Archive for December, 2009

Memories of Jasmine

Posted in Commentary, Uncategorized with tags , , , on December 28, 2009 by gypsygies

[From some other time]:

~ I am sitting out here at the Japanese Gardens. A young man was drawing my portrait from down below me…just sitting on a step and drawing, looking up at me with those artist’ eyes…taking in lines, shapes, the spaces…then drawing some more. After, he took a photo. I didn’t mind this, never spoke or questioned…all in all figuring I probably look fairly picturesque: sitting by the Mother Tree with my book, reading…with Jasmine blowing and occasionally dropping a bud off into my long hair. Patches of sunlight accentuate the various strands of blonde, or honey. I am relaxed and enjoying the air of existence there and my scene probably shows this.

There are many people, large families with kids of every age…rushing everywhere excitedly, taking photos and moving moving chattering constantly about how beautiful it all is, as they rush by it…like the path they’re on is in danger of disappearing and swallowing them whole. Never pausing. And I realize…I don’t understand them at all. Like here where all things are One, suddenly the one race splits into two, and I stare at them bewildered like an alien gazing at a new creature… `What’s all this about? Why are you hurrying through a place of Pause?’ And I realize…I will never understand them. It’s not important to see it All, as long as you see some of it Clearly.

A bride in her bridal gown, sitting on the same step as the artist was awhile ago…although she is not the artist, she is the art. Pausing only to have her photo taken in an area she doesn’t seem to see. An older woman passing on the path I sit, maybe in her upper 60’s but looking very hip, pauses for my conversation. She asks me what kind of tree it is, I say Jasmine, and point out the beautiful buds for her to see. All the while she is saying “Really?” and smiling at the sight of it. I tell her she should just breath in…the sweet Jasmine in the air. She says it’s so beautiful and that I’m lucky to have it here, meaning she is from someplace else. I do not ask her where, because I’d rather her be right here right now, and not make her picture anywhere else. I agree I am so lucky for this, that I love it and spend a lot of time here. In an odd, but possibly perceptive statement, she says if she were bummed, this is the place she would come. I say yes it is very relaxing. She thanks me for my conversation and passes on.

It is growing darker now, and clouds are overtaking. I cannot read anymore, and realize soon water will be upon my notebook. I shove all things back into my backpack, and give a polite shake of warning that all living creatures which would like to remain here in the gardens should evacuate the bag now. I Think to the tree `Well, Mother Tree, it seems you need watering, and Mother Storm has come to oblige you.’. As I start to walk back up the paths, little drops of water sprinkle down on me. I find even this very relaxing and part of me wants to stay. But I am not all healthy, and wearing a white shirt. REASON coming in to interrupt my Inspiration.

There is a mad traffic jam of people trying to get out of the Gardens while the rain picks up strength, and again I am overcome with the deep urge to stay. I am a person who likes to be the kinds of places where other people like to be, but when no one is there. I am the kind of person who finds an empty stadium interesting. I like to go out into the people-chaos sometimes as well, but I can enjoy the peacefulness of empty. The sky is growling, telling us that our own little drama of Traffic Jam should hurry along and solve itself now, so it can get on with the Storming.


RIP Brittany Murphy

Posted in Madam Musica! (or other Entertainment) with tags on December 20, 2009 by gypsygies

Actress and singer Brittany Murphy dead of cardiac arrest at 32. I really liked her. I was always looking forward to more from her, she’s very talented. And “Faster Kill Pussycat” is and has been one of my favorite and most played tracks on my MP3 player. I listen to it all the time.

I did shout out “Oh My GOD!” when I read the headline. When those *not* marked for death… start dying… :'(

notes from the night (Sat)

Posted in about Me... on December 20, 2009 by gypsygies

First off – I will post below my thoughts on my way to work and for awhile after I got to work. But understand in posting them that no, I’m not trying to whine or boast or anything other than what I say. I wasn’t sad. I was “thoughtful”. ponderous. Me. lol
was thinking some about my history.

notes from my night –

Definitely a conspiracy – the cafeteria has only DIET Mt Dew. They have all regular of other drinks (Pepsi, Coke, Dr Pepper) but only  5 rows of DIET Mt Dew. That’s crap.

I remember back in 10th grade my English teacher made us keep this Journal. Sometimes she would give us subjects which we were supposed to write about but we would also get bonus points for our own composition of some sort in the journal. The subjects she generally gave us to write about had something to do with school sports or spirit of which I had nothing to say. I literally remember one question was “How do you feel about our school football team?” and my supposed to be 3-paragraph answer was “I don’t care.”. That was all I could muster to say – completely blank otherwise. Perhaps, after the few college semesters I’ve had, I could bullshit may way through 3 paragraphs of `not interested’ but I’m still skeptical.

I would have failed that whole project, a quarter of our grade by semester end, if it hadn’t been for the bonus composition points. The shy and quiet and troubled me, had in desperation knowing I had no paragraph answers for her on her questions…mustered the strength to write some poetry in the journal. Share my writing. She was impressed enough she actually *questioned* whether it was mine ! I remember in red ink the “Yours?” written on the corner. A similar note on another piece. She did give me points for it and I responded to each journal question with a Yes – not sure if I should be offended or not. At semesters end there was to be this big “talent” display and she pressed me to read my poetry. I would not. Then she got with some other teachers and they set up that those who could not read their works, their writing could be displayed on the walls, like a museum. Oddly enough, I cannot remember what happened with that – whether or not I did that or not. All I remember all these years later was how much that teacher liked my words. Someone was offering me encouragement, instead of discouragement.
I don’t really remember what I wrote in that journal, other than one of the poems was a scolding letter from Mother Nature to mankind. Even then, before it was hip, I was disgusted at the way we treat our planet. But I digress…

I remember that teacher wanted me to send it in to the newspaper. I remember that teacher had talked to my mother about my writing.

By my junior year, the teachers had convinced my mother I could at least write poetry. The news from my 10th grade teacher had spread and some bowling partner of my mothers requested I write a poem for her wedding. Me? Write something for someone else specifically for their occasion? It was bizarre. Uncomfortable. Someone I didn’t even know. But I was too nice and too flattered to say no. I would have been mortified to be considered rude. I did not go to that wedding but am aware that whatever I wrote for them was read to the crowd during their vows. My senior year, my mother got married again and had me do the same. This time I had to be there, but it was a small ceremony and I remember the poem was read for the crowd in our Living Room! I think we were too poor to rent anyplace to have the wedding. I tried desperately to hide behind the corner to the kitchen.

Somehow in all this, Mother still never got the message that her youngest daughter could do more. Could Be more. And so that was the deflated message she always sent to me. I remember when I was 16 and at the grocery store with her, she insisted on teaching me to properly bag groceries, and I quote “so that when you’re a grocery checker you’ll be trained already”. I called her on it right then and there with a snide “Oh thanks Mom” and she glanced sheepishly at our checker and they both knew she had slipped. Let out of her mouth her great expectations of me. And I caught it.

Then the school counselors started talking about this word “college” that I had no idea what it actually was or meant. And every time I asked mom about it her response was this: “College isn’t for people like us.”. If pressed for what that meant she’d explain that my siblings got their “smarts” from their Father (whom we don’t share). She meant to be putting herself down but was putting me down as well. Then she’d make reference to “the rich people” and how that’s something that rich and smart people do. It’s not for us. The two times I asked my school counselors about it, as we were *supposed* to be having meetings with them to talk about College – both times my counselor swiftly pushed aside the foreign word and tried to bully me into the National Guard. At this late point in my life, I’m sure they must get kickbacks of some sort – he was just so aggressive about it. I remember even saying, at the last meeting, something to the effect of “what part of `No’ is confusing?!”. I left High School still with no concept even of what college was other than the information that it `wasn’t for people like us‘. I wasn’t in the Smart or Rich class of people.

My mind just jumped further back. I remember Mr. 5th grade teacher…my favorite teacher. A good man who really cared about his students (and the next year became the Vice Principle at the junior high I would be attending). Mr Sanchez held meetings about me because, at varying moments, he thought I was “gifted” or possibly “epileptic” but not sure which. Odd? Gifted because I could always spell Big words but not Small words. I could spell things like “conscientious” but not most 3 or 4 lettered words. Seriously. Epileptic in some way because I would completely space out in class and he’d be calling my name and they’d all be trying to get my attention and I was far away in some distant galaxy on an adventure. Or mostly asleep and in slumber. Sleep disorder was really that prevalent even in my youth but such things were never recognized in those days. I remember so many sleepless nights. And I later found out I was also anemic and had been all through youth (mom apparently knew, but did nothing). Mr Sanchez was the second teacher to take me aside and care. He noticed I wasn’t stupid, despite “odd” results on tests and he also noticed something was wrong.

I remember the other kids at that school always mistook me for someone ‘smart’ and would try to get me to do their homework. Which I always thought was funny. I was like ‘if *I* do your math you will be worse off!’. I never understood why they thought I was smart and always thought it was funny. I did not do well on tests, generally.”D” (ish) student and that’s when I didn’t throw away the homework on my way home. The TV and Blue Sky were more interesting.
Although I spoke…true that when I spoke, I spoke like an Adult and this always garnered me some embarrassed attention. People would point out, in front of me, to my mom that her young child sounded like a mature adult, they thought it was so cute. I was always so embarrassed. I was always more comfortable sitting at the adult table though than the child’s table..could never really relate to most children (other than my best friend Cindy). They were greedy and violent and talked weird, were hard to understand. I couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just form a sentence. I just aged backward, really.
This is sort of funny because my best friend Cindy was the QUEEN of greedy and violent – she was the school bully! LOL. All the boys were terrified of her. But she and I had an understanding.

The first teacher to notice me and care was actually briefly my 2nd grade teacher. What was her name? Mrs Eun- something or other. I feel bad that I can’t remember her name. But she got in trouble for trying to help me. I was deathly deathly shy at the time and would only speak to my best friend Cindy. Mrs E~ noted I was neglected and pulled me aside after class to read to me. It was a simple thing. A kind thing. Nothing bad. But the other teachers needed drama in their lives and got all scandalized about a teacher showing attention to one kid. I remember them asking me about it and trying to phrase it in a way that made it sound Terrible…our reading sessions… but even at that age I was shy but headstrong and confused why a kind woman simply trying to open up a kid a little more…she’d offer me encouragement and get me to read, and read with me…what their issue was. There was nothing ever inappropriate at all. But people do need drama, so she got in trouble and had to leave. No teacher should spend time reading with a student after class! Times have changed a little now, but even so it’s still dependant upon who needs what kind of drama in the atmosphere and who makes everything into a scandal. People just thrive on that. That was my first scar from it.
I remember that teacher, once she got me to speak to her and read (shy and quiet…), she would ask questions about my home and the attention I received there…this intelligent woman had picked up that something was wrong. That I was invicible. No one read to me, my sister just older than me was the only one to teach me to write my name and the alphabet. I have been grateful to her my whole life for that little bit of attention. My sister was the only one and she was only a few years older than I. Mom was always at work or exhausted from it. Dad was at work, then came home and passed out in his chair. No one ever talked to me. This, that teacher picked up on. And promptly got in trouble for trying to be advocate for a child. It wasn’t considered OK at all in those days.

Halfway through my work night, 3AM, and the “I’m SO tired” exhaustion sets in .. :'(

Someone’s first name is “Waltraud”?? Was Walter just not interesting enough for them?

notes from the night…

Posted in Blah Blah Blah Blah... with tags , , , on December 14, 2009 by gypsygies

Okay somebody asked me to chronicle my night shift and that may help me pass the time. So here it is… brace yourselves…

So I woke up 9:59pm and literally had to be out the door by 10:05pm – no time to shower, barely enough time to brush teeth, throw on clothes and Go. I don’t have to be to work until 11pm but I live a long way from where I work :'(.

Driving in to work, passing through downtown Austin on I-35 the speed limit is 55mph. I actually found myself saying in the car “Can Somebody PLEASE go 55?!?” because everyone was going 45 max. Wtf? There wasn’t heavy traffic but enough to be stuck behind it and no reason whatsoever anywhere for everybody to be going *below* the speed limit.

My job is to answer a phone and be here for the emergencies which come up (which they do), but outside the door of the tiny room we have there’s a guy who runs this very loud floor waxing machine. I swear every time the telephone rings, he slams the doors with it. It’s very hard to answer a telephone when all you can hear is a loud machine whamming into the door. Trying to address him does no good, he doesn’t speak English.

I’m approximately 15 minutes into watching “He’s just not that into you” and I already want to strangle Gigi. Or at least tie her to a therapists couch. I’m honestly not really sure there’s any help for her though, or for all the far too many women out there *like* her. She’s just nuts. Rather, *desperate* beyond any reason or ability to function sanely. I just could not be friends with someone like that. I’d stare at them like they’re a freak show within the first few sentences out of their mouth, then be exhausted by the end of a paragraph. So much neurosis just takes too much energy and effort toward Drama. Ugh.
I *so* would not be the over-supportive friend who always says “He’ll call”. I’m more the “Huh. Bummer. Well okay then <move on…>”.

It’s the self-respect factor. I can’t get over that… the woman is automatically into anyone willing to be into her? I’ve had so many roommates like that. Have one now. She’s cute as can be and very sweet and intelligent… but something inside lacking. She’ll be with whatever cute guy shows her the attention. She’s aware of this, even, but doesn’t know what to do. Granted, the girl is quite young and has hormones working against her. That’s a bummer of a catch really.

I’m willing to give you a chance, but I make no assumptions. I guess I’m a hard sell. Honestly an over-abundance of self-respect I really have no right to. I’m a peasant, single, not overly attractive and have the worse god-cursed teeth, but.. Headstrong beyond. Defiant. I cannot *not* respect myself to the hilt. Lol.

I have discovered that as the night goes on, I get an accent. People have noted to me before that I sound like I have an accent and enquired but I’ve no idea why… other than to say it must be a collective from the world. I have lived in several U.S. regions and tend to watch a lot of other-accented films and such – only thing I can figure is that somewhere, somehow, my most-self voice has become a bit of a collective inflection. Odd, I know…I know. What can I say? We’re always supposed to have some sort of hard-core valid reason for sounding different, but all I can really say to it is “huh.”.

Further in to the film – of course completely love Alex. I have always had a soft spot for that actor, though, so he had my attention early on (Justin Long). But still – the complete honesty mixed with intelligence and the ability to *hold a conversation* while still being gorgeous? These men exist for the elite “typical pretty” women only. Bombshells born lucky, really. Granted, generally those actually-nice *men* (note MEN, not immature guys) do have to take some disappointment and damage before they find their right bombshell who’s not going to treat *them* like a blind piece of ass.
And of course there’s all those dreamy nay-sayers who are all “No no…don’t say that, that’s jaded” who are in league with the “he’ll call” folk but don’t realize it. But the truth of the matter is, I hate the fact that if you state how the world really *is*, what reality is at least 90% of the time, people fucking look down on you for not worshipping that 10% like society’s marketers tell you to. I’m a completely soft romantic dreamer who is *also* a very pragmatic realist – who knew?

On a side note, I’ve always been very happy to hear Justin Long is with Drew Barrymore. I adore Drew completely and the two of them just seem so well matched. Hope it works out.

You know it’s the flattery factor. I know when I was like 18 to about 24 I was more prone to being attracted-by-flattery. It’s really so very flattering when someone likes you. It is. That flattery can mask itself as attraction and you become attracted to them on the news that they’re attracted to you. But then it turns out, as you go further in, that though it’s flattering it’s just not there. I caused hurt to many because of the flattery factor but the truth of the matter is, it’s unavoidable. That is simply how it is – your attraction *can be* affected by their attraction to you. But that’s only surface, it doesn’t stay. But many women seems to stay in this flattery factor phase. Someone being attracted to them, attracts them…that attention on them. For me, my own self-respect over took it. Is that completely narcissistic? I don’t know. Maybe so. I am never the one to say if one is even healthier than the other, because one isn’t perpetually single while the other is. I’m not lonely either though, but I suspect that’s just acclimation – when self-respect overtook flattery I got used to Me, and loneliness was left behind.

People need to learn to throw away pens when they don’t write well anymore. Even the most unsentimental, never keep anything people I’ve come across never just Toss Out their frickin’ pens that don’t write. Someone said it’s laziness but how does it take more energy to toss out something then to keep it and continually have to put it back in a drawer and fetch another? If I get it and it won’t write, screw it, OUT…next up…

Wow I’m coming off as a completely horrible person in this, probably, but then anybody realistic at all usually does. So go figure.

3 hrs to go…

Pepsi changed their logo again !?! Every time they do they step further and further away from any possible association with the favored drink of one’s childhood and therefore any nostalgic loyalty.

Now watching “The Bank Job”. Saffron Burrows will always get me to watch anything. Felt bad I missed in the theaters, honestly, because hers is a career I will support. Granted, that kind of reasoning got me into “The Ring” for Naomi Watts, another great actress, who now owes my terrified ass a drink. Saffron is the finest example of “actress”. If you have never seen “Miss Julie” you have not yet seen true acting. Down to the grit of the bone, that woman goes. Classical beauty too, so what’s not to see? Plus, I admit I do recall something about the original incident this film was based on, oddly, it caught my attention somewhere in time so been wanting to see the film.

Within the first half hour of the show I’m already calling “toast” on characters (pegging those who will die). Anybody both likable and innocent seeming in a film is always there to make you feel bad when they are collateral damage, basically.

Phones have actually been fairly busy at times tonight. First film took what…3 1/2 hrs to watch? Lol. That’s always good – I will never mind doing what I’m here to do, over anything else.

Brothers All-Natural Fruit Crisps..”The Healthy Snack…the one Mother Nature would eat!” I don’t know why but somehow this statement strikes me as cannibalistic. I’m like “ew – Mother Nature eating her own apples?!?” lol


Posted in Commentary, Uncategorized on December 12, 2009 by gypsygies


Yesterday morning as I was passing through downtown, I saw a young, bald male standing on a corner waving his arms like he’s trying to flag someone down. Except, instead of a person opposite corner him, as his focus of attention…he seemed to be trying to flag down a building. There was no person on the opposite corner, on any opposite corner, there was just this building where he seemed to be looking, waving wildly like “wait! Wait! I’m right here! Come back!!”…as if the building were in some way in danger of missing him and passing on its way. It was a bank or insurance building…that type, with no one even looking out the windows. And I thought: “we’re all a little bit strange…aren’t we?” We are all, at some point, doing something which must make perfect sense in the moving world of our little minds…but makes no sense whatsoever to any possible onlooker. We all, at some point, speak and make wonderful sense to ourselves…from our own perspective…but come out sounding bizarre or jackass-ish to anyone else listening. No one escapes this fate. Young or old, tall or small, black brown or peach…male or female…everybody makes an ass out of themselves. Everyone says something stupid, or is seen doing something that makes no sense to anyone else. We are all a little bit strange.
Today I look like my right breast is lactating Mt. Dew. I am drinking this blessed beverage from a can…whereas I usually drink it from a 20-oz bottle. The bottle has a little bit of “airspace” at the top of it, so when you begin to tip the bottle the Dew doesn’t immediately spill out. Cans are not like that. Thus, on first tip, not paying attention, I dribble Mt. Dew down my front. It just so happens that the yellow Dew dribble is leading down and away from my right nipple. As I’m wearing a white cottony shirt, the yellow stain is quite noticeable. Staring. Then smiles, then constant glancing. I suppose it looks a little bit strange. –Gypsy.

when time stops

Posted in Prose-ish on December 12, 2009 by gypsygies

This day passes
like the one before it
without you

and I told myself I’d be alright
I told myself it’s just fine
that I don’t need to be with you anyway

And here I stand, restless
one part of me unconsciously waiting
while the rest of me denies
because I shouldn’t want to hear your voice anyway
and I know I’m fine (I’m not fine)

But if this clock is lying
and no time has passed at all
and each moment I pause here for you
I’m lost forever
lost forever

then I don’t know how I’ll be alright
each night passes so slowly
why can’t we just move on
but I don’t need you
I don’t need you
and each sentence I say without you
isn’t empty
isn’t meaningless
I know I will move on

once this clock
starts ticking again

[ ~ Gypsy Gies ]

On A Desert Highway…

Posted in about Me..., Commentary, Uncategorized on December 10, 2009 by gypsygies

It is dark outside, and cold. Cloudy. Winter. But I am remembering the warm summer sky to fall into. Endless blue, it seems, until gravity sucks me back. . . .

And I’m driving now, I remember, on a lonely desert highway somewhere in the Rockies. 100 degrees plus in July and the heat vent fully open…drawing from the engine so it doesn’t overheat because something…is broken. Spray bottle to keep myself cooled down as the windows let the hot, dry air blow over me. I stop at some small town settled into the rocks here. At a small café I sit with the locals, and listen. Men too long in the sun, skin so red and tough like leather. Most of the teeth gone. Tables and tables of them, eating their mid-afternoon meals, like me, because it is too hot to do anything else. They talk of the weather, they talk of drought, they talk of the food specials of the day, and one man tells of his wife’s inability to do laundry without staining it. This causes much laughter among us…us, now…solidarity in our temporary escape of the desert sun. Men that are ageless because of their time in the sun – looking eighty, but could be forty. Men that are raceless because of their time in the sun – maybe once Euro-Caucasian, but now each of them as red as the native to this land. Men that belong here, somehow, in the crevices of these rocks…making their living out of…out of what? Out here in nowhere land, the place in the sun where cowboys ran, mining was once the trade. Is it still? Are these rocks full of gold for these café patrons? But I do not ask them questions. I spend several hours there…just listening. Smiling, agreeing, and listening.

Back on the highway, back in the sun, and it is here in the strange afterglow of these men that I am suddenly contemplating direction, and time, and the space that a life takes place in. I reach for the camera in the seat beside me, suddenly inspired to try for a picture of what is in front of me, and what is behind me, at the same time (through use of the rear-view mirror). Click and I am satiated. Soothed by the motion. Contented to be everywhere at one time, by being anywhere at any time. Contained by nothing but motion. Soothed by a rhythm of constant change. Now here, now here, now…here.


I have the shittiest narrative voice on the planet, but something prompted me to read this anyway. So – here.

On A Desert Highway