New York

More than just buildings

...so many faces

Eyes meet on concrete
rushing to places

I asked a man at the bus stop,
whether he waits for love or the 14D
Headed uptown
he left without me
I exit the wrong stop,
and walk right on to my destiny.

Boom Man

There he was. Where did he come from? How did he know we needed him? I needed him. What a mundane and dull gray that was my welcome, every day, every night, the first thing I see, saw before Boom Man was there, was plain concrete wall.
He came and posted up on the wall, the wall that divided my senses from the 405. And if it isn't bad enough to live directly across the street from the 405, with the noise, noxious particulate matter dusting our lawn and lungs, and incessant vibrations, I have to look at an ugly, concrete wall holding the over-pruned freeway ivy from falling down.
And then there was Boom Man, waiting outside my door one morning.
"Yes! Wheeeew!" I shouted to him as I stood on the porch realizing the view had changed. Beautiful. Exciting!
"What does he mean?" I thought about it all day. Boom. Are we destined? In this concrete jungle only? Are we bound to skinny pants and exploding mentals from stress? Or is he just a cocky punk, stating how bomb he is, hiding behind the claim? He holds his can, representing his trade, making me ask questions. More questions than walls. He gave the wall a purpose, made me fantasize about his father...
He inspired me you know. I made my first stencils. I took down the cans. Somehow talked my friend into helping me add onto the newly realized canvas. We hit up around him. I lengthened his fuse halfway down the block, swirling under along the freeway. I figured Boom Man would be pleased he had been given a little more time.
Three days later it was all gone. Boom Man, my Boom Man...art, color, youth, change, a piece of creativity and slap in the face to the standardization of surroundings, of us, was gone. The city came and painted him away, buried him under their favorite color, gray. And I will miss him so, and try to remind myself he's still there, looking at me from underneath.

Not Ruled By a Planet

My nose doesn’t like you as much as my brain

My eyes are not as tickled as my ears

and it wasn’t until I held your knives that it was clear

your witty words and all too well practiced moves

that seemed laced in truth, took me to bed

Our sweat concocted pungent odors, sent by Venus to ward us off

…Still, the echoes of sweeter notes draw my curiosity

Against chemicals warning

Like that bad batch in the unmarked container

You just couldn’t believe was true.

Forty Hours a Week

How did the day get stolen from underneath my feet?

Friends become strangers cause’ there’s no time to meet

Signing in and out of punch clocks and initialing sheets

Trading the sunlight and hours for dollars seems cheap



But I can’t blame it on the man or systematic rat race

As each day I consciously rush to keep with their pace

And each night I return worn and exhausted from haste

Thanking God in the dark shine’s the moon’s patient face

The Health Care Hussle

The state of our nation’s health care has been critiqued, debated, and weighing heavily on our collective consciousness. Embarrassed, I must admit, I have not been following the issue as carefully as perhaps an uninsured woman should. My last run in with a TV show, I saw Jon Stewart on the Daily Show trying to decipher some stipulation on page 400-and-something of the new, massive health bill to one of his guests. The sheer size of the document/book made me suspect and I frustratingly turned my attention to painting flowers on the wall.

When things and concepts are so bulky, with so many pieces, they become unmanageable, at least to me. Let’s think about it from a human perspective though. We are humans, aren’t we? (I now ask myself, what exactly does that mean?). For just a second, let’s look at our system in a few basic clumps. Currently, those of us who can afford it, due to whatever evolutionary trait or profitable talent, decide to pay a company (a company I repeat!) to reimburse hospitals and doctors for health care provided to us. Those of us who can’t afford this company sponsored health insurance must, suck it up until we hit the emergency room when all other home remedy and voodoo magic proves unfruitful, only to be charged exorbitant, unaffordable prices.

So what’s better? Having the government take care of us? My uninsured father’s experience with our Veteran’s Hospital, incapable of diagnosing his prostate cancer, tells me this is not necessarily a better idea. Are we left with choosing between a system that lies in the middle of privatized greed and socialized incompetency?

I don’t have these answers, only more questions. And like nearly 50 million other Americans, I am without any health care whatsoever. It doesn’t matter that I work two jobs, exceeding 40hr/wk; apparently it’s not enough. Businesses have a way of sidestepping paying the high prices demanded by insurance companies to insure their employees. Hell, I can’t afford it either. I wonder sometimes, what this will all mean for me as I, like all the rest of us, age and come closer to finding out.

(pictured above, my late, great grandmother. because one day, if i'm lucky, it will be me under that baileys hat.)

Plastic Sharks?

Associated Press, September 15, 2009

Recently on a scientific fishing expedition to report on the state of the ocean’s fisheries, government scientists made a shocking discovery. An unusual number of fish populations, particularly large predators, now contain large amounts of polymers, also known as plastics, within their cartilage and bone mass.

Researchers are cataloging and taking samples before any official reports are released to congressional and international panels. One researcher who refused to be indentified commented about the discovery, “Everything that washes off our streets comes to the sea, then currents carry it here, this place where the wind just stops. Then you have this graveyard of floating plastic, and all the fish beneath eat it. There’s more tiny pieces of plastic in a hundred square mile radius of us then there is plankton--it works it’s way into and up the food chain.”

The area researchers are conducting their survey lies within the North Pacific Gyre, infamous for stranding sail boats due to the lack of winds, and apparently now, all our trash. The area, comprised of approximately ten million square miles, north of the Hawaiian Islands and west of the California coastline, is now becoming a floating garbage dump.

“These findings do have a positive side. The fish seem to be evolving with the plastic and incorporating it into their bodies, their DNA,” One head scientist anonymously claimed. “At this rate, by the year 2020, we speculate cartilage and bone mass in most schooling fish, all shark, and some whales species, will be replaced by stronger, longer lasting materials similar to pvc and plastics of the highest quality. This could be a scientific harvesting ground for a new generation of “bio-plastics”, which man would have never been able to create without the help of nature’s resilience.”