I stand in a wide flat land No shadow or shade of a doubt

I know this is not my fiction, nor is it entirely fiction, nor is it literally written, but I wanted to show it to you anyhow. It tells a story, and a great one at that. I love it. It's a short film called plastic bag, and it is narrated by Werner Herzog. Amazing.


Title Quote: Suzanne Vega, Fat Man & Dancing Girl

Wrought iron cobwebbing over thin windowpanes

Mine

Bird of prey

who's circling 

rhythm

darkly bends.

Above roads; enmeshed

that burn through

autumnal sprouts.

Corrupted

wishes

spear time

with grief tipped arrows.

Worn roses

silently bleed their color

until all is 

threadbare.

Continue the feathers

to fall from up above

 breezily down

past the earth, le monde, the earth.

Title Quote: Emancipated Minor, Ani DiFranco

Soon I'll be holding you instead of this machine gun

Here's something I started without any idea where it will go. This all I have of it at the moment:

You are a gypsy man. You wax the edges of your handlebar mustache every morning, curling them upwards. You dance yourself to sleep at night around a fire, wearing bells that jangle against your knobbly ankles, jangle up down up down, as if trying to keep the moon awake, so that her eyes will never close and she will never drop out of sight, so that the sun will not dawn nor a new day begin. You dance yourself to sleep, trying to keep the night awake forever. 

You are a gypsy man. Music runs in your veins, your heart pumps out blood to a beat. When you pass the gypsy women, with big gold hoops in their ears and missing teeth, they waggle their hips at you, the ragged edges of their skirts lifting and jerking. You waggle your hips back, and continue walking barefoot down the path. There is dirt beneath your toenails, but so is there the earth your people have lived on for as many years as your grandmother's grandmother can count. 

You have two goats, Valeria and Jaakov. You milk Valeria every mid-afternoon, and hang her milk in a cloth over a cracked blue bucket to curdle for cheese. You fondle Jaakov's twisted horns, feeling the grain beneath your thumb, and look into his eyes knowingly, to which he jerks back and tries to butt you. Such is life. You are a gypsy man, you are Ukrainian, your name is Andrij. 

After you milk the goats, you decide to head to town, a little ramshackle main street with shops on either side that serves all your purposes for getting food, and supplies. There is a grocery store, barely lit with dusty cans of beans on the shelves and barely refrigerated chunks of meat and bundles of greens. There is a garden behind your little house, with carrots that you pull from the earth and crunch on with dirt still clinging to the tips, and with spinach and kale and leeks. For meat, your goats will do, but Valeria and Jaakov are not for eating. Valeria gives you milk and children, and Jaakov by now would be much to hard and stringy to eat—he is very old, your trusty goat who you chose from a litter of kids many years ago. Valeria has recently had children though, and that is where your nutrition will come from. 

As well as a grocery store, there is a small clothing store with fancy machine made clothing, and fabric in the back. You stop by and pick up some purple muslin for your sister so she can make herself a skirt, stringing coins and beads along the waist, to chime and sing for her when she dances. There is a little run down restaurant for the few tourists who wander through, that has pierogies and borscht and not much else. Next tot he restaurant are a bunch of little businesses that are always opening and closing the next month, continually switching between grand opening sales and going out of business sales. The gypsies don't often pay these stores much attention. Then, there is the last store.

Title Quote: Izabella, Jimi Hendrix

The trees on the hill had nothing to say They would keep their dreams till another day

Interpretation of a Dream


summer came

and i wished 

i was there

cool valleys, rollicking water

instead of 

the hot city

where he 

stood at the corner and wooed 

the wind 

instead of me

but she did not even come

only sending 

a gentle breeze as a reminder

of her power

there was 

no enveloping tan sand

nor glistening leaves of green

here

it was just 

sticky sweet hot

and the wind never came

because 

i never called it

though he 

coaxed his voice dry.

Title Quote: Nick Drake, Time of No Reply

Now that you know who you are What do you want to be?

, bThis is the third part of the Bay and Tulya story. It's coming out well, don't you think? You can read the previous two parts here and here.

Finally a nurse came and led the pair to Abi's room. she smiled at them, but there was no comfort in her eyes. The walls of her room were beige, and the lone window looked out at a gray office building across from the hospital. Tulya reached forward but didn't touch Abi. She just looked at her hands and ran them through her hair, then placed them together and began to slide them back and forth nervously. She whispered to the doctor “So? How is she?” She looked angry but it was like an angry with the red replaced with blue. The doctor, a thin, debonair sort of man with clear gray-blue eyes, looked at her, and then at Bay. “She's your grandmother?” he asked. “You're not answering my question,” she said, almost menacingly. The doctor smiled at her knowingly. “Well, then I will assume you are her grandchild,” he mused aloud. “Please. Just tell me. Will she be ok?” Tulya pleaded now, she looked at Bay, and he would not look back. She looked at Abi, who seemed not to be registering anyone or anything, and she looked the doctor again, who sighed. “Dove--” he began, and then started a little from the fierce glare he had evinced from Tulya. He looked at her straight, then, and his eyes were wide enough that Tulya could see the frieze of his irises. They looked like little snowflakes, circling around his pupil. “Pneumonia,” he said. “The scientific term is lobar pneumonia—caused by the bacteria Streptococcus Pneumoniae.” Tulya tried to swallow, but found that there was no saliva left in her mouth to allow her to do so. She had studied this particular bacterium in science class last semester. It affected the elderly much more so than other ages, and could lead to complications, death, even. But no, thought Tulya. That was rare. It happened mostly in developing countries, not America. Abi was a strong woman, she would recover just fine. “We're going to put her on Amoxicillin, alright, honey?” The doctor's voice cut short her thoughts. “I'm sure she'll recover just fine under our care. For now,” --he looked down at his clipboard to check her name-- “Mrs. Simmons needs to rest and let us care for her. You may visit her tomorrow morning.” The doctor picked up his stethoscope and tightened the hold on his clipboard, then spun around and left. Tulya looked to Bay. “Take me home.” she whispered. 

But when the pair arrived home, Tulya could find no comfort in the bright rooms. “It smells like her too much here,” she moaned. Bay took her off in the car, and they drove down to Venice Beach. The sunlight was turning purple, and while the world was slowly dimming and cooling for the night, the rocky sand was still warm from the rays of the day. Tulya slid off her converses and sat on the beach. Bay followed, and watched as she buried her feet into two little mounds on the shore. Slowly, she lay down and Bay began to cover her, heaping warm mother earth sand on her body, until only her head stuck out, and her black curls were tan with sand. Tulya closed her eyes and was soon asleep. Bay lay beside her and found that his dreams were fast to come as well. He had swift, vicious dreams, of monkeys falling from their trees, of hollow painted statues, of Tulya, dancing the tarantella, spinning faster and faster until he could no longer bear it, and he opened his eyes. Looking up, he found no moon, but there were many stars in the sky, and they lit up the night with promises of very far away. He saw that Tulya was softly breathing beside him, still covered in cool sand, that had little fissures and cracks from where she had stirred in her sleep. He got up quietly and went to the car. Lying there were the blankets they had wrapped Abi in, forgotten on the back seat. He took them and brought them back to the shore. Gently, Bay brushed the sand from Tulya and placed the blankets around her. Then, he lay beside her  and slid beneath the blankets as well, and buried his nose in her neck. Tulya murmured, but did not wake.  Bay dreamed again, this time of boats sailing over the horizon line, and of colorful balloons dotting the skies, and of he and Tulya waltzing in the school gym. 

He woke at morning, while the dawn was still gray and the air was soft and dewy and salty. Bay let Tulya sleep and washed his feet in the ocean. Then, he picked up two hotdogs from the man on the boardwalk who was just setting up. They had neglected to eat dinner, yet Bay found that he was not hungry. He returned to find Tulya sitting up and twirling her hair, staring at the waves as they rolled in and out, splashing lace foam along the wet sand. She accepted the hotdog, and they ate together. When she was finished, Tulya turned to Bay. “I want to go back to see her,” she said. “Let's just stop at home first.” Bay nodded and she lifted her feet up from the sand, brushing at her toes, and stepped lightly to the car, collecting her discarded shoes along the way. They got in the car and drove back down the side roads.  

Title Quote: Baby You're a Rich Man, The Beatles

Look what I built for you This tower to the sky

So today, I was walking down Oak Avenue, and I met someone. He was this old guy, you know, the one we always see when you take me to school? Well, today he stopped me and asked me why I wasn't in school, and so I told him how it was spring break, and it was raining. I told him that I was going puddle stomping, because all the rain makes all the puddles. He said his name was Oliver, and I told him mine was Marisa, and I was six years old, so I was old enough to go puddle-stomping alone! But he said he wanted to come along, even if I was old enough to go all by myself. He said he could help me find huge stomping puddles. So we, the two of us, went walking. Oliver was so nice, he gave me a big red lollipop, because, he said, we were friends. Oliver is my best friend! I was about to eat it when we saw a super huge puddle! So I put the big red lollipop in my pocket, the one you sewed on my dress, and I went and stomped a huge stomp in the middle of the puddle. It was so much fun! Then all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rat! Or I thought I saw a rat. But really, it was a cat. A kittycat, and she was so wet and shivery she looked like a rat! So I ran off to catch her so I could cuddle her all better. Oliver was the one who caught her though, and he said I could keep her. So then we started walking again, this time with kitty. Oliver said he lived close by, and we could go home to his house and he would give me some more candy and some nice, hot chocolate. He said he would give kitty some milk too. But, oh, no, then kitty jumped right out of my arms and scratched poor Oliver! He said all these words and then his face got really red and his face was really purple! It was really funny! So I started laughing, and I guess Oliver thought it was funny too, because he started laughing too, and his eyes bulged out so I could see all the white parts. I don't know what those words mean, but they must have been very nice because he was smiling very widely at me. And then he started walking to me, and I thought he wanted a hug. Because we were friends, and kitty had given him a boo-boo. And so I gave him a hug and he picked me up and squeezed me really hard and he was still laughing and his spit got on me, which was gross! Gro-osss! And then I heard this boy. He was shouting at Oliver! He was a big boy, and he looked funny 'cause his hat was on backwards and his pants kept falling down really low. Then Oliver saw the big boy he dropped me and started running. It hurt a little, but I guess he had someplace to be that he was late for. it's too bad he couldn't show me his house, and we would have played more, but maybe I'll see him next time I go puddle stomping.

So then the big boy came over to me and he took my hand and asked where my Mommy and Daddy were, and when I told him you and daddy were working and I was old enough to go puddle stomping alone, he smiled really wide too, just like Oliver, except different, and said he had a present for me. He said he knew where magical fairy land was, and that I was the only little girl in the whole world who could go inside it. He said that once I went there, I would be a fairy princess! He took me to this shiny silver car and told me that to get to the magical fairy land, first I had to play a game. He said I had to play hide and seek in the car, so all the bad fairies couldn't stop us from going to their land, so I got in the car and hid all the way in the backety back, where you put the suitcases. I curled myself into a little ball like a snail. The car ride was bumpety. But then, we got there! Or really, we stopped, and I kept all curled up because I was worried the fairies would find me, but then the big boy came out and told me the car had broken and then he heard a police car. It had lights and the police car noise, and the big boy got very scared. He told me to hide in the bushes from the bad fairies, and so I did, but after a while, the fairies hadn't found me and I was hungry.

So I thought I could stop hiding, and I tried to find the big boy or Oliver again, but I couldn't so I decided to go home. Too bad kitty couldn't have been there, but she ran away when I went in the car. Anyway, I walked a really long time, and my feet hurt, so I decided to climb a tree to see where home was. That took a really long time! But when I got waaay up, and then a doggy came and started barking and he was a scary doggy. He was drooling and there was white spit all around his mouth, so I stayed up in the tree. But I'm sure he was a very nice doggy. I just didn't really want to go down just then. So finally he left and I went back down the tree and I kept walking until my feet hurt sooo much, but finally I got home! And then I saw you, And I told you all about my day! And, oh, I forgot! I still have the lollipop that Oliver gave me! Mommy, why are you sshouting? Mommy! I want my lollipop back!

Title Quote: Stentaria, All For You

You raise your head, you beat the sun

Yesterday, the sky opened up, if only just for a moment.
Yesterday, the wind blew and the grass turned greener.
Yesterday, my hair whipped up and then soaked down.
Drops fell, drops of rain
of water and tears and the sky
fell to my feet and pooled there.


So in return I opened up
and in return I blew and I grew
and my hair dripped
and my shirt darkened with water
and from every pore and orifice I felt
myself raining
myself crying out for something
anything to happen, but I wanted nothing to happen
nothing to change, but everything to move.

And I wished that even, if only for a moment
I could fly out through my chest and my fingertips
and disappear beneath our earth to where it stopped being concrete
and began to be brown earth, molten red magma
to where there were gears turning and I could take a key and wind those gears
so the earth would groan and turn a little faster
and everyone would have to
balance up on their tip toes to keep balance.
People would find that they liked it there, poised
about to fall but not quite.


I wished I could do that, I wished I could rain upon them like the sky did
pushing their shoulder bones gently down and their faces forward
and their toes moving quicker than before but then
the clouds blew on and the sky became blue
cirrus clouds wandered in, replacing cumulus
it had stopped raining, so 
so did I, and I tied up my hair and kept walking, and dried


off.

Title Quote: Dispatch, Elias

No other road No other day No day but today

Today is poem in you pocket day, april 29th. To celebrate, I will post a few poems--none of mine, unfortunately, because I don't have the files on me right now. But here are a few to inspire you and perhaps lighten your day.

The Poet's Obligation

To whoever is not listening to the sea

this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up

in house or office, factory or woman

or street or mine or harsh prison cell:

to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,

I arrive and open the door of his prison,

and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,

a great fragment of thunder sets in motion

the rumble of the planet and the foam,

the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,

the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,

and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.

So, drawn on by my destiny,

I ceaselessly must listen to and keep

the sea's lamenting in my awareness,

I must feel the crash of the hard water

and gather it up in a perpetual cup

so that, wherever those in prison may be,

wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,

I may be there with an errant wave,

I may move, passing through windows,

and hearing me, eyes will glance upward

saying, "How can I reach the sea?"

And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,

the starry echoes of the wave,

a breaking up of foam and of quicksand,

a rustling of salt withdrawing,

the grey cry of sea-birds on the coast.

So, through me, freedom and the sea

will make their answer to the shuttered heart.

--Pablo Neruda



and the original, Spanish version: 
Deber del poeta 
A quien no escucha el mar en este Viernes
por la mañana, a quien adentro de algo
casa, oficina, fábrica o mujer,
o calle o mina o seco calabozo:
a éste yo acudo y sin hablar ni ver
llego y abro la puerta del encierro
y un sin fin se oye vago en la insistencia,
un largo trueno roto se encadena
al peso del planeta y de la espuma,
surgen los ríos roncos del océano,
vibra veloz en su rosal la estrella
y el mar palpita, muere y continúa
Así por el destino conducido
debo sin tregua oír y conservar
el lamento marino en mi conciencia,
debo sentri el golpe de agua dura
y recogerlo en una taza eterna
para que donde esté el encarcelado,
donde sufra el castigo del otoño
yo esté presente con una ola errante,
yo cirucule a través de las ventanas
y al oirme levante la mirada
diciendo: cómo me acercaré al océano?
Y yo trasmitirée sin decir nada
los ecos estrellados de la ola,
un quebranto de espuma y arenales,
un susurro de sal que se retira,
el grito gris del ave de la costa.
Y así, por mí, la libertad y el mar
responderán al corazón oscuro.


and also this:

 Poppies
Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

Red Shoes
by Honor Moore
all that autumn you step from the train as if something were burning something is burning running across the green grass bare feet that day death was only what we lose in fall comes back in spring something is burning from the train you climb smoke between the skyscrapers Paris was so beautiful, the sky–  all that autumn then tears Why do we do this again? she turns to you in the kitchen she puts her arms around you she is wearing those red shoes
Title Quote: Rent, Finale B

The door of lies had lots of flowers growing round outside

This is the continuing story of Bay and Tulya. If you want to be re-acquainted with them, please read the first part, here.

She was a Junior and he a Senior; but being mind smart and not school smart, he had not really gotten into many colleges. And he refused to go to the dingy community college a few streets away. His parents weren't really around, one being drunk half the time and a moody artist the other half, and the other being too stressed with work, spousal differences, and life in general, to deal with Bay. He was an only child, and didn't think much of his parents, so he didn't have many ties. He floated from his family. So college seemed to be out. Who knows if he would have even gone anyway, even if he was accepted into an Ivy League college; he didn't think very highly of the Establishment, and he and Tulya were too tightly bound together for him to move anywhere far away. The end of the year was looming, and still Bay had made no plans for after graduation. Tulya understood that he was thinking, and she wasn't worried. She just buried her thoughts beneath paper mountains tucked inside her bag, and diligently did all her schoolwork. Then, finally, school was over. It was summer, and the jacaranda trees were blooming purple all through LA. Their school was in the Santa Monica neighborhood, just a little ways from Venice Beach, where Bay's hair would bleach almost blonde during summer. It was graduation, and as Bay stepped down from the stage inside, diploma in hand, he titled his head ever so slightly, just so only Tulya could see, and walked to the door, unnoticed. Tulya slipped from her seat and disappeared through the door as well, catching him in the doorway. They kissed and fled out the backdoor, laughing and stumbling until they found a little back community garden. Bay leant down and Tulya lifted her skirt up with one hand  and climbed onto his back with the other, where from there she climbed onto the branch of a nearby tree. Bay took off his blue gown and cap, and followed her up. No one could see them from up there unless they were looking. They sat and stared out at the world, their world, and thought together.

At last, Bay opened his mouth. “Come with me,” he said. “I've got a surprise.” He jumped down and so did she, and he started off again, long strides, large grin. “It's really fantastic, amazing, I mean I can't believe I found it at this price,” he said. “Think of all the places we can go, I mean just think, Tulya!” He turned to her and she smiled, puzzledly. They were on the sidewalk again, they were veering back towards the school, towards the parking lot. Bay led her past rows of cars, and then he stopped. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Look, I sold my car! I went to a little junk car place and bought this!” Bay had gotten a brand new SUV for his seventeenth birthday from his parents, which he grudgingly drove. It was a hulking grey mass that was always hungry for gas and spitted out awful fumes into the air. Now it was gone. In its place sat an old dusty, slightly dented cadillac. A pink cadillac. “Oh, it's gorgeous, Bay!” exclaimed Tulya. She reached out and touched it, lovingly. It had a convertible top, and was flamingo pink, with flourishing tails in the back. “I know, isn't it a babe?” He responded, very excited. She laughed, grabbed the top of the door and vaulted herself in. He did the same, fished around in the one pocket of his jeans without a hole in it, and found the key. Gently, he turned the key in the ignition, and a sweet, slow rumbling sound came out, like mountains moving across the plains. “Where should we go?” Bay asked, but he knew the answer. They drove off through the streets, attracting catcalls and wolf whistles as they went. On they went, through downtown LA, until they came up to the residential area, twisting through orange trees and forsythia bushes. There Bay slowly eased the Cadillac onto the side of the road, parked and jumped out, running around to the other side to open the door for Tulya. He held his arm out and bowed, his hair tumbling down over his nose. She stepped out and curtsied to him, then ran to the house he had parked by, and in through the door. 

“Abi?” She asked. “Abi, you home?” Abi was her grandmother, whom she called by her first name. Tulya's parents were divorced, and both were too  proud to accept responsibility for that thing they had created together, that reminder of  each other, so Abi had taken her in and her parents had both flown the coop, to live on opposite ends of the world. Sometimes life was just like that. But Tulya and Abi lived very happily together with Abi's pet pig, Duluth. He used to be just this runty little piglet, but by now with all the attention he got, he had become a snorting, humorous, lumbering thing. He snuffled outdoors even now, and came to nuzzle Bay's hand, who stood by Tulya's side in the doorway. Bay often stayed at this house when his parents got to be too much, and Abi had taken a liking to him, calling him her “Bay leaf”. “Abi?” Tulya called once more, then uncertainly stepped in. She strode down the hallway until she reached her grandmother's room, and there she slowly knocked. “Tu, is that you?” A faint, weak voice called from inside. “Come in, please love.” The two filed in, and found Abi on her bed, surrounded by colorful African quilts and still shivering, in the summer heat. Tulya walked to the bed and felt her temperature, and found she had a high fever. “I'm sick, Tu, I'm afraid I can't get up.” Abi sounded like tissue paper, crumpled and semi-translucent. Fragile. “Abi, Abi! How long have you been like this?” She did not respond. “I saw her this morning,” Tulya told Bay. “She was fine, really! I don't know what's wrong, I think it's bad.” She looked worried, but Bay looked even worse. He was always more jumpy than Tulya, and all of her feelings were intensified in him. He had begun to shiver as well, and his brows were knit together. Abi coughed, just a little, but it seemed to shrink her even smaller, this strong woman who was usually seen in the garden, knitting fast with her hands and a sun hat looped over poofy white hair. Her normally cocoa skin seemed covered with a layer of grey dust, and her lips had turned faintly purple. Her fingers were icy to the touch. “Bay, get Abi to the car,” said Tulya. “We need to take her to the hospital.” 

Bay scooped her up, African blankets and all, and carried her outside, to the back of the car. Abi seemed too weak to protest, she just looked up with clear brown eyes and closed her lips. Bay thought about Tulya, and about how her eyes looked just like Abi's, and he held her tighter. He remembered how one day, he had found a little sparrow, lying by the window of his house, stunned on impact with the glass. He remembered picking it up, cradling it in his hands, and feeling each little rib so tiny, and the fluttering fast of its beating heart. He had brought it in and kept it in a cardboard box, trying to feed it seeds, but a few days later, it was gone. Bay never knew if it had left through the open window or if it had died, and his parents had disposed of it in one form or another. Bay felt Abi's fluttering heart like the bird's, and he knew something was very wrong. He reached the car and laid her down on the backseat, and Tulya slid in next to her. Bay drove to he hospital in silence, while Tulya stroked Abi's cheek and murmured to her, braid bits of her hair. The trees no longer seemed very green or lush. The hospital staff took one look at Abi and rushed her onto a stretcher and away to a room, leaving Bay and Tulya to fill out paperwork and sit with their worry.

Title Quote: Traffic, House For Everyone

Carry that weight a long time.

Full as the Forest

Veins 

curve opaquely

raindrops fall

fall down

down 

tiptoeing brokenly

upon carved dark passageways.

My heart is as

full as the forest and as 

smooth as the sea.

But the 

azure vessels

coursing by

this scarlet muscle

never fully penetrate

the swirling oblivion

of the mind. 

And my soul 

my very spirit is as

full as the forest and as

smooth as the sea. 

As smooth as the 

rushing, chopping

churning daybreak moonlight

sea!

I rage

whoosh

glimmer

roll and slow to 

a trickle

trickle down

down

warming small

troubled rounded

pearl toes.

Title Quote: The Beatles, Carry That Weight