Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Being Julie London

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Always music in the house
always
from a young age
I remember
Sinatra
Duke Ellington
The Beatles
Sara Vaughan 
music permeated our days and nights
my oh my, how my mother loved to dance  
might be the one singularly magical thing she taught me 
no lessons on cooking
sewing
gardening or laundry 
no baking classes or tidy tips
she
taught
me
to dance
And
there
was this one album
Julie London
She was on the cover in about 6 different calendar-girl poses
Crazy sexy--before I knew what crazy sexy was
I wanted to be Julie London
Not Petula Clark, Jane Fonda, Gloria Steinem, or Nancy Sinatra
(ok, well, maybe a little Nancy Sinatra .... ) (Jane Fonda happened later)
my folks loved Julie London
I was infatuated with her
At night, when I was presumably fast asleep--would fold
tuck & tender my baby doll pajamas
fluffy white earmuffs became a bra
a stuffed pink boa constrictor
as well ....... a boa
and
I would dance.
The music played in my head
feminine-ruffly-bowed-pink I was
smelling of cigarettes & roses. 
I believed sex must be the grandest thing. ever.  
Such frosted womanly power : coy but sure. Shy, but not.
Soft, yet daring. 
the love of the contrast of things
So
by day
mild
unassuming
Susie Chapstick
Blond pony-tails, and innocent visage
poised
polite
expected
night--a wild thing;
Hungry for something I'd never seen, never tasted
But i knew it hung from the cosmos; 
brilliant like a star with dark shimmering edges

Then one day - at a fairly young age
probably in summer
probably in June 
I woke up and knew I was not where I was supposes to be
Wrong planet
wrong decade
wrong four walls
wrong baby doll pajamas
Not Julie London
nor Jane Fonda
I was all wrong
A door was shut, locked
The mask placed

Then another day 
a day when someone touches you a certain way
maybe it's in the front seat of a car
on a summer lawn under stars
or on a parents bed 
a match is lite
a fire sparked
fireworks are felt in the seat of your soul 
and 
you simultaneously lose yourself
and find yourself
the collide of skin opens the door
back into yourself.
Maybe it's the raw honesty & explosion of sensation
maybe it's in the vulnerability
or maybe it's tasting Julie-London-Frosting
But the door is open
and you are finally in the right place

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

back to bowlegs . . .
















the way you come in, is the way you go out
open & shining & riddled with doubt
breathe in the smoke,
wipe the ash from your eyes
you & the dogs
tag along for the ride
trails of wisteria, Seminole pines
mullen & sage, spring grass & rye ....
hurry ... before darkness
hurry ... 'fore rain
circle past the thunder
to draw close again
and ...
build me a blaze
strong as your heart
dance with me around it
long after dark
piss on the fire and 
call in the dogs
head back to Bowlegs
with me in your arms . . .
three quarter moon hangs in the sky
wisdom of fire there in your eyes
as hope lies dashed
there upon stone
stars lift it up
and carry it home
adagio sun swells in the east
the lark will teach us to trust what we speak 
and we never saw 
or will see again
a morning like that
that atones & amends
so ....
build me a blaze
strong as my heart
let's dance around it
long after dark
... bring on the thunder
... bring on the storm
the north star forever lights the way home 
piss on the fire
call in the dogs
and head back to Bowlegs
with me in your arms ......