If I Only Had Wings............

You don't have to live forever; You just have to live.

2012-01-19T20:41:00.000-08:00

In 13 days I will be 28 years old...The term rebirthing seems too "new agey" even for me...but it feels like something along those lines might be happening to me.... Today I have taken a vow of silence and personal reflection. It is all very "zen"...life is suffering...let go and let______...be in the moment...the only certainty is uncertainty...one day at a time... I think I have been afraid to post this because I felt it would come off as seeking attention or gratuitous expressions of friendship...but I don't care.

Even before I was blindsided by the news that I will have to find a new place to live by the end of March I was in a dark place emotionally. I was very close to NOT making it to 28...I couldn't really explain why I felt the way I did. In truth my entire life has been a giant existential crises, Who am I? Why am I here? What does that even mean? I tried to pretend it was melancholia in an artistic sense...I have the soul of a poet. I understood something other people, boring shiny happy ignorant people didn't.

Thoreau wrote: "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation." Macbeth's famous line: "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,/That struts and frets his hour upon the stage/And then is heard no more. It is a tale/Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury/Signifying nothing."

But then I started cutting again and drinking a little more than I should...I felt very alone and and I started to tell myself, Maybe it wasn't worth it, Maybe I wasn't meant to continue in this life. It was all just too hard. I was tired of pretending to be Just Fine...I had a sucky childhood blah blah...I had a great love that turned into a tragic tale of heartache and codependency blah..That worst part was I couldn't really picture a future for myself. I didn't really have a reason for wanting to be alive, I felt like I was "going through the motions" I felt dead already so....

Part of the problem is I sort of lack a strong support system in my life which is my fault. There is no one I could call at 3 in the morning to say I need someone to talk to. I moved nearly 3,000 miles away from my closest family and friends on a whim. I also have trouble asking for help when I need it the most...Which isn't to say I haven't been helped along the way, I am grateful for the people who for one reason or another appeared in my life over these last few years and gave me a reason to believe everything was really going to be okay: -the couple in the community theatre group who gave me $100 in grocery store gift cards when I didn't have a job and they caught on to me eating the "prop food" during rehearsal -the collective who let me sleep on their couch for 31/2 months when I had no where else to go -the woman who made room for me that one festival weekend that showed me that there are people who are whimsical and amazing and who think I am beautiful (she is still the most compassionate person I know) -the supervisor who asked me how I was and actually waited to hear the answer...and made me realize that someone might actually notice if I was gone

As I've contemplated the act of ending my life I was afraid to tell anyone. What would they think of me? Normal people don't sit around pondering the best/easiest/quickest way to die. And then something weird happened. If you suddenly decide you are okay with dying then you start taking risks you never would have before, maybe it's some sort of sick control/mind game you play with your self, what's the worse possible outcome of this situation? In this weird obsession with death I lost some sort of fear of actually living.

I think that a part of me still believes that my life has stalled in some way, or plateaued...Yet, I am not the same person I was 5 years ago or even 1 year ago...I feel like I am discovering myself for the first time. I have embraced my own personal style, reaffirmed my sexuality and the magic of the Fey. I know it is a struggle and I can't say I am suddenly all better, but I can say I will live to fight another day. I'm not giving up. I want to see what happens. I want to see my good friend's daughter grow up, I want to see my sister finally marry the love of her life. I want to allow myself to love again. I hope that someday soon I will look back on this chapter and be glad it wasn't the last one.

“Do not fear death...only the unlived life...You don't have to live forever; You just have to live.” -Tuck Everlasting

Elfglitter!!!

2011-11-01T19:49:00.000-07:00

My fairy name is Ember Elfglitter
She is cheerful and friendly.
She lives where fireflies mate and breed.
She is only seen in the light of a shooting star.
She wears dresses that glow with fiery colours and has transparent green wings like a cicada.
Find out your fairy names with The Fairy Name Generator!

the resolute urgency of now

2011-09-05T10:03:00.000-07:00

I have a cassette, yes you read that correctly...CASSETTE of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness...I always loved the Smashing Pumpkins and this song/video combination. Now that I am older I can understand why it spoke so strongly to me...wisdom comes with age and all that... ironically (is this irony?), I feel that the song is sort of talking about that and once you realize it it always to late...just as the song itself is so short and leaves you wanting more.

Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change the less you feel
Believe, believe in me, believe
That life can change, that you´re not stuck in vain
We´re not the same, we´re different tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight
And you know you´re never sure
But you´re sure you could be right
If you held yourself up to the light
And the embers never fade in your city by the lake
The place where you were born
Believe, believe in me, believe
In the resolute urgency of now
And if you believe there´s not a chance tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight
We´ll crucify the insincere tonight
We´ll make things right, we´ll feel it all tonight
We´ll find a way to offer up the night tonight
The indescribable moments of your life tonight
The impossible is possible tonight
Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight

poetic terrorism: spreading random acts of beauty, poetry, wonder, magic and thought-provocation

2011-09-03T11:26:00.000-07:00

Urban Dictionary: poetic terrorism:

I discovered this in college along the lines of Dadaism and Absurdism (The belief nothing can explain or rationalize human existence. There is no answer to “Why am I?” Human beings exist in a meaningless, irrational universe and that any search for order by them will bring them into direct conflict with this universe.**)

We even had a small band of "merry pranksters" (intentional reference) but didn't do much...we talked about planning an on campus flash mob which never came to fruition. It was still something new to us then. Which got me thinking about flash mobs today and guerilla art...this blog already said it better than I may have: The Sporadic Blog...Poetic Terrorism and T.A.Z

Through friends and my own wanderings through the interwebs I have started to connect the concepts of spontaneous art as medium to spirituality questioning/awakening to Chaos Magic and the idea that maybe life IS meaningless but that doesn't mean it can't still be fun.

I will likely update this post in the future with more of my ideas regarding this subject but that is all for now.

**http://www.tameri.com/csw/exist/ex_lexicon.html

just for fun

2011-07-18T18:00:00.000-07:00

The Doggie Justice League Jr. Detective Agency

2010-08-24T19:19:00.000-07:00

When it comes to man’s best friend no knows how to band together like the San Francisco dog walking community.

Training methods….to neuter or not to neuter…controversies over off leash parks…the ethics of dog shows, dog hunting, prong collars, breed specific legislation, debarking, declawing…and hey did you pick your poop? are just a few of the arguments that can be commonly heard among the dog walkers at your local dog park.
A recent horrible incident put this into perspective for me. It proved that the best dog walkers would put all of that aside simply for the love of the dogs
After studying English for four years in college and suddenly just needing a “job” (because really what does one DO with a BA in English and Liberal Arts?!?) I began working in the pet care industry; stumbling into something that would become a passion. I have now been a pet sitter/caretaker for almost as long as I studied English. So, yes, I have my own opinions, arguments, just plain strong feelings about the above, and many other topics regarding the care and protection of our furry friends, but this post is not about whether a raw diet is better than a vegan one or if dogs should ever get “people” food….
Because it is the suspicion of this blogger that underneath the leash draped shoulders, ripped jeans, sneakers and treat pouches beat the hearts of superheroes ready and willing to come to the aide of any pet in need.
It all began last Thursday afternoon at a Fort Funston off leash area for dogs. when a professional dog walker walking with her own dog Lenny strolled past another regular to the park who was walking along with his dog Denali. The dogs did not seem happy to see each other and when Lenny’s person asked if Denali was neutered the man responded by stabbing Lenny approximately four times before fleeing the park.

As Lenny was rushed to the hospital, San Francisco dog walkers and pet sitters sounded the alert to be on the lookout for a 33-year-old man who drove a green SUV and had a dog named Denali afraid he might show up at other dog parks. No one could remember the man’s name but they all remembered Denali. And in fact, remembering the dog’s name but not the owner’s is a bit a of an inside joke among the dog walking community and another clue to why the these people have chosen this field and to the underground network of heroes sworn to protect man’s best friend.

I watched as phone calls, text messages and emails passed from dog walkers to pet sitters to pet supply store owners (even reaching those who had recently moved out of state but remembered the dog Denali). It was as if super special decoder rings were being activated and signals displayed in the sky as the SFPD looked to the dog walking community for information about this man. When it was discovered that the man had ordered a tag for Denali at a pet supply store in the sunset who still had the receipt on record the owners called police with the man’s name and phone number. The villain was brought down and the entire community breathed a sigh of relief but the story is not quite over.

On Sunday, the police identified the man and although he is suspected to be charged, he has not been arrested and investigators are still looking for witness to the crime. In the end the he was still found by these amazing (not-so-caped) crusaders and although they don’t wear capes and masks (except maybe to comicon) they are true superheroes; they are the defenders of the rights of those who can’t speak for themselves and to anyone who tries to hurt one of these loving creatures there is no escape from The Doggie Justice League. I am proud to be a member of this community and I thank my friends for reminding me that at the end of the day it really is about loving the dogs.

Note: After having surgeries to remove his spleen and help injuries to his liver and lungs I am happy to report (with gratitude to the folks at the pet hospital) Lenny was released on Saturday and is expected to recover!
A fund has been set up to help Lenny’s owner cover the medical bills:
San Francisco Professional Dogwalkers Association (PRODOG) will be accepting donations on her behalf. Please make checks payable to SF Prodog and write 'For Lenny' in the memo line. Mail to: Pro Dog c/o Barbara Delman One Baker Street #5A, San Francisco, CA 94117

thoughts

2010-08-09T17:23:00.000-07:00

Even when I missed the fireflies that defined my childhood in New Jersey I sensed there were faeries in California.
Subsisting on blueberries and clove cigarettes
and we fought in poetic verse
our lyrical passions rising and falling in iambic pentameter.........
I hate you, I love you
I fucking hate you, I fucking LOVE you

Poetic Sparrow

2010-08-09T17:09:00.000-07:00

I was born on The Feast Day of St. Brigit

Who was once the Celtic goddess of Epic Poetry

They called me poet before I could even write my own name

"My daughter's a writer." She'd say

I never asked why

I wrote my first poem in first grade

It was about how much I loved pancakes

Sparrow came later

A game of adopting silly nicknames among friends

I asked "what would mine be"

Poetic they said

Poetic Sparrow

and I never asked why

Sparrow?

what would it be like to be something so tiny?

I scrawled Poetic Sparrow across the top of notebook pages

and practiced saying it out loud

proclaiming myself small and fragile

becoming easy prey to a lover who called me Little Bird

I let myself be intimidated by a poetic genius

Who after only year was a local celebrity

I lived vicariously,

I never asked to be called a poet

But every time the sacred flame of creation burned through my pen

I held my courage in one hand and my breath in the other

And every time my reward was a patronizing smile

Sparrow bones crushed with double entendre

How ridiculous was I to believe I deserved the title of Poet.

Instead I was called muse

My own words ripped from lungs

My own stories borrowed without my permission

Until I forgot they were mine

and I forgot who I was

I stopped calling myself Poetic Sparrow

and stopped writing

and stopped living

I became "that girl who's dating The Poet"

I burned candles

and whispered silent prayers to Brigid

The Goddess of epic poetry

Later cannonized by the Catholics trying to convert the county dwelling Pagans

who refused to give her up

She told me to write the word POET on the inside of my wrist

And I would remember how to fly

They called me Poet and I believed them

because stuck in my throat is a poem trying to make it's way out

I am a Priestess

of the Religion of Aesthetic Language

and I am the only one who could tell you this story.

nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be

2010-08-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

There was this spring

that smelled like Jasmine

and tasted like handpicked oranges and dumpster dived pastries

in this house with a sloped roof that whispered to me at dusk on full moons

There was this girl

who drove a thousand miles across the country in an old cutlass

with everything she owned in the back seat

and the ghost of a dead lover riding shotgun.

She entered my quiet spring with the intensity of a sugar high

in converse high tops and a Sleater-Kinney t-shirt.

She wore her tattoos like armor, gender as an afterthought and sang with the voice of an angel.

We never fucked on the hood of the car

but we howled at the moon with the windows rolled down

We wrote our story on the walls of that house

whispering our secrets into the mouths of Southern Comfort bottles sitting on the floor.

We probably should never have even had sex

but we fell into each other like the addicts we were

searched for answers inside each other

braiding our bones together

amalgamating our histories

As the days grew longer we believed the lies The Beatles sang to us

when she finally found the truth in the tip of a needle

the drug was no surprise to either of us.

Ace bandages binding breasts,

pronouns left unsaid

as the spring slipped into summer

and we pretended not to notice,

believed the lies we told ourselves

until SHE finally became HE

and perfectly curved hips and soft skin became razor stubble and biceps and a deeper voice.

Testosterone fueled progress.

"Here's your change sir..." and "Are you still a Lesbian?"

pulling our hearts in opposite directions.

I missed Her.

The girl I met in the spring

Like a dream

or hallucination

an imaginary friend buried in my heart

in a sacred space shaped like a house with a sloped roof

where I leave sprigs of Jasmine and fresh oranges

because The Beatles were wrong and so were we

The day they towed the Cutlass to the junkyard it felt like waking up with a hangover

wondering if it was all worth it

the way our grandparents must feel about The Sixties

and sometimes I really hate The fucking Beatles

Because love was never "all we needed"

but "you were always waiting for this moment to be free"

20

2010-08-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

1. Every few days I will comb out my hair and set it in curlers overnight. Dreadlocks were so much easier

2. Yesterday I was trying to download a torrent and under the ETA was the Infinity symbol. The Pagemaster finished successfully.

3. I used to get a lot of flak about being a white chic with dreads but if I don't brush out my hair every few days set it in curlers overnight I would have dreadlocks again without even trying.

4. I'm not technically "white" I'm 50% Puerto Rican on my father's side. For some reason a lot of people think my last name Feliciano is Italian.

5. It kind of bugs me that a lot of people think Feliciano is Italian. I wonder if it is because I am from New Jersey?

6. I regret I do not speak Spanish fluently but my mother would not let them speak to me in Spanish when I was a kid.

7. I was born with a natural streak of grey hair.

8. I CAN recite the Spanish alphabet.

9. I should make it clear that I don't think there's anything wrong with being Italian. I would love to travel to Italy someday.

10. I wonder if I shaved my head if people would think I was a Neo-Nazi?

11. Why do people care so much about hair?

12. I once had purple hair.

13. 1+3 = 4 Which is my lucky number.

14. When i was in 2nd grade my mother made get that "bowl" cut because my hair was so difficult to take care of.

15. I cried when another kid asked me if I was a boy or a girl because my hair was so short.

16. Four is my lucky number because in Fifth grade it was the number I guessed that won the Fifth grade privleges on the jungle gym one recess. Everybody high-fived me.

17. I often recieve junk mail in spanish. "Saludos Ms. Feliciano"

18. ∞

19. Feliciano sort of means Happy Year

20. I have already watched The Pagemaster three times.

The (imagined?) Lesbian Subtext of Ociee Nash

2010-06-13T02:25:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching The Adventures of Ociee Nash, a movie based on the novel A Flower Blooms on Charlotte Street (which I have not read).

Ociee Nash is a 9 year old girl who has been raised by her single father and two brothers.Sent to live with her aunt in Asheville, NC, the britches wearing, tree climbing Ociee falls in love with the prim and proper young Elizabeth Murphy in a lesbian coming of age story. It's "butch" meets "femme" in a quasi meet-cute wrestling match. It's a love/hate destined to be together romance.

Except not. Nope. It's not actually about that at all.

Ociee is indeed sent to live with her aunt to learn how to act like a lady but Ociee and Elizabeth are just best friends throughout the the entire film and I suppose the following two book sequels because it was billed as a very "family friendly" and downright wholesome film like in this review for example.

Maybe I am just biased but the whole time it truly felt like a budding young romance. I wonder if it reads as a strictly platonic friendship in the books? Like how Anne Shirley and Diana Barry are "best bosom friends" Or is it like Fried Green Tomatoes? The relationship is very reminiscent of Igie and Ruth (except I think Oicee is slightly older than Elizabeth).

Ociee is constantly urging Elizabeth to be brave; she's a bit of a bad influence on her. Elizabeth encouraoges Ociee to accept wearing dresses but understands, even plays into, her tomboyishness. She successfully convinces her to come out of a tree by telling her she has a pet snake ("all girls in North Carolina have snakes")

In the end Ociee even climbs into a burning house to save Elizabeth.

If I were to ever try my hand at slash fiction I'd imagine a story about these two, older and being pursued by gentleman suitors and arousing jealousies and building to the whole "I hate you," "I hate you more" scene followed by the clichéd kiss.

Another note about the film: There is a brief cameo by Ty Pennington as Wilbur Wright (see what I did there? :p). I should also mention this movie introduced me to my new steampunk icon! I might write about her at some point.

I want (a free-write)

2009-07-10T17:04:00.000-07:00

I want to drink tea from vintage porcelain tea cups on cold Saturday mornings sitting barefoot on the windowsill watching you read the paper across the room taking bites of cinnamon raisin toast with blackberry jam off a plate found in a thrift store with scalloped edges never looking up you turn the page and read out loud the top ten book list
I want to look down at the street and watch the people going by and press my face to the cool glass and know without looking that you will get up to pour one more glass of chocolate soy milk before leaving the unwashed plate in the sink and retreat to the bathroom with the black and white tile floor and giant tub hanging in a cheap frame is a black and white photo, a closeup of your converse sneakers that you insist is art so I allowed it be hung in the bathroom when we moved in and secretly happy and get tingly when visitors comment on it but never tell you
I want to get up and wash the breakfast dishes once I hear you get out of the shower standing in front of the sink I water the two succulent plants that live there behind the faucet I place the dishes and my tea cup in the yellow drying rack and take up your seat on the futon the has become couch I pick up the discarded paper from the coffee table littered with two empty mugs an empty can of arizona sweet tea a chocolate bar wrapper a half full bag of honey roasted almonds a glass pipe packed with marijuana and a plastic lighter three candles of different heights are arranged in one corner there is melted wax and incense ash smudges metal bottle caps
I want
I want you to come out of the bathroom half dressed and suggest we take a picnic to the park later You flop into the arm chair the only other piece of furniture in the part of the apartment By the window in the kitchen there is a small folding table and two mismatched wooden chairs. On that table is a half written letter another mug with paintbrushes and pens sticking out of it, jewelry making tools and books about growing herbs in window boxes.
I want to wear a vintage green dress with a blue belt and yellow high top sneakers. I have gotten three tattoos Sparrow wings on my back a compass pointing east on the inside of my left wrist on my right wrist I am wearing six bracelets collected over time from here and there traded and haggled you made my earrings as a gift for my birthday one year
I want to walk holding hands to the park with the dog carrying a basket of simple food bread fruit vegan things for you cheese for me we drink wine out of a thermos and play on the swings we throw tennis balls for the dog and you laugh and tell me you love me.
I want to stop at the bookstore on the way home and find obscure books on feminist theory and illustrated zines
I want to buy an awesomely bad tshirt at the vintage store and try on silly hats
I want to stop at the coffee shop and sit inside reading while you write stopping to feed each other chocolate covered strawberries and almond biscotti and then sneaking into the bathroom to kiss deeply
I want to listen for a long time to the violinist busking on the corner a block before the apartment as the sun goes down with my head on your shoulder and leave fifty cents in the open case because it's all the cash we have left
I want to watch evening television while folding the laundry that had been sitting by the front door since we returned from the laundromat yesterday where you met me after work and we bought tacos off the truck while waiting for the dryer finish and we rushed home to change and meet everyone at the queer open mic and stayed out late so the clothes got forgotten until now as I sit on the couch and fold as you write some more
I want you to help me turn the futon back into the bed and fall onto it exploring each others bodies as we watch a movie that arrived in the mail this morning but turn the volume off to make our own soundtrack that fills up the apartment and drifts out the open window
I want to fall asleep in your arms staring at the many Polaroids taped to the wall behind the futon by the light of the streetlamp of our smiling faces and happy memories our friends and favorite things

I want...