In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"


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Considerate giving as gift

But at 55, the should’s should not be gripping me as they do in tortuous roads to re-realization that giving to get something is not giving, and thoughtful consideration of my intentions—a mere pause or micro-meditation–relieves me and everyone I touch of unfulfilled obligations and responsibilities to me and those who depend on me.

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Giving with expectation, without right to give away what belongs to another–time, energy, and money–is not proper giving. It is merely exchange or thievery.


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Prison Phone Calls:  when capitalism incapacitates its most precious capital–people

 
 
She has slept away her first five days here, awakening only to fret, face swallowed up in full furrowed brows, swollen eyes and shrivelled spirit, grieving inconsolably over something lost, something she fears is lost anyways. She cries. Fifty-five years old, weathered, burnished skin adding ten years to her face, she was picked up for drugs or prostitution; I do not remember which. She once told me in between spurts of awakened anguish over her dogs. All I remember is the agonized tears and the dogs…read more


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Incapacitating Grief Snippet

  
“My dogs, my dogs, what’s going to happen to them?”
I burn with desire to help, call someone, but I know I cannot. Impossible, even if I could locate her husband.
She was arrested nearing her apartment, where her five dogs live and sometimes her estranged husband. She suffers thinking about the fate of her dogs. All she wants to do is contact her husband to make sure he looks after the dogs. She has no one else. Otherwise, they will die or get taken away. Each time she awakens, she bawls and repeats her anguish, fretting so hard and patterned like worried fingers on rosary beads. Exhausted, she falls back to sleep.


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When Worlds Collide

    
Hard to catch my breath, like the moon sliced thinly

slivered to eighths, and thirds and halves tonight,

bitten, smothered, and bloodied, but largely ignored.

Has the moon absorbed ALL the air for its survival?

I gasp. And the battle rages outside the shop window,

the moon wrestling for light, struggling in the shadow.

Crescent beam rests on the palm frond near defeated,

gasping for a second wind before a last laser sabre stab.

And then–fade to dust, blackened sky longing, airless.

“Oh black night, I rest inside you, my Jonah, forgotten,

caged bones’ anonymity, unheard, unseen–un-re(a)d.”

 


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Shucking Seeds

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Flustered, mind agape, silently wide-eyed,

I know not what sits behind her eyes.

She, a squirrel up a date palm, looking for acorns,

and I, a logical storm looking for a landing, apace,

we dance the squares of the place, tiled and tidy,

a touch of mildewed madness escaping. We spin.

She hides, a cushion pin stuck in the grimy wall.

Magenta stew toppled around her meaty face, her,

I stare across the room at only silhouette;

flat ribbon plastic words float to her

cordon her off like a crime scene

in the corner, dark, smoldering

punk in a steamy seamless-ness,

drunken porridge, we two–a corruption,

an oil leak of foul forethought.

She takes me home–her home–

a wondrous oak tree, reaching

branching, bleeding out the red roots.

We shuck seeds, plant acorns, see what grows.


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GHOSTING: Passive-aggressive discourtesy can be a lesson in manifesting the self

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A piece I fleshed out from a sketch I posted earlier on this blog, this personal essay on The Mindful Word was published yesterday. I hope you enjoy it.

The act of suddenly ceasing all communication with someone the subject is dating, but no longer wishes to date. This is done in hopes that the ghostee will just “get the hint” and leave the subject alone, as opposed to the subject simply telling them he/she is no longer interested. Ghosting is…(read more here)