Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Please don't entertain me, Mr. Intentional

Night: in the MIDDLE

My arm is sore from reaching.
The dusty air grazing my fingertips nears satiation.
Connect skin to my end and remove me from my created emptiness.
I sit staring at you.
We're face to face.
Causing my limbs extension to go beyond your frame.
All the while, I knew this.
This is my connection.
In need of HELP and never asking--arm outstretched.
My shadow is upon you, but I don't think you can see me.
There it is again.
There I am again.
The answer to my misery.
And the end to my struggle with invisible existence.
I enjoy closing doors,
Denying the quiet evidence in exchange for regurgitated gifts.
I know how to create my own majesty.
Right now, I refuse to.
Faster, faster.
Right now, I think I'm ready.
But stop looking at me.
I mimic your way--open eyes, yet sleeping posture.
I continue to sit.
Waiting for the alarm,
And willing to forego my freedom.



Mr. Intentional - Lauryn Hill

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Dante's Playlist

I like to think I'm a stone babe. Mos Def recommends.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Late Film @ BAM



A.O. Scott's intriguing article for the Sunday Times, two weeks ago.
Late Film, work during what is perceived as an auteur's "winter of creativity."

I was dying to catch Bergman's After the Rehearsal, but none of the show times worked with my schedule. I think I may see, Red Line 7000 or Helen Mirren's debut flick, Age of Consent.

Fare-ness

When I moved to New York, the cost of a subway token was $1.50. At the time, I lived in student housing at the St. George hotel in Brooklyn Heights. Marymount was on the Upper East side, so unless we biked or wanted to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge everyday, we had to take the subway. I did see few on foot at times, mostly because they'd run out of money--a $63 Metrocard was a lot for even the most responsible 18 year old. At the beginning of my freshman year, I shared my Metrocard with a dancer who had early morning ballet class. We lived on the same floor and when he would pass my room on his way to the elevator, I would have it wedged into the door frame. When he returned from his 8AM class, he would return the card to it's spot in the door, and I would retrieve it for my mid afternoon Communications classes. His day was over and mine was just beginning.

In the 2006, the fare increased by fifty cents. I was living in Astoria by then, and was floored by the new two dollar fare. It was a terrible monopoly because we all need the train--for work and daily life. Little could be done to dispute it, and the reality is, not a lot of people have the time or information to dispute these things. My complaints subsided when I started using Transitcheck through my teaching organization.

Since the beginning of 2009, the MTA has hinted/threatened New Yorkers with another fare increase of 50 cents and service cuts. The W and Z trains will be eliminated. Construction on the 2nd Ave. subway is underway, but that will not be complete until 2011. Lately, there has been talk of the city of Albany somehow stepping in with funding an "MTA bailout", and the fare only raising to $2.25.

I rarely lose sight of my drive due to infrastructure, but this has been incredibly disheartening. I feel disturbed that my money is being so blatantly pilfered, leaving New Yorkers to being treated with no regard. I know that I will notice a change in my monthly spending and income, but it will be minor. I cannot having to deal with this with a family. It's like a tax on families.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

newnewnewnewnew

Night: in the MIDDLE

My arm is sore from reaching.
The dusty air that grazes my fingertips nears satiation.
Connect skin to my end and remove me from the emptiness I've created.
I sit staring at you, we're face to face.
Causing my limbs extension to go beyond your frame.
All the while, I knew this.
It is the only thing I'm connected to.
In need of HELP and never asking--arm outstretched.
I shadow you, but I don't think you can see me.
There it is again.
There I am again.
The answer to my misery.
My struggle with invisible existence.
Denying the quiet evidence in exchange for regurgitated gifts.
I know how to create my own majesty.
Currently I refuse to.
Faster, faster.
Right now, I think I'm ready.
But stop looking at me.
I mimic your way--open eyes, yet sleeping posture--
and I continue to sit.
Foolishly waiting for my wake up call,
Willing to forego my freedom.

Klingon outcry




An excerpt from Sharla's Watermill residency on NPR.