Blahg

Farmer's Market

lunataylor — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 20:33:56 GMT

On Sunday my friend and I went to the farmer’s market She on longboard Me on bike My bird friend is very tall and thin Covered in black ink birds that Whorl around her neck and land in the great outstretched arms Of a dead tree That covers her whole back and Distracts Constantly She wears a backless shirt As she normally wears We are all used to her… Skin Is just skin But here among the local Tomatoes Artichokes Strawberries She is not Apples and Oranges We are buying pistachios and asparagus tips when A bearded beer bellied man and his woman Decked in fashion fling bling Stand four inches from her and gawk They love it but they hate it Every eye that passes Loves it Takes a breath takes a sigh sees the size The permanence and they Love it, But Every eye that passes Struggles with her back Climbs the branches Parks beneath the birds One crumpled middle-aged lady says in these exact words: I’m not a tattoo person but That is Actually Pretty My friend says, You’d think I’d know more people in my life, But I don’t. This is the way the canvas feels.

I'd been so good.

lunataylor — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 00:41:52 GMT

I’d been so good. And then today it just all. There is the bridge I’ve built across that deep deadly ditch and today I stood in the middle of it and poured vial after vial of acid on the wood at my feet.

Naked/Phonograph/Trees

lunataylor — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 17:44:12 GMT

On a hot springtime day of the heart, I wondered out of school with my friends and we walked to the end of the sidewalk together, gave hugs, and went our separate ways. I walked my direction, past the gas stations and drive thru fast food towards Legacy drive, the gate of my burgeoning subdivision. I turned left. The road crossed a creek also serving as drainage ditch, the Texas kind of creek with silty clay banks and muddy eddies, and I took the steep barely-there grassy path down to the water. This was not the normal way I went. This was an experiment. I had no bookbag or cigarette with me that day. I sat down on the foot-high shelf bank and took off my shoes and rolled up my jeans above my knees and stepped into the water and let the mud sink between my toes. The air steamed in the dry dead grass and the new grass, both. This place smelled familiar. It smelled strong and good and bio-diverse. I wondered upcreek a short distance. I could see the eyes of kit-home gables peaking over up beyond the little wood of cedar elms. A spill of honeysuckle vines caught the sunshine on the bank and the mellow oranges and yellows of the blooms caught me up—but nonetheless, I was still in my neighborhood. My shoes were tied together by their strings and slung over my shoulder. I crossed into a shadowy part of the creek and stood in the shin-deep cool. Crawfish skittered over my toes. I crossed my wrists in front of me, reached to my sides, pulled my shirt up over my head, and tied my shirt to my shoestrings. On the opposite bank I saw the slither motion of a snake moving up through the skunkbrush. I thought maybe I’ll go up over there. I’d never been up the other bank. My neighborhood was the first to scar this bitty bit stretch of Texas, and though the other side has long since been manicured, at the time I was tromping around naked in this creek all that lay past the elms was a great expanse of wild sunflowers. Well. Until you reached the skeleton roads of the parallel subdevelopments-to-come, of course. I splashed water up onto my arms and moved from the shade into the light-soaked honeysuckle, turned my back to the sun, and slinked my shoulder blades out of my sportsbra, bared my breasts, took a deep breath, and turned my chest. Like a sure vibration, I felt the sun sink his teeth into my sternum. I climbed out of the water and bare-toed my way up the opposite bank into a little thicket of cedar elms. The ground here was dusty but the land was hidden from all pesky suburban gable eyes and, except for the twinkle of traffic in my ears, I was alone, in nature. I unbuttoned my jeans and let them fall to the ground. I piled everything else on top of them and then I wondered among the trees. I found treasure there. A giant trunk of old vinyl LPs and a crankshaft phonograph. I thumbed through the records and messed with the phonograph and it began to play. The timing was a merry-go-round. I played music while I played house. I hummed. I sang. I grabbed hold of hot branches as if they were legs, arms, neck, back. I climbed. Perhaps. I stayed too open and exposed too long—sunburn, bruise, insect-bite, blister, sun-tox. I’d wrapped my legs around a scratchy trunk that did not bend with my body when I thought it would. I didn’t mean to uproot it. It stunned-gunned me numb with its groundstrength so that I had to bow my head to my own heart. I sat and listened. And listened. But I did not hear. When the light began to set, I turned around and walked back across the creek and went home where I was safe again. But in my ribcage there is a record, spinning, off-time, magical—playing over and over my afternoon treasure in the hot neighboring woods.

Green and White Tacos with a Touch of Pink

lunataylor — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 05:10:33 GMT

Tonight after yoga I made avocado soft tacos in the following manner: 1. I rolled out the organic whole wheat tortilla and threw it onto the griddle. Then I began a playful OM… 2. I sliced a perfectly “ripe today” organic avocado in half and removed the seed, which I rolled around in my palms to soften my hands until the seed was shiny and clean and my hands were soft. 3. I saw a bubble forming in the tortilla so I flipped it. I began a more serious OM with a slight minor slide to it…. 4. I faced the avocado halves face down and removed the skin from one of them, cut it into cm thick longwise slices, saturated it in fresh lemon juice, sprinkled it with course pink lava salt…OM! Great time to lick your fingers. 5. The tortilla was done so I picked it up and threw it on a plate! Got out the organic expeller pressed vegenaise and gave the tortilla a small dollop and smeared. I licked the vegenaise spatula. I breathed. Silent OM here. 6. I love ICEBERG LETTUCE. http://www.kingstonmarketing.com/products/lettuce.php I love this under-appreciated by snobberfooders crunchy fresh delicious yummy scrumptious head of vegetation that should be devoured and loved wholeheartedly on any occasion. One of the most rewarding moments in life is to hold a head of iceberg and slice a wedge of it diagonally with a big sharp knife. Taste it plain! It is so tasty. It tastes like the goodness that reminds me of walking into a freshly plowed field. Err… I got out the lettuce and sliced part of its head off, then chopped it to shreds. 7. I spent a few minutes contemplating and plucking cilantro leaves from the bunch staying fresh in a cup on my counter and then I compiled my taco. The cross section would have looked like this: fresh tortilla, vegenaise, salty citrus avocado, finger-macerated cilantro, and iceberg lettuce. Green and white with a touch of pink. Like springtime in Sacramento. 8. I sat on my floor and ate my taco and Zenned out. Then I repeated the whole process. There was also a cup of fresh grapefruit juice and chunk of dark chocolate in there, both of which summoned a sea of OMs…

Ode To Exes

lunataylor — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 23:22:35 GMT

Today I’ve been strumming madly bluely at my guitar. I feel desperate. I want to find that old song that I wrote in the library of my soul. I know it is still in there. It’s a good song. It is one of the last songs I wrote before I stopped playing and writing all together. Which is another sad story. But I’m changing courses... Boots and prairie and coyote and beer and blues and guitars and humid Hill Country heat and other things worth appreciating. True story. A country song about Texas. About a Texan. About my Ex. My love that I have been slowly letting into the wind due to that sticky time/space fact. No food being fed to my ever-hungry mouth, no baby-bird nutrition. No new vitamins. No new chemicals for me to process and make my own. And so exes fade away. They aren’t in your present moment anymore. But do you love them any less? No. That’s why you wrote the song about them in the first place. Sometimes I feel I cook a rich meal of myself and serve it on a rich steaming plate. Here you go, here I am, take, eat, digest, feel me seep into your soul, up out through your pores. So I salivate, where is my dessert? Why do I need so much attention. Why do I always need a response? Living in the moment lately, or at least trying to. But. I’m a writer, a rememberer, a historian, a noticer, a hungry hungry soul. Who can feed me? Feed me who you are now? You love me still, I know. But. In this moment—in my mouth—I’ve lost you to the gullet. “Food is the vessel of Life. Because Life is another name for God, food could be called ‘the vessel of God.’ If you truly respect and revere the Spirit, then shouldn’t the first thing you do be to build a shrine within your own body?” —Eiwan Ishida, Genmai (Tokyo: Japan Pub. 1989) Through my Lent I controlled my food. I controlled my body. I’m not good at controlling anything, especially myself. Me: A lost spirit in the “now,” so this Lent was an excellent lesson. Through controlling what I put into this vessel, I learned about what I want and don’t want to put into this vessel. What I want is the magic food which is to know all the parts to a whole. I memorized a Bible verse in school as a child, “What? Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost, who is in you, who ye have of God, and ye are not your own?” Well, in some ways I am my own because I hold the fork. And I am banging it loudly on the Universe right now and holding it to my teeth and listening to hear the tune while I am still able to make out the sound. I don’t want to starve anymore. I need input. I need wise passion. I need truth. TODAY. I’m hungry for this song. When I was writing it I was crying for your skin and you were one room away. When I was writing it I knew we could devour each other in any moment. I’m hungry for the way we felt when we first were joined, so fueled about the things we both reveled in and the connections we made and the way we world-shaped. How could it have gone so wrong? How can new passion seep in and take us away from each other? What a bellyache about which to sing rhythm and blues with a country twang…Sigh Sugah! Once I love I always love. I love every cell. I am passionately overwhelmed with your very existence. Maybe that is what is so scary about me. Maybe that is why I shouldn’t try. Maybe I am playing too dangerously. Maybe I should write for myself, strum for myself, click my heels for myself. Maybe I should cook for myself solo. Alone. Because I will take you and make art of you and you’ll always exist in the immortal pantry of my heart.

[Bright Sunny Morning, Waiting in the Window for the Refrigerator Repair, and Looking, Seeing, Out]

lunataylor — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 16:40:44 GMT

There really were no leaves on the ginkgo I have photos to prove it But now I am wearing my four-dollar red shirt It’s a hit at the office Little Luna Light Bright You’re glowing, they say It becomes You, they say And I move my mind Around it I move it Into my palms and squeeze and I warn Myself Leaves grow from tiny To bright green undeniables To mamma grips with big hips And then to yellow shovels to shrivel To cycle To gone Yes, you wore black on black for so long Let red in slowly Let green glow in you Like the fructose from the fruitfast Making you three-days high From sugar Call me Sugar, World Let me call you Sugar, Universe But don’t forget how good the bitter can be Can be? Hell *is* Is, on your tongue How the dark side of the beer Of the coffee Of the cocoa Of the raw leaf Of the moon Compliments the bright

So much to say and no-how to say it...

lunataylor — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 19:23:51 GMT

I'm in my final week of Lent. So much has happened. So much has been opened. My mind, my hips, my lungs, my heart, my art. I am still not well. But I am working on it. When I close my eyes now, I know me. I am back yet I've never been this before. I see peace in a plain green salad leaf, and confusion in the beautiful cozy lead poisoned clouds within arms reach. Healing begins slowly, builds scalding steams, alloys with dirts and fires. Hmmmm. No, not quite yet. I have so much to tell you but I can't find the dreams to explain it yet. For now I will just leave the words of wise students before us... “A heron flew over the bamboo wood and Siddhartha took the heron into his soul, flew over forest and mountains, became a heron, ate fishes, suffered heron hunger, used heron language, died a heron’s death. A dead jackal lay on the sandy shore and Siddhartha’s soul slipped into its corpse; he became a dead jackal, lay on the shore, swelled, stank, decayed, was dismembered by hyenas, was picked at by vultures, became a skeleton, became dust, mingled with the atmosphere.” —from Siddhartha by Herman Hesse “The block of granite which was an obstacle in the path of the weak becomes a stepping stone in the path of the strong.” —Thomas Carlyle “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…” —Romans 12:2, New American Standard Bible "You will go out with joy and be led forth in peace, the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands" —Isaiah 55:12, NIV Bible Also... if you can, find Joan Baez's interpretation of LET IT BE “When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And in my hour of darkness She is standing right in front of me Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And when the broken hearted people Living in the world agree, There will be an answer, let it be. For though they may be parted there is Still a chance that they will see There will be an answer, let it be. And when the night is cloudy, There is still a light that shines on me, Shine on until tomorrow, let it be. I wake up to the sound of music Mother Mary comes to me Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.” —Lennon/McCartney "He turns not back who is bound to a star." —Leonardo da Vinci More soon...

UN-Earthing

lunataylor — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 02:12:14 GMT

UN-Earthing On the day of the Full Lunar Eclipse in Virgo it is not a surprise that I found myself in shadow. Pensive. Symmetric. My sister and I were texting and emailing the follies and fears of our darkside lightside trek. Our words just petroglyphs along the path through sinew, muscle, bowel, and brain. I fell so in love with her again as I read of her last outings on her own weather-beaten Moon that I reached out through space and I touched her eyelashes. There is nothing but honesty in the soft feathery blinds of her soul. We were both out walking in our spacesuits trying on the universe for size. We were both called back to our safe-stations to refill our tanks. We were both roses blooming tall as little princes standing on our binary planet under glass protection/suction cups with tiny atmospheres whose molecules vibrated in the radiation from the sun. We both were heated open-pored and looking forward to the time when the Earth would give us no choice but to rest from radiance. (It was almost time for yoga class when the Moon began to eclipse. I put on my jacket and walked half way around the block until I found a tree to lean against and watch the movement of umbra penumbra OM ) Funny how cold it was in the shadow of the Earth Funny how light scatters and you suddenly feel lost in heart Our cores were in Moon, but our flesh was in the Earth Me in the Nor She in the So We looked up with our naked third eye And saw the same body Push our shadowshadeghosts Through Space *Photo of the Feb 20, 2008 eclipse taken by Chris in the "frozentundra" of Buffalo, NY... courtesy of Miss Boo.

Eaten Alive

lunataylor — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 06:57:54 GMT

I know that many of you out there are bitter about yoga. Or maybe you’re not bitter, you are supportive. Or maybe you dabble. Or maybe you think it’s a wonderful addition to any athletic regime, but it certainly isn’t the answer to everything. All of that may be true, but I have been eaten alive by yoga in the last 14 days. It is—of course—changing my body. It is miraculously changing my mind. But it isn’t just the poses and structured sequences that I’ve been led through, yoga is everything I’m doing. It is me finally trying to be honest with my soul. My bodymind is thanking me for not smoking. My bodymind is thanking me for getting more sleep. My bodymind is thanking me for the fresh food I’m feeding her. My bodymind is thanking me for trying to be present in the now so that the now doesn’t slip away and make me mad later. Today for instance. I had today off because I have a normal ol’ state job. Bless the state holidays! I slept until ten (because I went to Pt. Reyes yesterday, another edge of the continent story), and then I got up and sat before my little altar/easel and I reflected for ehhhh, about 20 minutes. My back to the radiator, my heart to the mirror. I know, meditation. BLAHHHHHHHHH. But it wasn’t. I just sat there and counted backward from 13 to zero very slowly and then I turned the zero into an OM. This is what I saw: Pacific Ocean dull grey sky. Eucalyptus trees against sunny bright California sky. Bright New Mexico sky. Giant Texas sky with little to-be storm clouds floating across the blue. Sky from the boat off the coast of the Yucatan. Sky. Water. Stepping backwards off the dive boat and securing my mask and sinking into midwater to see the pod of dolphins flash by. Then the road we took back from the coast. Dark, winding, moonlight high above shining through moisture risen from Tomales Bay. The flash of fox eyes, fox tail. The owl sitting on the rail at the side of the road. Muse-ic. Yoga is poetry. It is absent of time, but not place. It is space. It is about finding the dark places in your body that you didn’t know existed. And connecting/hardwiring them back to your mind. I went to noon yoga class. I hated it from the beginning. It was so hard to do a forward bend. It was really hard to get all warriored out. It kicked my butt. I couldn’t hear and had a difficult time figuring out what was going on. My energy wasn’t meshing. I felt like a failure. I wanted to quit. It HURT! But I did it anyway and I’m glad. I still did the best I could. I still stretched and strengthened my muscles. I took a hot bath with tangerine oil and lavender after I walked home. It healed me. I had an amazing breakthrough that I can’t share because it’s too personal. I understood it was ok to have something personal. I ate two big handfuls of celery sticks decorated with artichoke hummus by myself. I ate cucumber avo jalapeño asparagus vegan sushi with my amazing friends. We drank rose-blossom tea dedicated to my sister who is on a journey of her own. I went to yoga again. My class this evening was much easier and more fulfilling than the noon class. I felt strong, positive, action-capable, and steady. I have noticed this trend. When I do two yoga classes in one day the first one unlocks your ankle cuffs, gets rid of all of the nasty bitchy shit that is sitting in the coves of your anatomy. The second one simply lifts the cage door and sets your pterodactyl free.

Backslider

lunataylor — Sat, 16 Feb 2008 10:26:18 GMT

Backslider. It's not that I'm cheating on myself, It's that I am not fully following The me holding the leash The one with the clear mind Who steps like a strong goat along the steeps Keeps me upright Instead I zone out fog out and drag Mydumbself myhighshelf along Long cold fingers looping their way through My metal loop of a collar Pulling my neck Bruising me purple Making me hot between the ears Between the legs Palatability of success Like The canister of unsweetened dutched cocoa in my pantry Next to the Organic dark brown sugar All the ingredients In separate containers There are so many wonderful Ways to escape A heart Trying to clear Her voice

Vegan Virginity

lunataylor — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 01:30:15 GMT

Yup, I popped that vegan cherry right into mouth, and let me tell you—vegan munch equals good! Here I am on day 7. Some highlights: You already know how I feel about nature’s candy bar, the banana. What’s also great about bananas is that my Safeway (a.k.a. The PONY) carries organic bananas for just pennies more than the non O. World citizens, I beseech you, eat more things that come in their own wrappers. You can just pick up a banana, throw it into your pocket and GO. Making my own tortillas. So, if you know me, you know I’m a Tex-Mexi-Soul. I eat tortillas more than anything else in my life. Well, the tortillas I was eating before Lent were already animal-less, but they had a lot of dough conditioners, etc. It’s so easy to make your own tortillas, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve also been making them about one third whole grain. In case you’re not Texmexican and get frustrated trying to roll out your tortillas, the key is to use boiling water when you are making the dough, and then to divide it into portions right after you knead it. Then cover the dough and let it sit an hour or two before you roll it. I roll it out on parchment paper so that I can peel it off the paper easier. Since I lost my last one two “divorces” ago, I finally gave in and bought a new cast-iron comal. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comal_(cookware) Sea-salted marcona almonds and broken bits of dark dark chocolate make for a splendid and refurbishing afternoon snack. Baby greens. You need bright things. Good for the eyes, good for the tongue, good for the tum-tum, and definitely good for the poopy. Shhhhhhh. Don’t tell I said poopy. Case-Y’s Delicious Vegan Dessert. GO out and get the ingredients for this immediately and make it for your next dessert: 1 fresh organic mango: http://startcooking.com/blog/217/How-to-Peel-a-Mango 1 cup frozen raspberries Full Fat Cocoanut Milk Organic Dark Brown Sugar Cube your mango. Divide into portions. Delegate your raspberries without eating too many. Ladle a few spoonfuls of the fatty part of the cocoanut milk over the fruit. Sprinkle with yummy, organic, molasses-y brown sugar. Find delight.

Witch Goes To Church

lunataylor — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 21:48:29 GMT

This picture shows me correctly. Dark circles under my wan face from the ceaseless partying of my Carnival weekend. Or should I say my Carnival lifestyle. It reflects the state of my insides. My lungs, my sinuses, my stomach, my heart, my wrists, my throat, my soles, my skin, my muscles, my hips. Dark as the shadows in an old-world stone cathedral. Sleepless=Peaceless. But! My Carnival/Mardi Gras was so fun! I partied for days. I met with friends for final debaucheries. I ate a filet mignon! I bid my final farewells to butter, eggs, and GASP: cheese. I smoked, I drank, I inhaled life! I flirted with the quick heartbeat of death. I danced. I rocked out. I performed. I threw a party with bright shiny plastic colors. I cooked with heavy spice and heavy fat. I decorated. I voodooed. And I procrastinated, flaked, lazed, dropped the bomb, ignored the truths, and most importantly—I pretended. Then I went to church. Since I cannot hear it was perfect because I didn’t have to trip over my transgressions. I know them already, that is why I am Lenting in the first place. The sunlight flowed into the stained glass, dissipated, and lit the frescos and gilt in this gorgeous work of art called The Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament. Please look here to understand: http://www.cathedralsacramento.org/tour(2mb).mov Despite my sorceries and phoenix propensities, I did not burst into flame. Something in my chemical make-up did catch fire, however. It was wonderful to know that the Universe, wearing the face of the Abrahamic God, still welcomes a witch to be blessed with ash. I was dust before I rose, and one day again I will crumble inward to nothing but particles.

You got me, Ms. Change

lunataylor — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 03:44:58 GMT

Ok. So. Here I am. I sacrifice myself to you, Ms. Change. You win, but you better explain and it better be good. Because you’ve been hurting me and my friends a lot lately. Do you have to be so hurtful all day long? All night long too? May you give each of us a beautiful bouquet of the things we love most about each other’s bones, and ink, hole punched gorgeous eyes, razor sharp personalities, and the way we move across the floor, veggie sandwiches in the grass, taking on the river naked, smoking in public as the ships go by, driving dangerously from the side and back seats through the Siskiyous, commanding the air wherever we stand, through deaf, blind, and left toe syndrome, always daring fate and art to defeat us at all costs. You are the ghost that sits in the window watching and reminding that you are hanging out for a reason. That one day you will again show us your dreadful buttermilk face that swirls in the churn, never stops moving, scaring, startling, attacking the heart. Taking the fat from the milk. ____ So I am taking a Personal Revolution out for a spin. I haven’t really rested in about 4 years, and it’s that time for me. Lent. This year it is synonymous with Space. I am taking an inward retreat, staying in my nest, and removing all my layers of paint. I am in search of the middle. I usually give up flesh. This year I am giving up animal. It is the animal in me that is most afraid of ghosts. The thick delicious residue of enzyme-fermented art and the yolk within white within hard hard shell relationships. And I will sleep and dream of all of you that I love.

Swamp House

lunataylor — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 21:25:44 GMT

Sometimes it's good to dream about your swamp house It sits down on the icky bayou Surrounded by swarms of mosquitoes And other biting stinging insects with no mercy Snapping turtles leaving forever wounds Muggy humidity making your hair stick to your neck Boggy stagnant water never goes away giving you rashes That pretend to heal, break back open, pretend to heal, break back open... Mildew under your eaves makes you sneeze Giant flying roaches in your stoves Baby alligators getting into your pipes Possums getting into your attic Termites eating the last of your structure away... The airboats zooming by and driving you mad. Oh the heat! It makes you want to eat meat! It makes you want to have dirty sex with dirty men. It makes you want to play the accordion, wear rouge, drink sweet red hurricanes until you're drunk, and bare your chest for beads It makes you want to dance in the kitchen to the morning light It makes you want to live your own night. With no history No plot No story but your own. You could easily thumb a ride downstream on a shrimp boat Drift out to sea To see. Sometimes it's good to go through the screen door of the swamp house In your heart Latch out your mean insect responsibilities Release the strong jaws of your cold-blooded relationships Close the door and sit on the nice dry wooden floor Dusty from flour and cornmeal you spilled there Sweet smell of your own bread baking Giant tubs of molasses Slowly leaking You lay full flat like a dead bug Out the window you see egrets flying past the feathery cypress tops Their wings white and necks long Lift you into the bayou air Cradle you above the water You say to them in a whisper "Home"

The Being Well (thoughts on first visit)

lunataylor — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 05:41:39 GMT

The Being Well is in the center of town But the town has packed its two suitcases and loaded the winter trains Traveled opposite planes Of air earth and tears How many mirrors have I looked into My reflection skyscraping The circles have grown large Around my eyes Seems I'm drawing dark circles always With black pens Fire chains The compass of my pointed toes And laser mice running round and round Confused I am still sick Left-alone sick Jet lag sick Black lung sick I’m sitting on the edge of the Round stone wall Curiosity even through I drop a bucket down Into the Being Well— Pull up a drink Of heavy air I breathe deep Funny When I walk through the alleys and the valleys of sorrow I lose fear of the shadows They give me clues about the humidities of selfishness About the dank piss smell of loneliness The length of strength a cohort is willing to hold Before dropping you into the earth Perhaps the blessing is the long fast fall down deep dark (w)hole At first no one even sees me It takes a few years for all the petals of my dark rose to show A vile make of beauty haunts me So why do you decide to love an artist in the first place when she’s flying low?

UNMATA (undercovers)

lunataylor — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 07:40:23 GMT

Private Slumber Party Workshop January 26 & 27 2008 So you’ve got the Winterblah? Wanna spend 24 hours locked in with UNMATA while the grrrls cook for you, serve you, entertain you, bestow gifts on you, and best of all—teach you an entire intermediate choreography that becomes yours to own? Check out this crazy event we're throwing to help get UNMATA to Taiwan: http://www.unmata.com/taiwan Yes, I'm advertising in my Blahg! But It took me forever to get the page published. I was having secret code hidden by cut n paste syndrome. And my internet was out because of the crazy storm and and and.... I'm out of excuses. Look. I just couldn't get it up. So come stayover at Hot Pot Studio! I'll tell you a ghoststory...

Journal Entrance

lunataylor — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 05:24:34 GMT

Solstice Season 12/12/07 8:30pm 37° So, now that it is cold again I am taking more alone time for myself in the darkness and flame-lights of this apartment. It is so cold that, even though I have the oil radiator turned all the way up and the doors blocked with scarves, I must wear well, let’s see—this is what I am wearing right now: Knee high socks Wool-blend slacks Slightly padded bra Poly-blend long tank top Long-sleeved thermal top Wool arm warmers & Silk-blend scarf slip-looped around my neck This is my basic winter uniform. Ask anyone. Add my goat shoes, ipod, and black quilted parka—maybe some gloves—and I’m ready to fly through the alleys, parks, and sidewalks of midtown. I am still quite cold, soon I will get up to dance. There is tomorrow’s combo still to finish. But right NOW…I am writing. I’ve been bulk shopping lately too, storing up for winter, for the winter when it gets difficult because it’s been winter for so long your ignorant new skin cells know nothing of diving naked into the ravine. You know. When winter is all there is. Granolas, wild rices, beautiful speckled beans. Almond butter, apple butter. Tubs of ground salts, herbs, and peppercorns. Dark chocolate. Dark lagers. Frozen black raspberries. I got these very cute tiny pasta Os that will be wonderful on the nights I try making something like a cashew alfredo sauce. I must go start the dishwasher. Why do I keep forgetting? It will be nice to have the steam molecules in the air for the candles and radiator to vibrate. My plants will love me for it, too. I will go do that right now…but I will come back to write. ~~~ While in the kitchen, I pondered nonsensical tangents. It’s nonsense that I’ve lost time to cook. Nonsense. This is something I am taking back. It’s nonsense that I’ve lost time to write letters to my friends far away. This is something I am taking back. It’s nonsense that I’ve lost time to play my guitar too. This I something I will at least imagine taking back. Have I lost my voice? Outward/inward. I am starting to wonder what is the difference? Have I lost my voice? Or since I no longer sing to those who want to hear, I let my fingers whisper secrets… Today in the park I saw a girl with short dark Amélie hair trying so hard to sit in the grass under a palm tree and read a magazine. I could see the whole thing in her mind, beautiful sunshine, tropical fronds, a little repose. She wore burgundy mary janes and shiny support hose. Her tiny butt perched awkwardly on her spread out jacket. I slowed my pace for a second to see what she was doing. She had her black knit dress wrapped tight around her knees with one arm and the magazine splayed out in the other hand. Her huge sunglasses caught the sparkle of the distant star. She had no scarf. No. She was not warm. She was not comfortable. She was dreaming and eventually would probably break through the soggy sod and like a pouty puppy bawl her eyes out all night long. I hope at least then she will go home and shut herself in her room away from her roommates and put on some music, some Edith Piaf maybe, and draw a picture of a girl, with bright red shoes, walking beside the Seine eating the most delicious brie and baguette sandwich, on her way to the Cluny— maybe to see the unicorn tapestries. I hope at least then she will draw herself with giant fuzzy earmuffs, and her long figure with a long (long as logic without reason, lifetime-long) and warm scarf blowing straight out behind her in the icy wind. So much to do tonight. The time for writing ends. The last thing I must mention while I am writing of grand events is that I will be taking a thirty hour train from California to Texas later this month. Yay!

2007

lunataylor — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 06:37:19 GMT

In 2007 a lot has gone wrong January Left with the marred cement half of an ugly heart Stained with the old odd red brown of spot-on love Metal shards stabbing the rotting soft parts of my lungs What was my life for anyway? Alone after getting off a plane In a cold and drafty apartment I closed up all but one room because there was Snow powder seeping in through every crack Melting during the day Re-freezing under the moon Ice everywhere Listening to Modest Mouse Trudging through my own Antarctica Simple needs Not including REM As long as I was numb the pain would not kill me Instead I kissed shallow Art shallow glass shallow style Shallow breath Vanitycandy My eyes closed while Virginia Woolf filled my pockets With the smoothest of river pebbles And the ghost of Sylvia Plath and I Climbed into the oven and Although the heart-heat did not affect her—I Let all the meat roast off my bones In March I got inspired To dive pterodact-style From the top To the bottom For impact purposes And to smile while I was doing it. Thank goodness I couldn’t help but stretch my shock cord And stretching feels so good A tiny idea became thousands of tea-lights on my altar It could ultimately make me love myself More than I love the richness of her hair Or the way her face looks When she is telling me something Brilliant Scratch Revise More than the way her face [looked] When she [was] telling me something Brilliant You see you feel guilty when you love someone and they need to be free Finally it was warm enough to go swimming And the summer was filled with Bright rum Club lights Lion manes Cell phones Lots of smoke and mirrors and dancing But nothing behind the curtains Like a biological male trying to give birth I was supposed to go deep sea diving in Mexico But it didn’t happen Hurricanes made the tides rise and floated seeds from the Equator To the beaches of South Texas I searched dried seaweed for dried seahorse For hours like a meditation But found the worn carcass of a seagull And the leg bone of a cow Instead Maim injure hurt harm Damage disfigure deface Mutilate scar ruin vandalize Something beautiful and necessary: defunct Something clean and delicate: smashed Something good and closed: sliced open at the deltoid Loving something less tomorrow than today When once you loved it more than all the yesterdays combined It’s December now I keep coming back to the stretching It comes with breathing Sweating against my desire to die Thinking again to August On the beach I picked up more sea beans Than ever before Tiny shiny beautiful ones called hamburguesas Smooth larger mahogany hearts of the sea “To control” “Bring together” Split legged, folding in half I will keep trying until it becomes comfortable To touch my heart to the earth There are some things you must do alone

"mens sana in corpore sano"

lunataylor — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 21:01:17 GMT

It's just an idea. But what if. Health. In my own equation. Much harder to accomplish in mind than body.

Ten Things that Made My Red Eyes Cry Today

lunataylor — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 04:19:34 GMT

1. That once upon a time there were two girls who loved each other very much who would go to Monterey at Thanksgiving and stay on the Presidio of memories on the hill covered in cypresses in their own room with a view of the deep dark sealion encrusted bay. 2. That there are mountains of paperwork and financial troubles everywhere everywhere everywhere and art is just cluttering the mountains like wildflowers that look pretty but stink. 3. That I am a good cook, but that I’m too crazy to really cook anymore. I’m talking steaming pots of white beans infused with red bell pepper. I’m talking chicken and dumplings made from a cut up barn hen, flour, salt, pepper, and butter. 4. That thousands are without their homes in Chile because of the 7.7. 5. That my family is so far away on every level. 6. That none of my art is my income and that I always want to change that but can’t seem to take care of myself or figure out how to get in control of my options or feel any strength and get swallowed by exhaustion... Oh Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Martyr Patricio Clito Ruiz y Picasso—if only I were as much of a diva as you. 7. That once I was on a train. That once I was on the back of a motorcycle. That once I was 100 feet beneath the surface of the ocean, swimming, breathing, balancing. That once I sang Ave Maria with my guitar in the balcony of an 800 year old chapel. That once I was flying along the edge of Greenland looking down at the icebergs floating cold like menthol lozenges. That once upon a time I was in her bed for the first time. 8. That my wisdom tooth on the top back right is out right now and ripping another hole in the back of my cheek. It is still swelling. We are on day 5 now. 9. That once upon a time I was a Texan who spent hours in the wilderness hunting whitetail with my father, brother, uncles, and cousins. And the sitting up late under stars next to fires and singing. Texas music makes me cry. That I had boyfriends with electric guitars in dirty rock bands who smoked cigarettes and ate chili-cheese fries for a living makes me cry. 10. That I am who I am. I can’t stand it today. I make myself sick. I'm never satisfied. I'm always confused. I feel aggressive and I feel depressed. This cycle this cycle this cycle cycles. It is too overwhelming and I don’t understand why!

UNMATA's national holiday....

lunataylor — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 05:05:43 GMT

Blood Moon starts.... NOW HA HA HA HA HA HAA and I have become a seahorse.... :-) By the way, I am in love with the artist: http://www.shawnmeharg.com/art%2Dportfolio/

Earth & Water

lunataylor — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 00:23:28 GMT

I am earth But I’ve always felt more water Perhaps because I’ve always held her cupped in my shallow seas Absorbed her through my limestone pores Trickle-dripped her from my cavern stalactites Gulped her down my cenotes Sat stagnant under her ponds until my skin wrinkled and split Stored her in my aquifers Could not keep her in my core volcanoes Self-Erupted steam and liquid rock Spurted her nasty from my geysers Opened my artesian mouth to let her say what Surged water silk curtains, water white chiffon veils Over cliffs where my hard shock failed Leaked her from high-altitude springs Runnelling down the alluvials in salt-earth streams Waved when she evaporated in my dehydrated deserts So little water Arroyo puddle Rio Grande drip drop dribble Missing her when the muds cracked When the sands blew and eroded strange mountain paths Imagining her when the snows flew and filled every crevasse Flinching when she chipped at my icecaps Got lost in her fogs vapors mists dews Couldn’t stand her humid cling to my forests and coastal plains Couldn’t see through her heavy night rains Scarred by her sleet and hailstorms Hurt by her hurricane fits Wrung by her strongwall tsunami tantrums So so so much water— Dirty and pure so difficult to see How she floods my silt and sludge around Deposits bits of me in her sedimental riverbanks Always trying to come between me and Air She is the clouds up there Hiding the moon Warning Only a matter of hydro times/tides Until I’m wholly drowned again In her global ocean.

The Blood Moon Zoo

lunataylor — Sun, 16 Sep 2007 08:55:56 GMT

THE BLOOD MOON ZOO So many animals everywhere All around me [in cages] Square cage is good cage is safe cage means square meals A cage is a nest A cage is a trap Each to her own. All animals must sleep A wonderful cage We've made Full of long strips of golden mane Pink feathers Gray feathers Spots within Spots Hydes of Cracked mud Silver And oil And soot Freaks Thumbs on their feet Addicted to hypnosis 97% water Punk-ass striped tails Pregnant males Sigh again 2007 The sky is turning red above me Blood Moon is near and I’m too deaf to hear The accordion’s warning I only see The ark spilled on my desk Broken animals Born or saved or born again They are there to be watched— Let’s put them on leashes and make them dance!

Wake Up New Era

lunataylor — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 14:44:04 GMT

I've observed in myself certain realities lately that have strengthened the idea that I need to get to bed earlier and in turn rise earlier to a) get [real] work done before having to b) show up for [the necessary going through the motions] work Responsibility is a real word that I need to fool around with a bit on my tongue. There will always be loneliness. I am a writer and should not forget it. I'm partying my denial less and. I'm drinking my coffee black.

25 Random/Wonderful Parts of My Life

lunataylor — Thu, 26 Jul 2007 01:27:28 GMT

1. I’ve made a lot of art 2. I get to travel for art 3. I walk to both my state job and to Hot Pot Studio 4. My family loves me 5. My friends love me 6. I have a knack for finding good food, often for free 7. I live in a city that is amazingly temperate and where flowers bloom year-round 8. A beautiful ginkgo tree lives outside my bedroom window 9. I have an ipod nano with days worth of music in my pocket 10. I can still hear well enough to enjoy music 11. I have a knack for finding good words and putting them together with my fingers 12. My friends make and give me their art 13. I know how to make a great lemonade 14. Avocados! 15. I have high speed Internet 16. I’m going diving and exploring in Mexico in a few weeks 17. I get to dance with fire pretty often 18. I have a great massage therapist 19. I’ve gone swimming in the Auburn Ravine several times already this summer 20. I’m surrounded in greatness 21. I have unlimited text messaging which is good for my hearing problem 22. Bananas: Nature’s Candy Bar 23. The Pacific Ocean is less than 2 hours away 24. I’ve had a good formal and informal education 25. I have a bathtub, an oven, a dishwasher, an air-conditioner, a fan, a radiator, a computer, a vacuum, an electric screwdriver, a sewing machine, a blender, a hairdryer, multiple vibrators, tall mirrors, a bread-maker, a garlic press, a fancy-ass sorbet scooper, a coffee-maker, a rice-cooker, a TV, a playstation, a VCR, a DVD player, and a cell phone...just to name a few conveniences