Little Ones*

globe detailarid
hollow arians
trying to recall
what our elders said
about being new and small
as we look into brown eyes of refugees

Cradling our lattes we mentally note
the blond haired man
with the afro-ed girl
pat us on the back
see, how far we’ve come
good job
Little One

to celebrate the human race
we eat baklava with brie
and mention the middle east
then eat wild rice with curried spam
celebration festival we live in
these great
united states

Aren’t we cultured
aren’t we great
we don’t sleep at
Super 8’s


after talking to the blond man, I find out that he is an artist, his girl is a poet,
after talking to the afro-ed girl, I find out that she is a woman, her man is her lover
after talking to the lover, I find out that he is proud of his girl, his girl thinks he walks too slow
after talking to the fast walker, I find out that she is a woman, that he thinks she is most beautiful in shades of grey
after talking to the shade of grey, again, I find out that grey would rather be purple, that it is easy mixing some colors

but look at that woman of sorts, that woman of means, that woman of money
how she mixes her baklava with brie, how can she know, how can she think…, how can she?

I try to explain and the man says, I notice the confusion, I feel the confusion, but my girl is beautiful and beauty among mundane worlds can not be put aside easily
so i am at his side, she says

and we were hoping you still carry the freerange chickensalad

he asks, smoke-free joint I suppose

I’m afraid so, I say, as if……………

what do i know
lost in the translation

*This poem is  from an early 2000 journal, possibly pre-9/11… exact date to be rediscovered.  I transcribed it to my computer in the mid 2000s and having been toying with it ever since.  It needs more fiddling around, but this is what I have, so far. 

Ames Library of South Asia

Ames Library of South Asia

Of triptychs and oxen



The first journal I pulled out of my first drawer-stack of journals is a dream journal from 2004-2005.

Hopefully I didn’t lose my vast audience with the words “dream journal”. I have a couple of them… 2ish to be exact… in addition to dream descriptions splattered throughout most of my journals. We’re all guilty of this, right?

Things Fall Apart.

Things Fall Apart.

Journaling my dreams was a necessary phase.  They were a practice of transcribing ethereal images before they disappeared.  They also represent me scrambling to, aptly enough, archive my brain.

In 2004 I didn’t yet have the balls to embrace the term atheism.  I often described myself as an agnostic atheist… something I clung to all the way to the first 2007 entry of my Hot-For-Jesus blog.  Perhaps my preferred descriptor now is post-theist, but through it all I wanted to believe that my, Our, subconscious held the keys to Everything.

“I think too much of psychic overload, reincarnation, parallel lives.” (from first dream journal entry)

What did I find in the coffee-stained dream journal?

  • Performing, rehearsing, singing, seeing myself in a reflection – ‘blond’ (which I’m not), ‘dusty pink dress, cream pearls’, (both of which I made for a H.S. performance in the early ‘90s) and ‘sexy legs’ (whatever that means)… and I said to myself, “Damn. After all this time, Christine you still look fucking sexy and sound great and you’d make your family proud.”
  • Dying… as a foreign child in a disaster situation and not feeling pain… and needing to let someone know that I/she/he was dying pain-free. The dream convinced me I was channeling the suffering of others, in particular the 2004 Tsunami days before it happened.

You get the picture.  It is full of nonsense.  Absolutely necessary nonsense for the time… full of apocalyptic Armageddons… apocalypses galore camouflaged as war, disease, floods, tornadoes, solving mysteries that uncovered new Mysteries.

As I re-read it now I still look for signs, proof that I knew things before they happened, or parallel to their happening… proof that the dreams were significant if I just could properly interpret them… a holdover from the fundagelical glamorization of Daniel and other Biblical dream-interpreters.  But all I found were themes of houses, lovers, trains, siblings, music, mothers, frustration and apocalyptic intrigue.  No proof of anything but a woman trying to untangle knots of spiritual abuse and normal human life.

Anything worth sharing?

A Helper shared this koan with me.  I wrote it down in red ink:

                                          The oxen are slow, but the earth is patient.

Take it. It is yours to keep as long as you need it.

Better for the wear.

Better for the wear.

The triptych of dream journal coffee pics can also be found on my Tumblr blog, User. (Triptych’s subtitle: put a fucking bird on it.)

Paper Migration: wo wir beginnen/where we begin

When a lodgerlover left, I noticed the empty drawers full of space I previously didn’t know I had.  My bras (top), underwear (middle) or socks (bottom) won’t be stuffed back into this newly discovered space.

Paper Migration: Into 2013...

The drawers are the perfect size for 8.5×11 paper… of which I have plenty.  I have boxes and drawers of notebooks of all sizes.  We begin with the paper and notebooks from the plastic file cabinet tucked sideways under my desk.

Paper Migration: Out of Dreams '04

The migration to the wooden drawers will force me to shed some paper weight and rediscover the ideas I filed away with good intentions of revising/revisiting some day. The plan is that one day I will have a new book to add to one of my bookshelves… spine color To Be Determined.

Paper Migration: color-coded bookshelves 2013

This color coded organization of my books is in part inspired by David Weinberger’s book Everything is miscellaneous: the power of the new digital disorder. I work full-time in public libraries and have a history of working in three library systems and a bookstore before this current job.  We read Weinberger’s book for an Indexing & Abstracting Library class. My copy is marked up with pen and kitty teeth and claw marks.  We will revisit some of the margin notes in future posts… as an act of archiving the trail of influences.

Tumblr has a ton of BookPorn sites, many of which I follow. Which sites on any blogging format are your favorite eye-candy sites for books?