soft blanket statements

The urge is to break away from the pack and recover my own heartbeat, whenever I am lost in the crowd, and like Debussy’s ‘Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun’ my pulse on its own stands wobbly and inquisitive at first, wishing for the comfort of the soft blankets left behind, and gathering my strength with the first light to see myself through to some incidental rhythm which might pick me up and love me a little and carry me, not unlike a waltz, a Kachaturian favorite at the Bolshoi Ballet, anything that begins to throb and push my blood out for more, more, more… ’cause what we have here is not enough, my friend, not enough at all to justify the effort life demands, no, to go on living requires an advancement of faith sometimes, a personal loan of decisive courage written off an account in arrears, I mean therefore a great risk of sorts only could be taken by a fool or someone who cannot fail. And that would be me, dear sir, enfathomed in the stabilizing clay of primordial pockets, ready to be fired and glazed, a modern day rockstar sold out to the streets and kicked by a label, stretched to the capillaries on short supply of sanity, appeal in the curiosity of all that’s gone wrong when dipped in the culture, coming out bold print with a comic sans striation. A modern day American girl with a penchant for obscurity and woven matte finish regalia. Loving you, loving life and ready for anything. Turning to old masters when I don’t have a clue, songs from the cemetery when there’s nothing better to do, yes, punching up the pulse to a lively arpeggio, ascending off a decline and here I sign.  – KatYa

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3 chances

Cancel my subscription to the mobile phone.

Cancel my subscription to the ozone layer.
Cancel my subscription to politics and gas.
Cancel my subscription to lethargy and cable.
Cancel my subscription to drugs and alcohol.
Cancel my subscription to tap water.
Cancel my subscription to other people’s pain.
Cancel my subscription to being led on.
Cancel my subscription to recycling the same old crap.
Cancel my subscription to acquaintance by text.
Cancel my subscription to an inside job.
Cancel my subscription to middle east oil.
Cancel my subscription to grocery store mailings.
Cancel my subscription to cage free hens.
Cancel my subscription to ad-free tv.
Cancel my subscription to barnacled rituals.
Cancel my subscription to imperialism under wraps.
Cancel my subscription to liars and thieves.
Cancel my subscription to half the world religions.
Cancel my subscription to new and old waves.
Cancel my subscription to smoking and vapes.
And modern day slaves.

Give me an endless cup of coffee
Give me someone to love
Give me someone who loves me

Give me a song with no words
Give me a room with one window
Give me a book with no message
Give me a laptop with no hard drive
Give me a friend with no agenda
Give me a chance

And I will give
you one
two
three

to be who you said
you could be

a deepening

if you wait in the least comfortable place you may let yourself into an inner door of a greater force and inspiration, well, i just experimented myself and got there and how did it happen? Okay, first ingredient was the new moon. I have apparently been wrong again! in my awaiting the full moon, investing too fully in the symbol of the full moon and nothing else for a return on my energies. This is what happens when one is pulled at by so many angles you lose yourself and collective archetypes begin to pronounce themselves to you… so you go for a really hard exercise (in my case an 8mile run followed by a 1mile walk yesterday) which takes you out of your mind and into your body. then you get some uneven sleep chopped up by the trend of cats in motion and a subtle but heavy rumbling through the walls (the inhabitants of adjacent apartments). then you get up after midnight and heat the coffee and milk on the stove and walk around feeling the dull aches and pains in the body, softened by slippers on the feet. the pain is all further softened by cereal followed by a whole thermos of coffee taken slowly over time in capfuls. the sounds you allow are windchimes and passing trains and autos in the night, and voices and laughter of late nighters, all through cracked windows, and inside its gotta be either silence or kitchen humming and a low volume atmosphere of local public radio – classical. jazz is not to be discounted, but jazz is better for winter, classical for summer to counter the general liveliness. I tried a firm chair in the back room with the laptop on a small glass table. Had a capful and bantered with the cats. Stepped outside on back and front porches between times of writing or reading or thinking. Delta breeze in effect tonight. I was several times convinced I would need to go back to bed to restore energy. But these thoughts make no sense. I am nothing if not well rested! For several months now! Last year this time it was quite the opposite, or two years ago, when I was much more invested in coffee and perhaps a whole pot a day versus today less than half a pot a day and much easier on the nerves. At any rate, this was the semblance of my condition about three hours into my new day at night, a dull suffering through a lull period alone, when scanning a cell phone article about a famed spanish director who just cut a film loosely based on a famed canadian author’s short stories, i suddenly felt my energy congratulate me with a shift and i stepped down into the dark of my backyard (seeking lightly the one cat whose always out and about hunting), and saw the new light from the apartment building across Eggplant alley which was always there but now the entire building presents itself to me on one flank, for the tree removal people took down the side of trees for some reason last week and what took so many years to hide, is suddenly bare and exposed forever. And I thought in an passionate way about a dispassionate subject of renting a home, well, how many little spaces with aircon units jutting out in little boxes, how many little nooks and crannies there are in this and any city! That if you set your heart on a little space, man or woman, you may seek and find your very own! For there are so many even right here within a hundred yards radius of my own! And this was a happy thought which followed and follows with more and more inspired and happy thoughts, and I certainly would have laughed in your face two hours ago when I woke up sore and wondering, had you told me then that several inspired happy thoughts would come my way and brighten up these new moon days of crescending energies, and they have. they truly have.

journal

Journal # 08.07.16

Quentin he was out on the porch which corners mine, when I went to call for the kids. A few long and lingering whistles is all. I’m sure he’s heard me calling many a night before. There’s really no need to explain myself which is one of the luxuries of being neighbors. Quentin and I have never met until now. He’s pale and stout and dark, and well-spoken, and I have never seen him standing up. He grew up here. He just moved back from Palm Desert or Springs, not sure which. I have a faint interest in Southern California. He tells me the sudden rise of mountains there give a false sense of security and he liked living there, the people were kind.

Seems to me in one month every single apartment next door has turned over, but I could be wrong. I know two of four have. I liked some of the kids who left (and they were all kids), but I don’t mind the turnover. Keeps life interesting. Q (he said I can call him Q) is too hungover to make an interview, he says, and puts out his cigarette, picks up his cell phone and calls it off. Some people would never do that. It takes guts to call off an interview. I like him already.

Aside The action won’t always be yours. The sidelines are waiting and you will make an interesting cheerleader what with your inflexibility, Einstein. Bicycles resting against one another on the walls. Saturday nights that never end. Distant signals and lone sirens and crossings. Flagpoles without flags. Broken glass gleaming in the streets. A bend in a hose that stopped the water in its pressured tracks. The threads of the faucet are getting wet under the back pressure. I think there are five colors to any head of hair. Two primary, three subtle, and I’d rather not throw it in your face. It is early Sunday morning, after all, and half of you will get a preaching, and half of those won’t be in safety of church.

the river. with family

The river came to us and met us at her banks, midday and summer hot, we had only to approach her like disciples with our faith in her and find our place (which seemed designed for us, divined for us) where she came flush with the land, a mossy patch of soil leveling there with the freshwaters. we laid a thin blanket down and had submarines for lunch with cuts of avocado and alfalfa and cream cheese on bread. we used the sub wrappings as plates and we talked. there was my older brother, m&m (my niece), Skipper the dog, and me. they were on their way to Tahoe from the Bay, and thought of me and stopped by for lunch. i decided on the river cause i had not seen my niece in so long, and i wanted us to have a peaceful place to reconnect. besides a few river rats around us (i mean locals who were mostly friendly albeit boisterous), we were all enfolded there into the pastoral scene as if we had been painted in by a master, in oils and acrylics on canvas. nothing here could or would speak to the frenetic city behind us or the insane politics of the world. we had shade from the heat and a chance to show one another the kindnesses of a decade ago. i cannot believe i lost her for so long, the greater part of which I can attribute to life’s path, problems and poor choices i made. while they were trying to raise a family in the twenty-first century, i was literally falling and climbing and slipping and reinventing myself and trying to manage in a world which i didn’t think really wanted me. i seemed to have marginalized myself, but it wasn’t all my fault. it was just my life. and nobody was really blaming anyone, but the river between us could not be forded back then.

now we found ourselves on the same banks, reunited, and i had my lucky break after several years of remedying the mischief of my life and lifestyle, involved in many decent and useful causes these days, full of purpose these days. i got the chance to speak my truth, and m&m got hers, and i had a wonderful listen while my brother her father sat between us and the dog at our feet, panting in the heat. my brother and sister (in-law) have done a fine job parenting as anyone could do. i am grateful to them, not having made that commitment myself. anyway i can be a part of the family, is good enough for me, anyway i can help. today it means not being demanding or complaining or selfish, just staying open to any opportunity may come along, for i love them and that’s all i know. i was not so attentive to my family in my twenties or even in my thirties, so overwhelmed was i by my own life. and unhappy or depressed some of the time. vices and habits and poor choices in company. you know the story. i may be at fault for many things, but not for becoming who i am today.

so here we are, the past behind us, making what we can of our moment together. i didn’t seem to think we had much in common anymore, me and my family. but i learned in truth, by my experience (such is truth) that when you have blood in common, that alone is the mark which oughta draw you together; blood alone oughta bring out the best in us. to be there for family no matter how incongruent your aims, how varied your pursuits, how rocky the terrain of your individual temperaments. you show yourself (when welcome) and give of yourself as only you can. i may not be any great success of any kind, yet i have survived a sometimes cold and callous world, city life, and the effects of an often misguided sense of my place in it all. so i am blessed to reach out and be received. we had a nice lunch. we had a nice talk. we saw a sea creature surfacing every half minute for air, as it plodded upriver. it was unusual and mysterious. My brother and niece were both worried that it needed salt water to survive. Skipper the dog met a friend. the river rats began splashing about just down from us. the sun reached the top of the sky and looked down. it could not quite find us. we packed up to go. i believe this is as good a new beginning as any. my niece she seemed unsure at first, and i was a bit anxious, but walking back to the car beside her i felt the good feeling with them, knowing we are blood, we have good history, and there’s hope – the sun has found us now – and nothing means more to me than this.

writing tips

the scrivener corkboard (writing tools)

I have the outline to my book now available to me at the touch of a key, on Scrivener’s corkboard feature. The screen background looks like a corkboard, and there are index cards created for each chapter, which have the chapter heading and space for you to write summaries or whatever you feel you need for a quick visual outline of the larger narrative. I only seem to require the corkboard when my story expands. In this case, I’m playing with about 100,000 words, or about 50 chapters averaging 2,000 words. When I’m working out of the body of the narrative, on Scrivener, I have the chapters descending down a left column, and clicking on any chapter will take me directly to it. When the cursor is brought to the super heading ‘Book#3’ under which lies the cabinet of sub-chapters, the entire narrative will appear and you can scroll through it as a streaming passage. Often I find myself cutting and pasting and creating new chapters and recreating old chapters. And all you do is drag and drop a chapter in the cabinet to place it in a completely different location in the narrative, so I love the facility the ease of relocation, it almost inspires creativity or open-endedness in the editing process. Yesterday I filled in the corkboard summaries that were missing (new and recreated chapters), and found myself adding notes to the simple plot outlines, including notes about the feel of the narrative from one chapter to the next (ie humor, dark, heavy on action, descriptive, light-hearted) so that I can keep tabs on ups and downs and graduate the voice of the story into a consistent diversity of mood or feelingstates. I also embellished the summaries with  theme-related developments and character quirks or relationships I am hoping to keep tabs on. I hope this helps give you an idea of what Scrivener offers you to enhance the writing and editing process. Thanks.