Displacement and TIbet, dreamspell and the Maya.

I was in the doctor's office last week, and I saw that National Geographic has yet another article on the Maya. Got to go buy it! When I was eighteen years old, during the summer after I graduated from high school, I went with my boyfriend to Oaxaca, Mexico. He had been to this region a few months before, but he was overjoyed to go again and spoke of all the spirituality and the Federales. Some may know that there has been a lot of social protest going on in Oaxaca and Chiapas very recently. This is Maya country. When I was there, I saw very small people who lived off the land and were quite shy. In the New York Times magazine from July 7th this year there is an article on the Mayan predictions for December 21, 2012. I am wondering how many people will, by 2012, be cognizant of the Aztec/Mayan calendar and its call for CHANGE.

Meanwhile, back to the discussion of displacement. This year I have had the good fortune to become friends with some Tibetan people who are quite special. One of the women lived in a cave for over 10 years, came out, got married and had seven children. She is a yogini of incredible intent and serenity.

Like Palestine, Tibet has been wiped off the map. I would appreciate anyone teaching me about the plight of other groups of people who have become displaced. My knowledge of the African struggle is limited to that in this country. I watched a C-Span (yes!?) 2 Book Review show the other night. It depicted a Harlem panel discussion with audience participation about the nature of the African-American struggle for human rights in this country. The panel and the audience had mixed reviews of rap and the larger media in this country. Marshall McLuhan was a rare genius.

Naji al-Ali and finding a place.

I saw in the BBC News a small article on what's "In Pictures." The article concerned the work of the Palestinian "cartoonist" Naji al-Ali. If I could put the link in here, I would. Al-Ali was "gundowned on a London street..." in August of 1987. The killer was not found. It is my belief that the Palestinian struggle is much like that of all human beings in their need to have a place, to be in a safe and healthy place that they can afford and that is of their choosing. Naji al-Ali was ten when the state of Israel was created and he became a refugee. His drawings feature a child, about 9 or ten, seen from the back as the figure is looking, and shoeless. The BBC also showed a current graffiti piece from the wall which divides the Israeli side of the West Bank from the Palestinian on the other side of the divide. The figure is peeing a huge arc-full toward the other side.

Just last week I saw a bumper sticker that read: "Don't be a dick." To bitch means to yell or complain excessively. What does being a "dick" really mean? Does it mean being greedy? Does it mean being mean? Does it mean being insensitive and awkward? Does it mean taking someone else's right to a home?

Now those who remember that I'm looking for a new home due to the landlord's greed and harassment-issues, might think, how can this bitch equate the major problem facing the people on earth with her own stupid, trivial life? How? Because I can. And you can be a dick any time you want to. Someone can put a bumper sticker or some other message out to the public to read, but that doesn't mean that you have to do it. That's because no one kills you if you're a dick.

Bro Jud on Love Energy and AZUCAR AMARGA

We taped The Bro Jud on Love Energy Show this past Wednesday night. Jud used to wear a 4" leather peace sign on a long black string. For the past two or three years, he's been sporting a wool-tweed oversized sportcoat and some sort of collared shirt. I don't think he picks out these clothes. But then he's been so full of corporate language for quite some time. "Multi-tasking" is keeping him feeling young, he says. That's good for him. But it's a drag when one person has to the work of more than one person in the name of "multi-tasking." Whatever happened to doing one thing really well? What happened to the land of the expert?

Meanwhile, I haven't mentioned a film in a while. Since having seen MEMORIES OF UNDERDEVELOPMENT in my film history class, I've had a real interest in Cuban film. AZUCAR AMARGA (Bitter Sugar) is a "true" story of two lovers in their twenties who become conflicted by their situations and desires in a country where learning and accomplishment are somewhat rewarded but in which (inescapably???? ...the nature of the relationship between male and female?) "money changes everything." He is a scholar and is told that he will be sent to study in Prague. She spends her time meeting men of money in the hotels where most Cubans are banned. This is an actual recount of people who lived, let's remember.

I was not surprised that the women in this film were not educated. The date, though, of AZUCAR AMARGA is 1995 or so. This doesn't seem long ago to me, but my notion of time is built upon the separation from my punk life in the Mission to my entering the world of Monday through Friday work--full-time. Dull, I know. Several relationships are in there, of course.

But now back to the film. There is no country on the planet that discusses life decisions in terms of Socialism like Cuba. AZUCAR AMARGA is full of doubt about the success of socialism in Cuba, yet everyone agrees that Socialism is conceptually sound. The problem I had with the film is the seeming fact that few people have a "spiritual" life there. Decisions are made along ideological--or rather social concerns--rather than along metaphysical ones.

SICKO

Sooner or later a Michael Moore documentary will really cause the change we are all begging for. In a very humble way in his new film SICKO, he shows how his work caused one hospital to decide to give a child soon-to-become deaf the cochlear implant for the OTHER ear, TOO. He draws on the past (mainly through old Hollywood footage and nineteen- forty-ish cartoons) because it has created the present.

BUT not only in the United States of America--this time. He follows the healthcare industry and its history from the post-WWII era in the U.S., Canada, France and England (we're hoping its true for all of Great Britain--even Northern Ireland) and Cuba to this year! The National Health System in England is portrayed as a really well-run, fair, just institution. The same is true of health care systems in France and Canada. Behind Canada and England's national healthcare philosophies are individuals who somehow elicited the natural human emotion of empathy in creating a just healthcare program. France is a place where the state fears the power of the individual. Demonstrations are shown in France to present this point.

Americans live in fear; there is no doubt about this. People, in general, don't like "demonstrators." Those of us who walked all throughout the spring and fall 2003 against the invasion of Iraq did it because we meant it. We still mean it. What happened?

The search continues.

Once in a while, stereotypes get revisited, even amidst the glimmer of hope that change is possible. Yesterday I looked at a place on 24 Street. This is like the Upper West Side--without all the great places to see performances, etc. I suppose it really has nothing to do with the Upper West Side. In fact, San Francisco and New York have very little in common except for the fact that they both have huge parks in the center of the city. After all, there is only one Haight Street.

Meanwhile, what I'm trying to convey, is that this street and surrounding area appeal to a person of a certain monetary income and of a certain taste category. In other words, they fall into a stereotype. In my own way, I fall into a stereotype, but I'm not sure what it is. Am I a Haight (lower or upper) Street type? Am I a Mission type? The telling question is, Am I a Noe Valley type? I've never lived in this neighborhood before, but I have lived in the others more than a few times.

To get to the point: in viewing the apartment on 24 Street, I was attending an "open house," in which all contenders for the same place could be seen. Everybody looked more American than me. Everyone looked like they have more money than I do. All of them looked like opium was only a fragrance.

Today I called the owner of the property. He was nice to me. I am a karma-dharma kind of person in that I teach for the school district...and my students are the specially "impaired" kind. In the end, however, he revealed that he had offered the place to someone else and was awaiting their decision. I thought, "I knew it was going to be Mr. and Mrs. America who would get the place!"

If anyone wants to vote on whether my attitude is defeatist or realistic, let me know.

Greed and harassment, in all its forms.

I have been living in San Francisco, California, USA, for many, many, many years. The reason why I first moved here was because it was very affordable and artistically stimulating. In 1985, I was able to live on $400/month, rent included. My main occupation was painter and musician, i.e., artist. I worked at a European-style cafe next to the warehouse I was sharing with five other housemates. We had an immense garage, music room with a piano and various instruments, painting spaces, a large sun room, a tv room, two bathrooms, etc. My total rent was $110./month.

By 1990, five years later, my then boyfriend and I found a place in the Mission (this is where the warehouse was, too) for $675./month, one bedroom Edwardian apartment. Four years later, in 1994, he and I moved to Bernal Heights and paid $850./month for a two bedroom house with a backyard, garage, etc. I had two huge closets in my room!

In summer of 2003, over nine years later, the landlord informed me that he was selling the house. By that time my boyfriend and I had long since moved out. The landlord didn't even give me the option of trying to buy the house. I moved to Berkeley, thinking that rents would be cheaper. I lived in a crack neighborhood off of Sixth Street and was constantly being harassed by tenants in my building and having my car windows bashed in and stereo ripped off. I had signed a six-month lease, fortunately, and tried to move with my two cats in December of 2003. No rooms in San Francisco accepted cats--or, at least two of them. I was forced to take an 8'x9' room in a boarding house situation back in Bernal Heights.

No formal papers were signed. The landlord said he was considered a roommate (even though there were no rooms available to him in the house and he in fact did not live there). Because I had to keep my babies, I decided that I would accept this place. It is now 2007, so I've lived in this place for 3 and 1/2 years. During this time, one of my cats died of old age (she was 17, named after rocker Lita Ford!). The other cat died prematurely this past January ( he was only 9 years-old).

I find myself in a situation in which I could possibly find a better place, but there are so far so many places that are extremely expensive that I don't know what to do. Today one of my housemates and I looked at places. The biggest one, and one which is in the Mission, was $2750./month for three bedrooms. The bathroom was the 4'X3'. The landlord wanted first month's rent plus two months' deposit. Although the place had high ceilings and nice floors, it was completely overpriced. The most depressing, saddening place we saw was back in Bernal Heights. The landlord wanted close to $3000./month for a "three" bedroom house that the elderly woman who greeted us at the door had been living in most of her life. The rooms were tiny. There were bars on the front windows ( I suppose since this woman had been living there a long, long time, she lived there when Bernal was a "bad" neighborhood and therefore still kept that idea in her head).

So many people have moved to San Francisco with tons of dollars that landlords are taking advantage of the fact. Areas of the Mission that were severely dangerous are full of people in designer clothes and cars eating and drinking in the chic neighborhood restaurants. One of the teachers where I work told me that she lived in what is definitely considered a dangerous neighborhood: outer Ocean View. I'd wondered how she could live there. What choices does one have to make? Live in a "safe" neighborhood like Bernal but with a landlord who harasses his tenants (particularly me because I moved my musical equipment up from the garage and put in the "common space") or move to crack neighborhood again and be harassed by neighbors!!!!

What is this all about: greed, harassment, i.e., non-community living but instead a city where "money changes everything."

STIFF UPPER LIPS and more on Amma...

Usually I like British comedy. The film STIFF UPPER LIPS was featured in the British secion of the video store. Although an inventive film, it needed something for women to have even more fun with. The plot revolves around 22-year-old Emily whose aunt wants to have married as soon as possible. Emily is limited to the men in her world: the bushy-eyebrowed vicar, her idiot brother, her brother's Homer-quoting Cambridge friend, and the hunky stableman--turned butler--George. None of these men is within her age range. George is at least 15 years older than she is. Somehow the comedy of classes would have been enhanced by some eye candy for the female viewer. There were some good laughs in the film, though, and I love Peter Ustinov...it must have been made in the 1990's sometime.

Last night was the ashram. I took up all these women who has never seen Amma before. In fact, I feel my seva during this time that Amma has been here has been to transport and help individuals to see Amma. I could tell that Amma was happy with me for bringing my Tibetan friend and some other new women. I promise myself to meditate now and from now on. When I see Amma again, I want to be in closer communication. Last night was very magical, but I hardly saw anyone I know. Actually, every day that I went to the ashram had been very uneventful and yet very calm and peaceful.

What a way to end the teaching period--seeing Amma!

Quelle liberation!!! Out of the nine years that I have been teaching children with "severe impairments," ages 5 to 8-years-old, the past 2006-2007 school year has been the most maddening of them all.

The first two years were easy: the teacher in the room next to mine taught SI kids, ages 9-12-years-old. She and I would go to lunch at the local Chinese restaurant every day and talk about how difficult our assistants, otherwise known as "paras" were. To be honest, mine were more agreeable than hers, so I could really lend a sympathetic ear. She left to go teach at a private school.

The next five years after that there was a teacher in the next room who from the first day of her employment at the school treated me like I had number two all over my face. Every day for close to five years she would treat me with such disrespect that it was only Psychic Horizons which helped me ground and keep my space because she kept trying to whack me out of it.

Then, for the past three years there has been a teacher next door who sees the teaching of the kids in a very similar way to me and treats me with respect and kindness. This has been a blessing. However, both of us have had to deal with paras who hate us and challenging student configurations. Although both of us have the desire to heal and help, we have found stumbling blocks and boundary violations along the way. Today, the last day of class for the children, we both gave each other a hug for making it through.

What was most interesting today was that I dressed to go see Amma and went down the street to the bank. A young black woman came out of the chic Italian wine bar and told me she liked my attire. I recognized her from a special branch of SFUSD that we both were participants in this semester. She couldn't believe I remembered her. How could I forget? She is very intelligent, witty and caring--and probably in her mid to late twenties. I wish I had been that together at her age!!!! We talked on about teaching and all that--best not to get really into it. Then I went to the store, and I met another woman who also works as an SFUSD teacher! I forgot my groceries. She came out of the store and mentioned that I might be celebrating a bit too early!!!

Meanwhile, the highlight of the day was going to the ashram in San Ramon to see Amma. For the past couple of years I've kind of taken Amma for granted. Tonight I was in complete gratitude mode. How fortunate we are to have a human being like Amma around twice a year!!! The evening was spent in meditation, singing, talking with friends, old and new. I enjoyed speaking with an Indian woman who had a darling 9-year-old daughter and a son soon to go into pre-med. I hope I see her on Friday at Devi Bhava. The energy at the ashram was extremely relaxed and soothing. I ate dinner alone by the lake, listening to the crickets.

I saw Amma on Tuesday.

Please excuse the last post. I'm too tired to try to figure out how to edit a post with blogger.com. There quite a few errors in it and it had little to say.

At least now I'm going to describe my visit to see Amma on Tuesday morning this week. We arrived at 10:10 am and Amma hadn't come yet. Next minute Amma is there. The ashram is covered with devotees. I got darshan around 2:30 pm, but in the meanwhile I had a really intense meditation sitting on the floor near Amma. I like to sit there. Fortunately, the ashram was not so crowded that I could sit and meditate there.

Went to have lunch. The Indian food line was really long...not a big deal. Talked with a woman in line about her business doing energy/healing work with people with cerebral palsy. I was trying not to think of work!!!

Amma has been on my mind as well what happens at the ashram when she' there.

Last year I went to Amma's ashram in San Ramon every Saturday night for satsang. This year, I've only gone to one satsang. It was in April. Actually I could write at least a short story about all that has happened to me by me for me at me with me and etc. at Amma's ashram--especially when Amma is there.

Back in 2002 in a floatingly hot summer, I spent Devi Bhava with a very young man from Montreal with dreadlocks and a drum. We both got mantras and names that night. He uses his--abbreviatedly--now. (I said "Hi" to him at Amma's birthday satsang last September--a million years ago!!!) I don't use mine. It's too weird. I thought Amma was going to give me a name that meant "Patience" but she gave me the name Charuta. The moon is in the name somewhere, but it doesn't mean "moon." But I digress again. It's all in a name, isn't it? For me, Amma really blew me away in a way, but actually the first thought that came to me was "inner" with regard to "beauty." It has been a problem for me to look at myself on the outside.

When I think I've done some work on my inner world, I do something karmic to make everything more challenging.

This young man I met at the ashram that year and I related to one another in a more karmic way for me. I have Venus, Rahu and a very important other planet in Scorpio in the 10th house.

"Wear your love like heaven...
Alizarin crimson...
Can I believe what I see
All I have wished for could be
All our races proud and free...

THE DEVIL IN DANIEL JOHNSTON and Greetings

This was the second night I watched the film THE DEVIL IN DANIEL JOHNSTON. When I saw the MTV footage of him from about 1985 I realized that I had seen him before--on TV! Many people become famous through that medium. But I think Daniel will be more well-known for all the documentation he did on himself throughout his teens and twenties. He recorded many of his musings and made films when he was in high school. The film about him is therefore full of rich documentation of a true artist. This particular artist is one who was suffering for a long time with mental illness.

Many of us wanted to be on MTV in the eighties. Videos were on constantly, and there were many theme musical shows, one of which Daniel Johnston performed on. He was a product of a kind of Amurikana that is steeped in Christianity and the Bible. No wonder he came from the southern US of A. To me he's kind of an anthropological study of a culture that is its very own and which I, though from the suburbs of San Francisco, can appreciate.

But what's most important about Daniel's contribution to the world is his music and his visual art, paintings and drawings. His metaphors are so simple and sweet. It is no wonder that he went off his meds weeks before he would perform. And though people--his peers one of whom I am--could find some of his lyrics somewhat over the top, the sentiment is real and therefore to be accepted as such.

There is much more to be said about this artist but I would just recommend the documentary. Some may find it exploitative of the mentally ill. I see it as an appreciate of genius.

Just to digress like I usually like to, I want to say that if anyone writes me a "Hi there" I will not respond. For some reason this harmless phrase puts me off. It's an acknowledgment of personal space without the warmth of sincere greeting.

SHREK THE THIRD

Yes, good ol' Shrek. I really liked the first one. I went with some severely cognitively impaired young adults I was teaching in summer school. It was so fun. It was so new. We saw it at 11:00am at the Metreon. SHREK 2 I saw with a friend in the early evening at the Metreon. It, too was sweet. So far I've said nothing about the film that would inform the non-Shrek person.

My favorite thing about Shrek is that one of the guys who works at the local cafe wrote "Tortuga" under Shrek's picture. That made me laugh. I think tortuga is a funny word; it means turtle. A turtle, a donkey, and a cat. I love cats. It's so fitting that the cat has a Spanish accent. He's portrayed as a player in SHREK THE THIRD. In fact, the kittie is the only one who doesn't reproduce in the film. And that's the plot of SHREK THE THIRD.

I got bitten again.

As much as I like to say "Hi, doggie, doggie," to the nearest sweet French bulldog, I have always been afraid of getting bitten by a dog. The only "wild" animal, i.e., one which bites and etc., to gain entrance to the human abode, is the dog. It's odd that humans also can bite into apples and into each other.

Today was the second time this month that I have been bitten by a student. Actually, it's been the same student each time. This student is not the only one in the class who bites. I've been the lucky one to be a "human bite" recipient. I went to occupational health. They know me there. I've received alot of bites and scratches from students over the years.

My getting the bite was no one's fault. I could consider myself slow in realizing that someone intends to bite me, but I won't go there. The blame game is overdone. I'm not sure what karma has to do with it.

What does karma have to do with being "the world's tallest woman?" Where does this woman reside, you may ask. When I saw the caption on the cable menu, "World's Tallest Woman" I was drawn to it. This woman lives in China. I hope this documentary follows her, because she was just given 6 months' worth of medicine to help reduce her pituitary gland tumor. The pituitary gland controls the endocrine system, and the endocrine system controls height. The "condition" this woman has is called "giantism." She stands 7 feet, 8 inches tall. It was incredible to me that people in her village and the health workers in Shanghai treated her with so much respect. She actually demanded it by being a person without an impairment in her ability to communicate her wants and needs.

PAN'S LABORYNTH and the Himalayan Fair.

I've gone to the Himalayan Fair for the past nine years. It has always been eventful. There is always a musical or dance event that is fascinating. There is always someone that one meets that one hasn't seen in a long time and the meeting is good. I have a poem about something that happened at the fair when I went by myself. Today I went with my friend toward the very end of the day. The last performance of the day was taking place: the closing blessing ceremony by Tibetan snow lion dancers.

When we looked at the booths, there was a lot to see--as usual! But, then again, it was Sunday, and (hopefully) the vendors had sold most of their good stuff. I tried on a Nepalese patchwork skirt with panel of the eyes of the Buddha hovering over the vagina. I thought it really tantric, but it didn't fit quite right. I don't like having a belly sticking out!!!

Meanwhile, there was more to say about that, but Blogger is rushing me through. (Usually I take a break and come back to a blog...)

PAN'S LABORYNTH was as magical as I thought it would be. My friends and I wondered about the scene where Ofelia is in the bathtub. A cleansing ritualist symbol or suggestive of child sexuality?

Art: a work of Art.

I like to paint. Today I have spent much of the time in an intense sense of bliss at the thought of not having to go to my job during the week and actually having moment to be free. It was essential to mention the job because I just got paid today and could, therefore, spend a little bit of money.

Back to painting. Sometimes I do watercolors of the same subject more or less. I see them as emotional reflections of a mind at thought, at thinking, at listening, at wondering, at stating, etc. Really, they are just sketches for much bigger paintings that might never get done.

I looked at some ads for new places to live, but I'm sorry, I want to be able to have fun and not have to feel that I have to be away from the place a certain amount of time to make every one happy. And these people never take cats. Although I no longer have a cat, there are to two cats here in the house, Pablo and Buddy. They have varous other names like Pineapple, the Pubbers, Chunky Monkey and the Budders.

But I digress again. This was supposed to be about Art. I watched the film ART SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAl tonight. Why did John Malkovich have to be in it? Wasn't the story line completely tired (the boy who wants to be an artist so he can have beautiful women...)? Sexy this film was not. Enlightening this film was not. Pubesxent this film was. It was supposed to be a play on some other film (Terry Zigoff can't be this bad of a director??). I really liked Steve Buscemi and the casting of non-Hollywood actors.

I haven't said anything about Art and neither did this film. I haven't said anything about love and neither did this film.

American Hardcore

I tried watch THE SCIENCE OF SLEEP but got lost on the premise:"Love is an extrapolation of a dream" or some poopoo like that. This film is really sick. Now, I haven't seen it to the end, so I might have to correct myself. But I found myself wondering what "love" the film is referring to. The main character loves no one, really. Oh yes, his name was Stephane. And oh yes, he's Mexican in France. The woman he has a romantic relationship with is named Stephanie. Is she an extension of him and he and extension of him?

Back to Derrida, what's in a name? What is "love"? As we know, the Greeks (and, sorry, I'm not shedding light on this for anyone with a reference to what love means in an idigenous culture) had a couple of words for love: agape, love for all and eros, "romantic," i.e., love involving sex. Is Western culture still stuck on this? But, of course, because sex sells. It's all about the money. Once again.

I don't feel like elaborating on this much further. And the whole concept of self-love, as taught in many cultures and espoused by many therapists for those who find themselves in doubt, is another issue. But, I wonder, is it?

Some of the poems...

Yeah, I got to play tabla at the Club Deluxe!!! It was very cool for me to sit on the floor next to the stage and be kind of from somewhere else. I'm in a good mood. Yes. My room looks like some kind of weird bazaare, with stuff to look at everywhere--and defnitely a lot on the floor!

But I digress...Just wanted to post a couple of the poems I read the other night at SHE SPEAKS #2:


RIver Tongue


You see inside my billowing, soft-magenta lips
With yours, hard and driven, spreading to open
What is seen inside...


A cavern of the raspberry popsicle where
Sweetness resides and deisre wants to fall
Into the moonlit sky.


Your truly musky, muscular tongue sips
And licks its much-wanted candy cane
That lives year-round.


Your rows of growth in your brown garden,
Your cheeks and chin, burrow into mine,
And we smell greenness.


But pink is our color because we live
Inside pink and glow outside pink and
Play in pink.


Let me rip out your black eyes and stick
Them inside my head that I may always
See as we do.

That's enough for now. No, maybe I'll type out Prem:


Prem (Love)

Judging and unjudging (a proper gerund?),
Your nose to the right or to the left,
A droit ou a gauche, meories stilled
In the movement de mon coeur without a
Relationship. In your compassion, you know all.

The lake is full and open to your remembrances
And what ripples and what is now calm.
Oh, esta mi agua, and nosotros podemos.
Pero yo quiero the pink smell of happiness,
I know you want it, you have it, you give it.

Yours truly, and the fairies and sprites have
Joined us in the celebration. What will you
Have of me now? Gibt es Blumen everywhere,
Traversing the planes of being, being with you
Among those who sweep and ponder distantly.

SHE SPEAKS

March is the month of women, drinking in the name of "Christianity," the Amurrikan flag, and Cesar Chavez. I have been blessed to be a part of the women who make up SHE SPEAKS. We are woman musicians, poets, performers, etc.!!! This has been the creative outlet I've needed for a long time. Today I sent off one of my performance pictures for a bio thing. The photo was from May of 2002--five years ago!!! Scary.

Although I've been doing The Bro Jud on Love Energy Show for a number of years now, I have practiced with the band ahead of time only once! And, although there is not enough room in my room for even me, I will be playing tabla every day for at least a half hour until next Tuesday when I'll play at the SHE SPEAKS event at Club Deluxe on Haight (March 20th, 8 pm).

They want me to sing and drum to the Goddess. As one who knows Hinduism might know, the Goddess has many forms: Lalita (Lakshmi, Goddess of Love and Money), Saraswati (Goddess of Music and Knowledge), Durga (a form of Kali, but much prettier, and, according to a customer from Japan who came into Love of Ganesha last week, Goddess of Wisdom), and, of course, Kali, Jagd herself. I think the bhajan I'll sing is to Kali. But my tabla is sooo out of tune. I need some help!!! Too bad one of my boyfriends who plays tabla went back to Gujarat a year or so ago. I'll just practice my na. Everything else will fall into place.

I don't want to talk about the love life situation at this point, but I will. Last week a guy I had a heart connection with called me. He was in town after coming and going since last June. He would e-mail me that he was in town and then would never meet up with me. He must have done this at least 5 times. It's too bad that I couldn't deal with being let down any more. It would have been good to see him. Then there's the white guy (I don't think I've gone out with a white guy since 2002) whom I would like to have as a friend. We met up some time in late February when he played at a performance at The Beat Museum which I shot video of. Then there's one of the Mexican guys I know who had me to dinner but never inquired into my health (I was dying from the flu and bronchitis) after I went to his place for dinner. He seemed into being validated as a lover. To be honest, I was not really attracted to him physically. But I would have liked to hang out with him as a friend to find out if we could be lovers. Many men I meet don't think that getting to know someone should have some mystery to it or that sex is tantamount to any meeting otherwise it would be a waste of time for them.

Now I know I have more to offer than just my body, etc. But there really haven't been any guys around who can recognize and not be afraid or threatened by my intelligence and stupidity. Such is the karma of the moment. But I feel good about the fact that my having been so sick and really still recovering is making it much easier for this Scorpio/Sagittarian woman to resist sex!

I just signed into the New Blogger...

Ok. Now I have a new blog. It's been a while since I've written anything. I was very, very sick with the flu, acute bronchitis and a cold. Stayed in bed for four days at the end of last week. Was out of work for two days;; the whole classroom fell apart. Working now is even more depressing. There were fights among the assistants as to who knows how to run the class. Going to work is the worst it's ever been.

I took a nap for two hours this evening, and when I woke up I was sweating. The heat was really high in my room for some reason. Just this simple biological event ant the rest and visit to the astral and dreamland helped me see that work is not the most important thing. It couldn't have been furthest from my mind. My comfort came first. I think this will be my approach to the next two hellish days: I will concentrate on what makes me feel good about myself. My actions will take the form of well-intentioned, well-spoken and thought-out activities and events.

There is much to do. I've cut out the chai and the caffeine for the week. This is helping in a big way. It's too bad that I can't wear these new jeans I bought--because they keep falling down! (don't use animal products--don't have a belt) So, I don't care. I'll wear my long skirt tomorrow with ripped thermal leggings underneath. I will compromise and wear my white high top converse tennis shoes (in case I have to run after a kid).

As you may infer, life has been on the dull side as far as sex and love and tantra. There's a guy I met a few weeks ago I have to contact to give him something I made of his music. i hope we can be friends. A person from the past called me and wanted to bring everything up to the present at 1:00am in the morning last night. I had to say I've been sick and can't stay up late--not to mention that work has been so shitty. He didn't call me today. This is not a pattern I want to continue. So I go to work and try to get better physically and emotionally. I still think alot about Arlo but not as much. I think he is happy with Lita again now on some other plane or even as her newly-born kitten.

Soon to be over being sick with the flu.

It seems like I haven't written in this blog for a long time. Lately I've been so tired from the flu and bronchitis that I haven't felt like typing. Boohoo.

Just wanted to write about ROCK AND ROLL SWINDLE. A friend of mine lent it to me, and I'd seen it before. It's from Malcolm McLaren's perspective. Today a friend came by and was talking about all this stuff from out punk pasts (presents?). She's from Ireland and has a totally European perspective--from the gentry side. Her family was gentry in Eire and had lots of land. She doesn't have to work for, perhaps, the rest of her life. But she refuses to "own" things.

Anyway, she was telling me she saw The Slits somewhere on Tehama...I don't know this club. Why didn't I call her? I couldn't understand her message, and, the times she was callilng me before, about 3 years ago, she was going to live in a camper van across from the house she's rented with others for years and years.

This has become a digression about abouts, a bout de la mer. I was at work! So, I kept doing what I was supposed to be doing and listening to her talk about different bands (Noh Mercy, The Seemen,,,_Swell Maps.... In any case, she brought up Johnny Rotten's answer to THE R...SWINDLE. I think it's called THE FILTH AND THE FURY. I do want to see it. But I'd rather draw my own conclusions from it than listen to my "friend" and her take on everything.

Oh, the gentry thing. She acts, when I say I'm busy and can't come over tomorrow, she says, "Oh you don't have to make excuses..." This means to me that she couldn't give a shit about my life. I am mere working class--something she aspires to in dress only.