Saturday April 30, 2016
from the PTC newsletter
Hello everyone, welcome, thank you for joining us. We’re so happy you could be here to share in our special day. Neuromica and I have been so supported in the decision to unify since the first turn of the old moon’s last embrace. We sincerely welcome you into our space and into our family, to witness this one true love the two of us have for each other. Thank you for your accountability to us, and with even more gratitude, our accountability to you. We appreciate the community in this union as one that holds us higher than we could possibly get standing on the shoulders of each other alone. First on our list of more specific and directed thanks is the beautiful and warm and all encompassing universe: you are simply radiant this fine afternoon at this 5 star resort in Costa Rica.
Thursday March 17, 2016
from a program
There’s a group of people protesting outside my window. I saw one of their signs and it said “equal rights for all” and that’s how I know this country is going to shit. I’m being very serious. What’s a poet supposed to do with equal rights? I’m pretty sure that’s not how art is made and I can say that because my sister’s ex boyfriend was one of them and all his creation revolved around the worst feelings and circumstances in the world. I think these conditions exist so writers have something to write about about and painters have something to paint. Look at the statistics! Love isn’t going to get “bums in the seats” and valuing a system where hippies just hang out at the beach all day banging on drums and talking about their spirit animals is just going to create more bonfires on beaches!
Saturday January 24, 2015
The Green-ish pilot
Every time I set out to write something sexy, I end up writing about oatmeal or the ocean or someone yelling. Or moving, I write about moving a lot, too. You know when you read something and you’re like, “GODDAMNIT I SHOULDA WRITTEN THAT! THAT SHOULDA BEEN MINE!” Or that moment when you read about a play opening on Broadway that’s about pretty much the exact same thing you’ve been been writing for oh, four years? That moment is really cute. For me, it usually means a knot in my stomach and a bowl of popcorn. Maybe an episode of Nashville. What about the times when you write something that’s so brilliant you know it’s going to not only change your own life, but change other people’s lives too? Then, the big resounding questions is –
how are you going to spread your words like honey across the earth?
Sunday, September 22, 2013
I never knew a poet personally but I sure as the garden of roses knew those words of theirs. And that’s pretty personal, isn’t it? The first poem I learned got me through a backpacking trip across Europe and the heartbreak of leaving my dear old dog, Bruce. The second poem found me love and found me the best french kisses on this side of the equator. The third poem got me pregnant. The fourth saw me planting a garden and hauling manure into the back of the Daddy’s blue truck. The fifth, the sixth, the nineteenth, got me through childbirth. By forty, three kids, two cities and one Bruce-grave later, I knew over one hundred and three poems, all stored up there in the cobwebby corners that can’t seem to remember things like birthdays or taking out the recycling.