And photographs of vacations
New Year's Celebrations
Graduations of Children
From Acclaimed Institutions
And there's a window nook
With space for Two chairs
and a small table just big enough for
her pot of tea and her glass of kombucha
And there's a chihuahua that she talked her into accepting
In exchange for the 2000 square foot performance studio in the back
Where she records her tracks about how lucky she is to
Have what she thought she couldn't ever have
Double the halves of what she thought was possible...

And 51 years from now, there will be a first anniversary
Which will be followed very closely by a fatal coronary heart attack
But life will not have completely lacked the
co-existence of
self-sustenance and romance.

But really I sit here indulging images of vacation photos I will never own
And decades of coming home alone
And knowing that I chose this
That the love of my life who makes me the most happy
Is at once faceless and filled with thousands of smiles
Is one that I can never take home
Is one that is totally full of caprice
Is one that will never really know me
is one that I can never know actually
Is one that knows me slightly but loves me completely
Is one that I feel so secure with
Is the only place where I feel truly at home, truly best self

The place I always feel alive
Healthy
Productive
Like I'm not cheating
Like I don't want to hide
Is where the lights shine hot
And the people surround me
And nobody knows what's going to happen next
Including me

Totally free.
Just me.
And a few hundred strangers.
Totally free.

Well, as free as things get for me these days...

Woke Up, Got out of Bed, Had this Sex Dream in my Head

I'm still reeling
Woke up feeling
Soooooooo...riled up
Thought I could satisfy
My needs
But I felt too wiled out
Doubt I could find relief
In a buzzing O-theif
What I crave
Is a knave
to grind me down into the ground
Spin me around and around and around
Make me arch my back
Crack open my safe deposit box
Break the chains and the locks
Hard and fast from behind
Deep and Deeper where the sun don't shine
Your light inside me
Power up my electricity
Surge with my Urge to Purge my Tension
Hit each note of my Vocal Declension
O O O O O O O O
And on and on and on and on
Waaaaaay past the finish line
Waaaaaay after the woman of size sings
Waaaaaay after the deathknell rings
Energizer Rabbit my Ass
We've got him trounced
Bounce me up an down
'Til I melt right into the sound
of my tears of gratitude
For your generosity and servitude.
And when our eyes meet
Deep
And I hit the bottom of your soul
And rebound back up
I close my eyes
And fall back...to sleep.

Hobby - Shumi

Last year I created a Meet Up group (www.meetup.com) called the Central Jersey Japanese/English Speakers and Learners group (I think that's the title of it). Anyway, I started it up and it attracted a few people and we met a couple of times, but people weren't really into talking in Japanese and it was more social than speaking/learning and I sorta dropped it.

Then this year, MeetUp was sending me emails saying that my group was going to expire - it costs a bit of money to set up a group - and I let it go and then a second notice and then the final notice: "WE'RE CANCELLING YOUR MEETUP GROUP TOMORROW!" And, I thought: "Eh, why not give it another go?"

So, I renewed.

And I set up a meeting and about seven people showed up and we all spoke in Japanese half the time and I set it up that we were going to talk about our various jobs. So, we did and after the 1.5 hours were up, we decided to do it weekly and I'd find another spot (we were at a restaurant - which was too noisy and disruptive)...which I did. And we met the next week and the next week and the group is getting bigger and we're talking more and more Japanese and all of the sudden...it hit me:

I have a hobby!

I have a bona-fide activity that is completely unrelated to my work in any way (well, it's not entirely true, I do eventually want to tour Japan...) but in the short-run at least, there is no relationship to my work. It's a place where I can go, kick up my heels and just jammer on in Japanese and make mistakes and it doesn't matter. There's nothing at stake. And I love it! It's the highlight of my week! It's so great.

And the people are so dedicated to learning, it's inspiring. And everyone's Caucasian, which totally wilds me out -- I mean, here we all are -- well, there was another half-half there -- all with an interest, most with a love -- for Japanese and we have no idea what else we have in common, but it doesn't matter. We're coming together for this activity.

It's uplifting.
Engaging.
Life-affirming.

Wow, when "they" say "You need a hobby!" they really know what they're talking about! It's amazing!

I love it!

Gambaru!

Matane!

Language Snob

Ok...it's fewer not less and it's more than not over.

MORE THAN 50 people said that they loved my show.
FEWER THAN 6 people showed up for my writing workshop.

If it were OVER 50 people, then something would have to actually be jumping OVER those 50 people while saying "I love you show, Pandora!"

And if it were LESS than 6 people who showed up to my show than those people who showed up -- would be lesser in quality in some way -- perhaps they would be six people who were 2/3rds as tall as a group of 'regularly heighted' people. Or maybe they were Burger King-eating, La Leche League members... (oh, my prejudices do come out when my ire is raised over language!).

I don't have much else to say about this. It's been coming up a lot so I figured I'd say something about it. Go ahead, keep saying over and less, I'll keep saying more than and fewer. I'm sure we'll all get along no matter what, in the end.

:-) Love,

Pandora

warm up poem

if i start this poem

with no idea what it will say

if i keep writing with no theme in mind

with no message of any kind

with nothing but the compulsion to write

to type

something that may, eventually, mean something

to me

to you

to maybe every-you

could that be enough?

if i start this poem

with no goal in sight

with nothing but the sunlight

to illuminate the page

and the ink that flows out of the tip

and stain the paper

as I sip tea and ponder wonder think

should i drink water instead?

could that be enough?

if i continue writing this poem

into its third stanza

still unclear as to its meaning

but aware that i am moving forward

into the unknown

quietly, but intently

because i know that i am now somewhere i wasn’t when i was at the start

and my heart is warming up…

could that be enough?

and what if this is a warm-up poem?

what if this is the process i go through to prepare for the “real” poems

the ones with themes and metaphors and similes and jokes that please

and let’s not forget rhymes

but those poems don’t emerge from nowhere, there are thousands of lines

that get written and only a few make it to the ether

between me and you.

what if this is a warm-up poem?

is it enough?

it’s a vital step in the journey to get to the “good” stuff.

we’re so product hungry

finished and glossy is what makes it in our society

and this is just a peek into the backstage

the VH1 behind the page look

into how we get pieces that are much bolder

much louder

much more produced.

but i think i know my answer now.

this poem is a key part of the how

and my how is just as important as my what

so i’m gonna strut my warm-up poem

up and down the red carpet

‘cause it is exactly what i need to show right now.

How We Tell People Off

SO...SOMEONE really pissed me off today. And this person - had he been in my grill, would have inspired such contempt in me that I believe

I believe, mind you

that I would have spit in his face.

How 19th Century, right? At least that's how it seems to me. When the greatest insult a woman could exact upon a man would be to spit in his face.

And then I started thinking, "Why is spitting in someone's face such an insult?" Or spitting on someone's grave or "spitting on the memory of your grandmother!" I mean, ok, it's messy. And the mouth is, actually, the most bacteria infested part of the body (I just wrote that - is it true? I'm too pissed off to even look it up right now) -- so, in essence, spitting on someone's face is the grimiest thing one could do besides pooping and smearing the feces on the person's face - which requires a gigantic amount of pre-planning and then quick access -- and I dunno -- by then the window of opportunity for comeback has passed...

What bothers me about this insulting gesture is that it is exactly that same spittle that we exchange when we like someone(enough to kiss them - ok, "French" kiss someone...why it's called "French" kissing, I don't know - another thing to look up at a time when I'm not fuming). So how come when someone tickles my fancy, their bacteria-riddled spit is something that I'm willing to voluntarily take into my mouth. But if that person finds me beneath contempt and spits on my face, I find that the gravest of insults?

It's the same spit.

It's the same with the phrase "Fuck You" right? To insult someone, we say "Fuck you!" To tell someone that we want to engage in some very pleasurable sex with someone, we (some of us) say, "I wanna fuck you." In one instance, the concept of someone being fucked is an ugly, insulting act to wish upon someone else. In the other, it's an act that someone(s) might desire greatly.

So, where are the insults that don't have this double meaning? That can't be turned around in another context and used as a positive gesture or be associated with something desirable?

"I'm going to kill you." That's pretty negative all around - although we do still say, "I'm going to kill you!" in jest. But there are few situations in which someone says, "You should be killed" and means it in a positive way. But then, there's the fact that no one wants to be caught having said something like that and then, goodness forbid, if the person in question dies... the speaker would be in a world of trouble.

There are cultures in which the insults are completely unambiguous: "I wish for your dead mother to be raped."

Which makes me wonder why we don't say, 'Rape you!" when we're pissed off. But that is SOOOOOOO Taboo.

Not that I'm advocating lingually violent and extreme exchanges
between people as ways of addressing tension.

But, in the event that I have the opportunity to show my contempt for someone, I will probably spit in the person's face.

Although...I have noticed that whenever I am in a position where I am poised to spit in someone's face (not often at all - maybe three times in the past 20 years), I find I end up with dry mouth. And by the time that I wait 'til I work up enough spit...again...missed window.

Well, now that I've written this, I feel less enraged. I supposed that's good.

Peace,

Pandora