Thursday, October 28, 2010

death in the front line

our armies advance, they
do not know
the meaning of
"death in the front line", and
even if they did,
they wouldn't care...
me, up on my
horse, gun in it's
holster and knife in
my hand, me
with my shiny medallions
and generals' stars, me
with my hardened heart
and weathered, leather
skin; i
yell to the front line
and they do,
and you,
with your small words
and buttonless vest, you
with your blue-eyed
vacancy and penniless
pockets, you
die by the front lines hands,
trampled by the charge
of a general's chance,
killed by a war
of worlds and circumstance;
and i, in my
fancy blues and
sly smile, i
mask my disappointment
behind the glint
of a blood-soaked sword.
i guess your death
prevents you seeing
my award.


Wednesday, October 27, 2010

2nd star revelations

okay, it's fall.

my one year anniversary has come and gone, my hair has been dyed three different colors, i've failed two relationships swimmingly, and drunk myself into a stupor more than i would like to admit.

i have relished the beautiful nyc days in the sun and jumped in puddles in the soaked-to-the-bone rainstorms; have and been wooed by those more financially stable than i; experienced the loss of friendships and the gain of people promising to be more faithful than the ones fading into the years.

when i went to san francisco, i experienced a turbulence i had never before tasted. dad's cancer, loading and unloading a moving truck filled to the brim with my shit, adultery, and rocky finances. i swore it was going to get better. then, i shook off atlanta and took on boston, which was a lesson on how things could become even more intense, and to the realization that conservative men really like me for some reason (that's what i get for working right next to harvard, i guess). on to new york... new york.

new york has tied together some of the loose ends... not financially, as i'm struggling every day... but ends that i made into other things, ends that i put up on pedestals. the city has forced some of my projections into translucency... and even though that's a really scary thing, at least i know the truth from my fantasy, which can be relatively thick, like a fog in my brain.

never judge a book by it's cover.
things are NEVER what they seem.
value someone's intelligence over anything. for better or for worse, you will learn exactly what they can be capable of.

i need to listen to these little stars behind my ear more often. and after a year here, in a hardened city with a beautiful, sunlit skyline... they have weaved their little lessons into my life with every heartbreak, every job loss, and every let-down that has introduced itself to me.

sure, i still think about the man who cracked my ribs apart with a couple sentences, the friend who gave me up for a pipe-dream romance, and the boss who fired me over the phone.

but i'm still here. i'm still doing something. i'm still landing jobs and dancing and laughing and loving.

fall is here and soon it will be gone, and i'll get to play in the snow and go ice skating in central park with nat. and i'll still be smiling, even if it doesn't seem like there's anything to smile about.

things are NEVER what they seem. :)


Thursday, October 21, 2010

to the brim

perfect fit

i could make a dress
a robe fit for a prince
i could clothe a continent
but i can't sew a stitch

i can paint my face
and stand very very still
its not very practical
but it still pays the bills

i can't change my name
but i could be your type
i can dance and win at games
like backgammon and life

i used to be the smart one
sharp as a tack
funny how that skipping years ahead
has held me back

i used to be the bright one
top in my class
funny what they give you when you
just learn how to ask

i can write a song
but i cant sing in key
i can play piano
but i never learned to read

i can't trap a mouse
but i can pet a cat
no i'm really serious!
i'm really very good at that

i can't fix a car
but i can fix a flat
i could fix alot of things
but i'd rather not get into that

i used to be the bright one
smart as a whip
funny how you slip so far when
teachers dont keep track of it

i used to be the tight one
the perfect fit
funny how those compliments can
make you feel so full of it

i can shuffle cut and deal
but i can't draw a hand
i can't draw a lot of things
i hope you understand
i'm not exceptionally shy
but i've never had a man
that i could look straight in the eye
and tell my secret plans

i can take a vow
and i can wear a ring
and i can make you promises but
they won't mean a thing

can't you do it for me, i'll pay you well
fuck i'll pay you anything if you could end this

can't you just fix it for me, it's gone berserk...
fuck i'll give you anything if
you can make the damn thing work

can't you just fix it for me, ill pay you well,
fuck ill pay you anything
if you can end this
hello, i love you will you tell me your name?
hello, i'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same?

white doll cabaret. music and story by the dresden dolls. fall, 2011. <3

Saturday, October 2, 2010

the art of defense

when i was freshly twenty-one, living on my own for the first time in atlanta, i made a giant mistake.

i called my father for father's day.

normally, father's day is set in place by the creators of all the holidays in america, hallmark, to be a day that dad's can revel in their dadness. "look at how my sons have grown... big and strong and tough..."; "i may not have had a rulebook, but i sure did raise some good kids..."; etc.

"i hope you have a great father's day dad... how are you playing today? mmhm. yup. what's that? um, well, i'm serving at a restaurant downtown. yes, i'm dancing too. no, it's paid performances, unpaid rehearsals. well... well, no, i hadn't really - but i don't want to get - dad. dad, i don't need to - can we not do this right - ???"

a wish for a happy father's day went downhill fast. effect... me on my couch, in tears, listening to him tell me that my whole love for ballet as a career was a sham, and how i would never make enough money to survive in the real world.

and here i am, surviving, and writing about that memory.

i share a peculiar relationship with my father. we are two ducks in a pond, siskel (rip buddy) and ebert, martha stewart and robert morvillo. if god existed, he would have pulled a rib from my father and made me out of it. he's a writer, and a bullshitter, and an athlete. a damn fine lookin man, as well.

but even though there are so many similarities, we have a grand canyon in between us, one that will forever separate us from ever seeing eye to eye on lots of different topics, however insignificant or controversial they may be.

my father gave up being an artist to do "the right thing", which in the seventies, translated into marrying a beautiful woman, having babies, buying a house, and owning your own business. because if you didn't have any or all of those things, you obviously were not a contribution to society and don't deserve to be a part of it.

growing up, i was expected to basically be a stepford child; things are perfect! life is good! i love my family! sort of phrases. but my alcoholic father, my miserable, jobless mother, my socially retarded older brother and me, the "let's fake a smile even though i haven't eaten for three days" child made a portrait of things to come. dad came home drunk for most of my life and fell asleep on the couch. mom sipped her wine and stayed tight-lipped when he berated us for nothing in particular. brother retreated to his room like a beaten puppy and immersed himself in sci-fi adventure books. and what was i to do but starve myself and hope for the day i could leave the whole trainwreck of a family for a clean slate. all the while, we posed pretty for pictures and said our please and thank-you's like proper, well-adjusted functional families do.

my father's pension for scotch fueled his harbored anger he never knew how to release, and verbally punched our guts for years. i thought i hated him for years, because i didn't understand why he was so angry at us for everything.

maybe he was angry that marty was a scholar and not an athlete.
maybe he was angry that his daughter didn't like golf and country clubs.
maybe he was angry that he gave up on his dreams to provide for a family he wasn't really ready for.

the cocktail just got stronger with all of the alchemy.

when i was kicked out at 24, tattooed, pierced, raven-haired... i told them i wasn't going to do it anymore. the pretty bobble head smiles; the acting; the lies. i didn't want to put my energy into something that just kept on letting me down. my family wasn't familial; it was just a portrait of what we were supposed to be.

and yes, for many years, i blamed him. i took out my frustrations on myself. control what you eat, punish yourself for who you are. ink your body, dye your hair. put steel rods through your skin, drink, fuck, and fight. and the day came when we all had had enough. so they kicked me out, and i didn't see them for half a year.

i'm not innocent in this, so don't misconstrue it as me being a victim. i pushed buttons, i sneaked out, i smoked cigarettes on my balcony and pot in my car. maybe i was trying to get them to see that the idea of who i was to them was not the manifestation of who i really was. i don't know. i do know that as an adult now, i have taken my past and grew a garden. the mistakes i made when i was young, whilst repeated in older years, have guided me through decisions i've made as an adult.

my father is a good man. he worked hard for his family and provided for us even if it was like pulling teeth from a donkey without anesthesia. and i recognize that. the providing part, i mean. had he not, i wouldn't be writing this from a computer i bought with money i earned dancing to prove to him that i could make it as a dancer and an artist.

the whole point is, we butted heads because he saw himself in me, and he was scared i would fuck up my life with my parallel vices. understandable worries. bad way to remedy them, but understandable nonetheless.

i will forever be my father's daughter, and i'm proud of it. he may never realize how much he influenced me, and that's alright. sometimes, i think it's better that way, so we can still have the same broken relationship we've always had.

it makes for good writing, and even better memories.