Love and Trust

I just saw a bumper sticker that read: "Love many, Trust few.... Always row your own cannoe."

Isn't it funny when profound realizations come from the asses of carbon spewing objects?

wake down

wake down
something's changing now
my dreams are speaking for me
what I could not say out loud
and what I fear the most in life
are things that I endure
how can I be so certain
when you're still so unsure
and tonight I'll sleep between the walls
that you and I once shared
remembering the ways in which
you showed me that you cared
tomorrow I'll pick up and leave
to live beside the creek
to find the independence
and the peace of mind I seek
and I'm proud of you for all the
opportunities you've found
and hoping that you'll want to
stay with me when you're around
I know I can't hold onto you
'cause you'll be here and gone
and our love's just a detour from
the road that you are on
but just to have that moment
when you look into my eyes
and see through protective layers
that I wear for my disguise
and undernieth the callouses
a tender heart still thrives
in hopes that we'll be friends
for the remainder of our lives

precious

the life you hold is innocent
her mind is still so pure
all she has to live on
is what you will give to her
and you're yelling at her father
to be heard over the sound
of the TV that will raise her
when you can not be around
so I say a little prayer for her
that she will grow up strong
and not become the parents
who've already done her wrong



My upstairs neighbors delivered their new daughter only days ago. I can't even stand to live beneath these people, and she will have to grow up in that environment. I couldn't help thinking as I lied there trying to rest through the cacophony that is their daily routine that she ought to be experiencing the nurturing tenderness that my dog was receiving from me at the time. Instead she was surrounded by the energy of people who disrespect themselves and everyone around them for no other reason than that they lack the sensibilities to value themselves. What a way to start life.

the way it goes....

the summer air is sticky
I lie naked in my bed
I'd like to sleep, but I can't stop
the noise that's in my head
trying to make sense out of
the words that you have said
not sure that I was hungry for
the things that I've been fed

our bodies were electrical
and everything seemed right
I started to feel skeptical
when you changed over night
now thoughts that once brought warmth to me
cause shivers deep inside
you said you didn't play these games
it seems now that you lied

and because I never knew you
I'm not sure who I miss
or how you faked the passion
that I felt there in your kiss
your gentle eyes seem hardened now
they've turned from blue to gray
and when I tried to read them
they just turned and looked away

and comfort was a side effect
that wasn't meant to be
and you were looking outside
when I thought you saw inside of me
and silence is the answer
to every qustion that I ask
'cause where I saw a future
there was nothing but the past

and I know this feeling's common
but it never hurts the same
every lover is unique
in how they cause you pain
and I always seem to fall behind
so now I'll leave the race
there's no chance left at winning
and no hope of saving face

but loneliness is something
that I'll just need to embrace
'cause I've so much potential
that I wouldn't want to waste
and if you haven't seen it then
I guess that you're just blind
and wishing that you cared for me
is just a waste of time

so here I'm moving forward
trying not to look behind
purging all the toxic thoughts
poisoning my mind
and sighing deep will help release
the heaviness I've felt
I'll try to make a winning hand
from what cards I've been dealt

and I hope that you'll find happiness
in all the things you choose
with nothing to hold onto
you've got nothing to lose
and you don't have to worry 'bout
anybodies thoughts
on all the things that make you you
and all the things that you are not

and I saw something worthy
but the way that you behaved
makes me see you don't deserve me
and it seems to me a shame
'cause there were good times to be had
that we will never know
and though it kinda makes me sad
I guess that's just the way it goes.





The above poem was written late last night/early this morning. Upon further reflection I have to say that honestly I have brought all my suffering upon myself. I have hurt people in my life and acted selfishly and betrayed trust. When I write poems like these and endulge in self pitty I am just playing the victum while avoiding my own responsibility for my loneliness. Yes, there are times when I can no longer distract my observational skills from turning inward, and I don't always like what I see in there. It reminds me of a poem I wrote about a year ago when this whole cycle was originally set into motion:


the universe is a poet
our lives are it's words
the beauty we put into it
is given in return
and the hurt that we cause others
we inflict upon ourselves
the wrongs that have been done to us
we've done to someone else
it's not exactly karma
it's poetic irony
a cosmic sense of humor
manipulating energy

Missionary

Hello missionary
come and sell your god to me
I can't seem to think for myself
perhaps you'll help me see
you know that I need saving
'cause I live in poverty
I'll purchase your compassion
at the price of my belief

I've come to share my words with you
because I speak the truth
mine is the only way to see
this book I hold is prood
relief might not come in your life
but I promise when you die
you'll float up to some paradise
way up in the sky

maybe I'll save you instead
you have so much to learn
we're a peaceful people
we're just living from the earth
we're living from the earth
we're worshiping the earth
for what it's worth

the children are so hungry
this mother's heart's in sorrow
you say I must have faith today
for what will come tomorrow
we're grateful for your charity
what happens when you're gone
prayers just aren't enough to eat
how can we carry on

Gods ways are a mystery
and yes it's quite a riddle
why I've been blessed so very much
and you've been blessed so little
be careful though, he's watching you
and if you don't obey
he'll damn you to eternal hell
upon your final judgment day

maybe I'll save you instead
you have so much to learn
we're a peaceful people
we're just living from the earth
we're living from the earth
we're worshiping the earth
for what it's worth

out of the pink

I should have held a little back
but of course I laid it out
I thought that this was different
but inside I had my doubts
as much as I've been through this
you'd think that I'd have learned
that when you play with fire
there's a good chance to get burned
and jaded is the feeling
when after while you find
that pessimistic voices
speak truth most of the time
and give and take's one sided
if you're not willing to give
and getting nothing in return
is just no way to live
so I'll pick up right where I left off
as if you never were
and try harder to protect myself
to keep from getting hurt

suicide bomber

his victums call him coward
but he died for his belief
we count our dead, ignoring theirs
as if they don't feel grief
and the bombs that kill their children
we say spread democracy
and eye for an eye
will leave the world blind
unless we choose to see
the cost in lives per gallon
for our flashy SUV's
we have to change the way we live
in order to make peace

but no one wants to hear the truth
and so we dance around it
by ignoring what is obvious
the problems are compounded
but when everybody's high
on this patriotic pride
there's nothing we need more
than to be gounded
every person's blood is red
and every culture moarns their dead
we won't know what we've lost
untill we've found it.

on the way...

"CAR WASH"
a youthful voice raised to it upper most heights yelled out over the noise of traffic.
I was on my way here to the internet cafe' to do some writing. As my dog and I approached her, I read the words on her flourecent green sighn, and they said: "Help us raise money for Mexico."
"Are you actually raising money to give to poor people in Mexico?" I asked her.
"No, we're going on a mission to mexico, and some people still need money to get there."
"Oh," I said, " So, what are you preaching?"
She looked confused, and almost hesitated before answering "Christianity" in a voice that implied "duh."
"huh," I shook my head and walked away.
Her head and her sighn both seemed to lower, and I didn't hear her voice yelling "CAR WASH" behind me.
What can I say.....
I guess when you believe there is only one answer, you don't like being questioned.

fragile

there's something in your eyes right now
that makes me think you'll see
the things that other people don't
those hidden parts of me
and I want to touch your body
just to feel your warmth within
let go of what has ended
to allow this to begin
but new things are so fragile
and I worry it might break
and things that seem so genuine
could turn out to be fake
I guess that I'm just frightened
because I've believed before
that someone would be there for me
but he's not here no more
and I know I shouldn't think this way
but sometimes it's just hard
outside I might be smooth and soft
but inside I am scarred

fragments

there's no return to innocence
you can't unlearn the things you know
where does one run for shelter
when the storms rage from below
and I'm sorting through the memories
of moments that are gone
weighed down by all the heavy things
that I keep holding on
and he's like a ghost whose eyes I can see
staring intently directly through me
and the silence is an echo
and I wonder if he knows
how it feels from this perspective
or why he chose the things he chose
and words are lost when weariness
creeps into my bones
and circles come around again
because they long to close.

going south

water reflects the mood of the sky
but this time the gray doesn't match what's inside
'cause I feel like summer despite the cold breeze
'cause I'm going south where the music will be
have a new friend and I'm liking his vibe
he's going south, I'm along for the ride
and the sun will remember how I glow in its rays
and I'll be in motion for the next several days
and I think I'll forget all the things that cause worry
I'm in with the flow and in no kind of hurry
the company's good, and the view from the road
and new things to see that I've never been shown
I'm heading down south and it makes me feel free
and I'm closer to the person that lives inside of me
I'll let my feet walk barefoot, and let my skin touch air
I'll let my smile find my eyes, and take the ties out of my hair
and maybe I'll reveal the things that I don't often share
as we're rolling along to the beat of a song
all for the sake of just going somewhere.

So I wrote that piece on my way to the coffee shop to meet my new friend Mr. Pink and take off to California for a couple days. Pink works with the band Maktub (http://www.maktub.com/) who was playing a couple shows at the High Sierra Music Festival in Quincy California. Pink and I have been working on our own musical project and his keen sensitivities told him that I could use the escape, so he invited me along. I am very happy that he did because it was a great experience on multiple levels. First of all, I very much enjoyed getting to know him better because he is truly a beautiful person. I also got to experience what it's like to be on the other side of the fence. As part of the bands entourage I was given a backstage pass in the form of a blue bracelet. It almost felt like a power band at times allowing me to avoid the crowds, and most importantly the porta-potties. There were food and beverages available, and even the opportunity for free massage. I have to say that I was happy to have no reason to partake of the massage because Mr. Pink is quite the masseur himself:)
Attending a festival in this way was quite interesting. Being separate from the regular concert goers helped me to see it from a different perspective. Over the past several years I have attended quite a few of these gatherings, and was increasingly finding myself uncomfortable with something I couldn't put my finger on. You see, there are people who make a life style out of going from one festival to another all wrapped up in tie-dyed sarongs selling ganja cookies on shake-down street. There was a time in my life when I thought this was freedom. But behind the fence that separated the artists from the fans was yet another fence, and on the other side of that fence was a timber yard. As I stood there with sweaty hippies dancing to my right, and a grave yard for murdered trees on my left, I couldn't help feeling like these people were missing the point. It was interesting to watch them as they kept their eyes from wandering over to the inevitable buzz-kill of the dead trees. And while they ate mushrooms and payed homage to the earth, there was one lonely bearded man standing in a pile of garbage trying to sort out the recyclables.

Thank you bearded guy.

-Jillian

then what happened?

For those of you who are fans of foxfire, I'll simply pick up where he left off. If you have no idea what I'm talking about then checkout http://www.livejournal.com/users/foxfire/.

So, after observing another writer observing the characters in the room, I gave him my blog address, said good-night to everyone and headed home to walk my dog. Moments later I found myself colliding with a honda full of teenage boys. The driver had failed to yeild to on-coming traffic while making a left turn. I was entering the intersection when he turned right in front of me. My foot slammed onto the breaks, and my hand onto the horn, but there was no time to stop. The driver froze like a deer in headlights, and three young faces stared right at me as my car slammed into them. It happened so fast, and yet time seemed to slow. My body tensed as I prepared myself for the inevitable impact which was only confirmed by the thunderous crashing of metal and plastic that followed.
The driver got out of his car and ran over to me to see if I was alright. I felt really irritated. I didn't want to get out of my car. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to see his little brother and their friend stumble out of the car in their movie theatre uniforms looking shocked and drowsy. I just wanted to go back in time and decide to leave a few moments earlier or later to avoid the collision. I looked at the other driver. He looked to be about 17 years old. He was asian, and wore a wooden cross around his neck. He wanted to do the right thing, but he was scared. He asked if he should call the police and said yes. The police told him that if nobody was injured we should just exchange information and go on our ways. I felt incredibly uncomfortable at this suggestion and insisted that he call the police back and request a police report.
It took about an hour for the police man to arrive. In that time I sat in my car, which I had moved out of the intersection and into a nearby parking lot, and watched the young driver stare straight forward, then alternately straight at me. I could tell what he was thinking was something along the lines of "my parents are going to be so pissed..." and "I hope that girl is alright." I honestly felt for him, but was begining to feel for myself. My neck started aching and my whole body was kind of tense and shaky. The initial shock was begining to wear off, and I felt very tired. I just wanted to go home and go to sleep, but I kept waiting.
The wait was excruciating for another reason. I realized that I didn't really have anybody to call.... nobody to come be with me in this moment where the speed at which everything can change had been demonstrated to me, albeit relatively harmlessly. I made several phone calls, but nobody was answering. At last I decided to call my friend Erik in New York.
Erik and I had only met in person twice, but had gotten to know eachother long-distance through many late-night phone conversations. A few months or so ago, I helped talk him out of reinlisting in the military which would have innevitably sent him back to the war that had already claimed several chunks of his neck and chest and perhaps a more sizable chunk of his sanity (not to mention several friends). Since then we had been discussing the possibility of my paying him a visit in New York. He finaly finished his military duty and got a place about twenty miles outside of Manhattan and had started working as a wage slave in some shitty job and making music with his old guitar player from his old project "isolate".
Erik seemed concerned and asked me to call him back when the police interaction was over to let him know how it had gone. I waited till I got home and called him back. It was getting pretty late at this point, but my mind was reeling. There was no way I could have slept, so we talked for hours. We talked about what we would do when I came to visit.... the things I'd like to see, and the places he'd like to show me. We talked about collaborating musicly, and getting some video footage for a documentary project we had discussed previously. As the night wore on, and we imagined spending four days in one anothers company, the conversation became more intimate. Before long I moved into my bedroom and laid down in the dark to continue the conversation. As it started to turn erotic, I noticed my cell battery was dying. I told him I'd call him back when it had charged a bit. By the time it did, we had both gotten ourselves rather worked up. The conversation elevated to.. lets say... steamy, and the battery died again. It went on like this for some time till we had both achieved release. It seemed to be just what I needed to come down from the adreneline buzz from the accident. I went to sleep at last.
The next morning Erik called and woke me up to tell me that he no longer wanted me to come and visit him in New York. I was half asleep and didn't really understand the sudden change, but he uttered something incoherant about my previous relationships with two of his friends. His tone was accusatory, and I suddenly got the feeling that he was a man who was incapable of respecting a woman who is expressive of her sexuality. In this morning after haze, my body was begining to feel the effects of the accident, and I was feeling the sting of betrayal from the one friend I had who was there for me when I had needed him the night before.
I groaned and called my workplace to inform them that I had been in an accident and would be taking the day off to see a doctor.

Physics

poets and profits
mad men and kings
speak truth from their wisdom
of little known things
from pages to pulpits
on corners of streets
portraiting to others
the things that they see

my friend we have risen
and now is the time
the poetry's rich
and the madness divine
we'll move the world forward
an inch at a time
change is as easy
as changing your mind

when feet walk on ground
that is soiled with blood
a moment to reflect upon
the people we have loved
we're fighting every battle
never knowing what it's for
taking from an others flesh
the holy sacrament of war

Parking lots house oil spills
that drain into the sea
and no one wants to feel the weight
of their responsibility
all our heads are spinning
like the earth around it's axis
and all our drinking water
has become radioactive....
and blood it stains the hands
of the ones who remain passive
it's time for equal opposites
to rise to the reaction

disposable heart

I know someday you'll realize
just what you threw away
the passion that I loved you with
will be expressed some other way
and you'll wake to find
that you miss the time
you spent inside my heart
'cause when you were here
you were governed by fear
and now our time is spent apart

garbage

A year ago, two friends of mine went to India to film a documentary about eco-travel, and the people of Ladakh called "Living Ladakh." Their lifestyle is one of profound simplicity and compassion. One of the most impressive things is that until westerners made Ladakh a destination, the people who live there had no concept of "garbage." Everything they use in their daily lives is made from the resources provided by the world around them, and when items have outlived their usefulness, they are transformed again to serve other purposes.

Yesterday I went to the drug-store and bought some acid-reducers for my sour stomach. The pills came inside a bottle which came inside a small box which was neatly secured inside another box that was big enough to have fit two bottles. When I finally got to the bottle itself, it was stuffed half full of cotton because the actual capacity of the bottle was nearly 4x the size it needed to be to hold the amount of medicine contained within it. I threw the excess packaging in the recycle bin and tried not to think about it.

But I can't help thinking about it. There is something so pure and beautiful about living a life free of wastefulness, and yet as an american consumer, I have found it is nearly impossible. In fact our lives are wasteful from their very beginings. We wear disposable diapers, and disposable bibs and drink from disposable bottles. Every birthday and Christmas, our relatives shower us with plastic toys (likely made by other children in sweatshops) incased in protective plastic bubbles and cardboard boxes and wrapped with decorative paper. As children, we pout when our mothers tell us to take out the garbage, but we don't often consider that it is possible to live a life that is free of garbage.

Yes, it is possible. However, unlike the people of Ladakh who sheer the yak when they need wool, and dig in the ground when they need clay, and use the broken pieces of things to make art, we here in the west have no relationship with the materials we use. We do not think about the tree that died to make the cardboard box, or the laborer who picked the cotton, or the wars being fought to get the petrolium to make the plastic bubble. We don't think about the energy that fueled the factory that made the packaging, or the garbage man who will carry it away to sit in a hole in the ground.

In fact, in this disposable culture, we don't just treat objects like trash. The people who make and distribute and sell the products are treated as expendable human capital. Even the people who consume the products are often disregarded. Manufacturers seem to have no qualms at all about poisoning the people they serve with preservatives and pesticides and toxins. They do what they can to keep the prices up so that only the elite can afford to pay, and when folks get together to call them out for all their exploitations, they say they are unpatriotic. Perhaps they are, but it's difficult to have pride in a country whose war veterans stand on street corners begging for change.

And what about love. How does one approach the sacred act of loving another in a disposable culture. Well, It seems these days, people throw vows around like paper air-planes, and forget them when they become inconvienient. Even the purest of sentiments are often met with brutal distrust. Families split like dry wood at the first sign of difficulty, and children are tossed out to fend for themselves before they know how.

Someone once called me white trash, and I thought.... You know, they're right. I am trash. I have been used up, thrown out, trampled on and disregarded more times than I would like to count. But now.... now I think about the people of Ladakh. In their culture, what would otherwise become garbage is seen for it's beauty and inherant value and transformed into art. I may be broken, but I'm not trash. From now on I will visualize the shattered fragments of the person that I was reforming into the beautiful mosaic of the person I am becoming and remember... nothing is disposable.

choices....

The other night I stayed at work late to help a group of Somoan Christians schedule the classes they needed to take to spread the word of god by way of public access television. They were greatful to me for staying, and said to me: "may god bless you with many children."
"Please take that back." I said. I was given a very peculiar look, so I decided to clarify..."I don't want children." The man who had offered the blessing looked at me like I was the devil and, disgusted, said "that's a horrible thing to say."

A year ago, I was staring down the barrel of the whole marriage and kids thing. I thought about my goals, my personality, my desires, my ethics.... and I made a choice. This is not what I want to do with my life. Since then I have heard time and time again that the timing just wasn't right... that if I met the right person I'd change my mind. I have one friend who just refuses to accept this choice, waving me off every time I try to tell her I'm serious. When I went to her second baby shower a couple weeks ago, I realized that she will never respect my choice, and unfortunately, that leaves us with little to relate to one another about.

Commenting on how well I take care of my dog, my apartment manager tells me: "you'll make a great mother some day." Again I said "no thanks" and was met with the ol' "that will change" response. Yes I recognize that as I approach my thirties, my body will increasingly send maternal messages to my brain. I see this as nothing more than chemical propaganda. Isn't our ability to over-ride our instincts with logical thought processes the thing that distinguishes us from other animals? I mean.... if I listened to my hormones every time they told me to do something, I'd fuck every hot guy I ever met, and rip into every unfortunate soul who irritated me when I was PMSing. It's not like I am exempt from maternal feelings. I have just found that the best way for me to vent my need for taking care of something is to be a good pet-owner, and a nurturing friend to the ones I love.

So if I were to listen to others, I might come to believe that I am a horribly selfish person with no ability to discern for myself what I want out of my existance. Nobody seems to recognize the selfishness that goes into the decision of bringing new consumers into an overpopulated world for the sake of seeing their genetics all mixed together with their partners when there are millions of unwanted children in need of loving families. Am I selfish because I want to use the life I was given to realize the extent of MY human potential instead of hanging all my hopes and dreams on some smaller version of myself? Yes, I know what it is to love somebody, and the desire to use that love to create something that comes from both of us. Still, when I look at the man I love I don't dream of what our children would look like. Instead, I dream of the music and art we could create together, and look to the inspiration we give one another as the product of our love.

At this time, three of my closest friends are pregnant.
I'm not only expected to respect their choices, but honor them and shower them with gifts and offerings of support. Of course I respect and support them, but I'm tired of feeling like it's asking too much to have that same respect and support in return. I don't want to discount the societal contribution made by good parenting, but I don't think that people should be honored simply because they have done what anybody can do. Almost anybody can have a child. It's not a big accomplishment people. I could go out tonight and get knocked up and eight months from now have a big party so that all my friends can buy me stuff. I'm not saying it's easy... but neither is facing the responsibility I have to be true to myself despite the fact that most of society still seems to feel that a womans life is worthless if she hasn't given birth.

To those who have made the choice to have children of their own:
I respect your decision, and hope that you will aspire to be the best possible parents you can be. But please, respect my choice to live my life as an independant child-free woman, and recognize that my artistic creations are just as presious to me as your little bundles of joy are to you. I needed to write this because I'm tired of sitting by passively as others disregard the contribution I have to make to the world simply because I have refused to adhere to this particular expectation. I hope you are not all pissed off at me now, but if you are, you need to recognize that that too is your choice.

you know who you are....

I’m not your Jesus Christ
I’m not your sanctuary
I’m not your little vice
I’m not the girl you’ll marry
I’m just passing you by
on my way to the world
don’t think of me and cry
I’m not that kind of girl

I don’t need your respect
I’ve got my own going
I’ve nothing to protect
I don’t need anything
and when you walk away
just know I’m not watching
there’s nothing left to say
no need for talking to you

I’m not your little girl
I’m not your fantasy
you called me out tonight
just to be seen with me
I’m walking down the line
that separates you from me
you tell me every time
I seem so out of reach

these are the days

these are the days
when I stare at the ground
my head feeling heavy
I wonder around
the town that he left
to find something else
the things that I’m feeling
I never have felt
so I sit where I’m standing
to take it all in
pulled down by the earth’s
gravitational spin
and time’s running out
but it’s all that there is
filling in spaces
that used to be his

The Parade

mourning
grieving
laughing
leaving
crying
waiting
loving
hating
thinking
feeling
wounded
healing
caged
freed
want
need
silence
noise
sorrows
joys
shallow
deep
awake
asleep
jaded
frayed
broken
made
lost
found
free
bound
poor
wealthy
sick
healthy
tension
breath
life
death

aint that just the way it goes.....

The totality of my phisiological and emotional experience over the past week of my life has left my energy depleted and my mind reeling. The ugliest parts of my nature have been exposed for all to see, and the beautiful parts of myself have grown weary of believing in unlikely fantasies. I've realized that my existence in this world is the product of good intentions, followed by exhaustion and lack of follow-through. But the past is behind me, and the future is uncertain. Here and now, I must take a vow to never let myself down just because others have.

When I get home there will be 16 paws pacing....waiting for me to serve them. There will be silence. There will be no sound of keys in the door. There will be no touch... no conversation... no companion. There is just me, my animals, and my story.
I'm not certain I'm ready for this.

With the new moon, everything I've held onto for the last year of my life disappeared. It is now my turn to fill the emptiness in my own heart with the raw materials of my human potential, and recognize that when things come to an end, they make room for new things to begin. But don't let all this positive thinking fool you. I'm at work past my shift because I don't want to go home. I'm contemplating going out to get drunk. I'm just not ready to face the silence yet.

I miss you blue.