Cycle 7

I attempted to do one of the 5BBC Perimeter Series without any training. Bad idea. I didn't make the 45 miles & probably won't do another perimeter until I've acquired some road mileage. In spite of this "speed bump," I learned that I possess a great will to make something of my tiny frame - and the 14" steel one I ride. My body pushed harder than it could through a place I've never seen in the daylight. Three things about Staten Island: (1) The people don't really care for cyclists (2) The island does have some beautiful views (3) Many of the street names end with the word "Kills." We lunched at the Conference House grounds. It turns out Great Britain & its subjects tried to make peace after signing the Declaration of Independence at this very house. As you know, that conference never quite worked out. Neither did the weather. It started raining. With clouds looking like they meant business (possible T-storms), our sweeper getting a flat, & then wrestling with his tangled chain, the leader decided we should train it home. Good thing. I was spent. We got on at Totenville, the last stop on SIR. It took about 40 minutes to get to the ferry. G and I decided to chance the now heavier rain (T-storms never actually came). We rode back over the Brooklyn Bridge soaking wet. No matter, it was worth it. Staten Island ain't the only borough with beautiful views.

Sunday total: 36 miles

bird

suffering inside the in-between
down where the shadows grow
something that's cold at war with me
it's good i'm getting up
no one knows
just how long
forever released
so just let go
close your eyes
and go with it
far from the crush of everything
leaving the world behind
spinning inside a crazy dream
of everything at night
no one knows
just how long
forever released
so just let go
and close your eyes
and go with it
no one knows
just how long
forever released
so just let go
close your eyes
and go with it
just go with it
just go with it
just go with it

Dreamboat

A Butterfly Takes Manhattan

A Man : In the Key of G

It's not
What you thought
When you first began it
You got
What you want
Now you can hardly stand it though,
By now you know
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up

You're sure
There's a cure
And you have finally found it
You think
One drink
Will shrink you 'til you're underground
And living down
But it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up

Prepare a list of what you need
Before you sign away the deed
'Cause it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
'Til you wise up
No, it's not going to stop
'Til you wise up
No, it's not going to stop
So just...give up

A. Mann

Terrifically sad with my shifting of memories and my missing G.

Pale Face

I took off from work to see my man, Gustav, and teared up some. There are only two other artists to make my eyes all watery, Pablo & Vincent. Sadly, there were not enough of Gustav's paintings, but still enough to gain inspiration from. Incredible pencil, sometimes charcoal, sketches of gorgeous, mysterious women. Portraits, too, of ghosts in the dim light. Oh, those women haunted me through the murky subway ride home. Harlots swimming in the lightweight, neutral, translucence of the beige backdrop. It made them more erotic if that's even possible. The one painted lady in all her golden glory, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, can be seen anytime. I think NYC is her home. But what was most stunning was another oil. Her name, Pale Face. I dare say she could make Mona Lisa blush with her wily smile.

The Pink Room

I just got back from the first art session with my super-cool-Queens-Boulevard-of-death-artist-pal, "Dee." Dee, also an accomplished photographer, has surreptitiously become one of my idols. How can I deny a woman who rendevouzed with Sonic Youth? This latest experiment I'm calling, The Pink Room. The color may change depending on my mood. Kinda like a mood ring. A mood blog! For tonight, it's pink in her honor.

So I did 2 still life sketches, while Dee finished a commissioned piece. One was in graphite with a dash of pink, orange, green.... The other, though unfinished, is more involved. Graphite, strong colored pencils, & ink. My fingers are now possibly a permanent shade of gray. I like to rub... I did remember not to wipe my hands on my "girlie girl" (as Dee would call it) blouse. 'Cause I so would have done that 10 years ago.

Cycle 6

I did it! For the very first time in my life, I went riding on a trail - hootin' and hollerin' like a cowboy. I must have swallowed a hundred bugs. What sheer delight. I even made it to The Brickyard, which is the playground for black diamond riders and a graveyard for bricks from a factory long gone. But that was three quarters of the way through. By then, roots and sand became serious sore spots (literally). The air got so thick you could cut it with a jack knife. I had trouble swallowing. A little heatstroke. Naseous. My body felt wild. Sidebar: I'm forming a punk band and calling it The Heatstrokes. It will feature Zach Wylde (yes, I met him once) smoking his guitar and me rapping like Chuck D. Anyway, the ride rocked my world. If I squinted, I was deep in the woods. I rode on the narrowest path and, in squint mode, thought we were in a swamp. Like maybe a crocodile was eyeing me for lunch. Next time it was a forest. A mountain. Then we'd hit pavement. Me and the dude, who sounds like New York circa '79. I had trouble getting back what with the temperature rising after noon. It was a rather late start to get on a trail around the world.

Public Enemy is Poetry

I got so much trouble on my mind
REFUSE TO LOSE

Running Woman 7

Got caught in the rain, so I only made 1.5 miles. I had to wait in the Gardens under a bridge on Burn. I looked up to see the clouds in black n white. Perfect photography weather. Of course, I'm cameraless and no longer plateless. Why does mother nature have to mess with my flow? I sprinted, mostly skipped, from tree to tree all the way home.

new ritual

my new favorite flower is the moth orchid. i bought one. i was in home depot, again, with the best of intentions. i passed by the screwdrivers, socket wrenches, & power tools that could "do the job" going straight for the green. i'm restless, so i bought one. a most striking purple. i tried to find the color on the internet and discovered orchid is a shade. didn't know. so i have this delicate little thing in an aqua marine mixed with sky blue bowl on a pretend antique wrought iron plant stand sitting at the foot of my bed. nice way to wake up. new ritual: buy something flowery when things just "don't work."

Plateless

My front license plate is missing. Not just missing, it's gone. Stolen. It happened in Brooklyn. Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Kids from nowhere, everywhere. Cops, too. No one can see. A hood is still a hood. And my bumper is totaly f*cked. The rest of the car, intact. I filed a report. It took longer than necessary. Precincts are slow. Clerks, slower. The female officer handling my case, she was cool. She had blue-gray eyes. They were the size of marbles. Caramel skin. A diamond ring. She took down two perps. Perps is short for perpetrators. Hit one with a club. The other, smashed his head against the pavement. Cuffed'em. She was tough. Alone. Blue-gray eyes like marbles. Her rotator cuff is f*cked though. F*cked Like my bumper. That's why she sits behind a desk. Sean Bell is not so innocent. People don't know. She said so. Rap sheets and a gun. But 30 shots is f*cked up, too. Everything is. My back plate is still there. That's all I know. Not for long. I'll be handing it in. A waiting room. For my number. Plateless. Alone.

telefono publico

On the edge in Medellin, Colombia. It was the only phone for miles.

Running Woman 6

my marachino-cherry-tomatoes sprouted some kind of sun-kissed wonderful leaving it's bright yellow imprint on puzzling petals. more reason to love the tulip in red.

Running Woman 5

Some of my "cherry tomatoes" turned into actual marachinos. Others have opened wide and even lost a few petals as if whatever was coming out of its finespun, blood-red cocoon was a Last Rite. Beautiful still.

In Memoriam

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.

--Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1849

I held my grandmother's hand wondering where she was - "Dear Mamita." After a while, my grandfather asked if I could pick up the priest. I was afraid, so I asked if he could come with me. Papito, my grandfather, is a giant. He waited patiently for translated explanations that beared no meaning. He then sat in the car, while in all my humility, I walked with Father Michael into the place that had always managed to comfort me - church. Father Michael unlocked the secret oils and bread, blessed them both, and brought it all with us. The Jamaican accent made him sound like he was the only one who could speak the language of angels. We prayed together in the room, hoping Mamita could hear us, and loved together just the same. I drove the priest back in tears for having lied about my faith. I know God understands that I needed to believe in this for a moment. My Dear Mamita, I hope she has found her way.

Running Woman 4

I officially began training for the first of many, I'm afraid, 5K runs this season. I ran hating every step and wondering how best to get revenge for my darling sister's most tenacious efforts have left me... breathless (ha). During this 2 mile trip around the hood I decided that red tulips have replaced the white as my favorite flower. I can't say why except that I spotted 7 of them like cherry tomatoes swaying in the breeze. I almost took a bite! I also spotted about 4 freshly planted trees. I like to think that I am 1/156th responsible for why they’ve been popping up all over the place. I did harass the Forestry Department (yes, I was as obsessed over it as congestion pricing and no, I don’t support the latter) for 3 consecutive months in '06 to quit chopping trees if they weren't going to be replaced. I managed to persuade them with charm and threats. Forgot which worked. Oh, there was a confused, older gentleman, who I’m guessing was homeless, surrounded by cops & overpriced prewar buildings. I was stuck waiting for the light to change, thereby witnessing him being taken away in an ambulance. A bit of a downer, but at least it wasn't the squad car whisking him away.

I’m back and, strangely, not tired. Time to get some (even stranger) reading done. Ever read “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men?” It’s more like an experimental documentary of James Agee’s observations of 3 tenant farmer families during the Great Depression. Very stream-of-consciousness or journal-esque (I made that up). There are chapters that have no periods whatsoever. Talk about running on. Maybe I’m just old fashioned… and lazy… and like to eat… cherry tomatoes.

earthstruck

happy earth day

Mi Familia

I have a family party tonight. I'm going without my would-be date, but I'd much rather stay with him. If someone said ten years ago that one day these events would become dreadful, I might have laughed. It has been ten years of crushes, flamenco, fighting, jamming, writing, wine tasting, flying, a whole lot of eating, aching, and love, love, love... How do I explain all that without looking like I've accomplished nothing? 200 over-acheiving, opinionated, hilarious, passionate, crazy Colombianos, or possibly more, to smile for. I know one day, maybe sooner than ten years from now, with any luck, tomorrow, I'll stumble upon this entry and think tenderly of the younger woman I was.

The Astronaut

But one more thing -
if anybody's listening, that is.
Nothing scientific. It's purely personal.
Seen from out here,
everything seems different.
Time bends.
Space is... boundless.
It squashes a man's ego.
I feel lonely.

George Taylor - "Planet of the Apes," 1968 sci-fi classic