Lasting currency…

Again reading over my notebooks now,

I find that these lines are not so much poetry as small boxes in which poetry is locked up…

These little lines in my notebooks are something from which,

if some magic spell were cast upon them,

real poems would emerge…

Poetry in the strictest sense may be said to be that spell…

— Yasushi Inoue in The Hunting Gun

My father’s youngest brother left a voice mail for me,

at 8:37 am. this morning,

when I was in the deepest of sleeps…

He called me by my sister’s name,

and told me that God loves me…

I could tell he was either stoned,

or calling from the prison,

he’s created for himself,

or both…

I sent him a message to stop thinking about me,

and considered unlisting my number…

Today I’ve been thinking about something that happened yesterday,

and it helped me to realize a few things…

And feel some blocked aches and pains that were ready for release…

I danced in the circle at bulerias por fiesta class on Saturday,

and it was fantastic…

Right now my teacher is on maternity leave,

and her mentorteacher has taken over for the duration…

He is the man who I first started to take lessons with four years ago…

Like me,

masterteacher is fascinated by learning…

And he is constantly,

working to improve his teaching,

for the good of the whole…

He’s always trying to figure out new ways to get the message across,

and he recognizes the uniqueness of each learner…

Yesterday he talked about creating a spectaculo,

as you begin your exit from the stage,

and are in the process of closing your dance,

to return to your seat…

He said,

something like,

You need to make a big deal about the fact that you’re about to do nothing…

This is your chance to make a scene…

Holy smokes,

you gotta love that…

Where else in the world does someone invite you to be paranormal,

and make a strong statement,

strictly for the purposes of getting more attention…

When I went to clown school a year ago the teacher basically said to me,

in not so many words,

that I didn’t need to be there…

She said,

You could just stand there and be funny…

It’s all about timing,

and you already have it,

so go home…

I did go home,

and cried,

because I didn’t feel funny,

I felt sad…

Now I know you can be funny and feel sad at the same time…

And happy too,

when it comes floating down the river right behind loneliness,

because that is the clown’s job…

When we sit down for circle time masterteacher points fingers,

and his are very long…

I was sure that his finger was pointing to the space beside me,

as I tried to lean away from it,

but he made himself clear,

looked right at me,

and said,

YOU,

and then he added,

LET IT RIP Girl…

I got up to dance on command,

but then I suddenly felt inspiration,

like a rush of blood not just to the head,

but EVERYWHERE…

Holy smokes,

where else can you get off like that…

And then the guitar started,

with the clapping and singing…

My feet started moving,

and my hands made floreos…

I shook my rear end in someone’s face just for fun,

and then I danced back to my seat…

Masterteacher just looked at me,

and whispered,

Perfect,

followed by a great round of applause…

That’s exactly what a person needs to hear,

after you’ve put yourself way out there…

The next time I see one of the Vancouver Canucks,

I am going to stand and applaud,

and say,

That was a perfect season…

I was thinking this week about the important service that gay men offer straight women…

You know when they give you a compliment they’re not trying to get you into bed…

You know that if you want to put your finger in that depression between their pectoral muscles and you ask nicely for permission,

they’ll smile and let you for as long as you want with no questions asked…

You know that when you hold their hand or hug them they won’t try to get one thing to lead to another,

and then get mad at you and call you frigid or a prima donna when it doesn’t…

And you know that they won’t surprise you for your sixteenth birthday by inviting 100’s of people from highschool that you don’t even know and then break down the bathroom door and drag you out holding your body and your face in their hands while they force you to cut the cake that they bought at the SuperValue of a male torso with an enormous erect penis including details like licorice lace pubic hair,

when you’ve never seen anything like that before in your life,

and then say things like,

You will always be my friend…

I’ve worked hard my whole life to ignore warnings that I was given as a young girl about boys only wanting one thing,

and that that one thing will get you pregnant and then you’ll end up like me,

sacrificing your life…

As an adult I have searched high and low for a man-friend,

and things always go sideways…

At this ripe old age you’d think that it would be different,

but it isn’t…

Someone is always looking for an emotional rescue,

or relief from a sexless marriage,

and they think you might want to save them,

because you try to stimulate intellectual discussion,

clarity of thought,

and offer encouragement on a human path of becoming…

Please…

My main query in this case is,

LOOK at me…

If your wife isn’t interested in you,

then why in God’s name do you think that I would be???

I imagine that men have their own sticky situations to report,

and so they should,

by telling their own stories…

Gay women don’t appear to provide equal service for straight men…

They either seem to hate them,

or want their sperm…

I won’t apologize for generalizing from my armchair research…

The source of my information is based on a reality which is far more substantial,

than anything I saw in the academy,

or read in the newspaper…

Things certainly did not go sideways in the circle…

They spiraled into something golden…

I felt seen,

understood,

and appreciated for who I am as a woman…

Dressed in black from head to toe,

with real breasts,

my original nose,

no anal bleaching,

no labiaplasty

or tummy tucks…

I was not created by or for the porn industry…

I am a child of heaven who decided to spend time on earth,

for the intents and purposes of growing soul,

and I’m doing the very best that I can…

There’s a monster hornet buzzing around my front window right now,

and it is trapped…

I’m going to leave it there in the clear light of Sunday,

while I go out to plant some beautiful flowers,

from the Home Depot…

Change that…

I just killed it with my copy of the Hunting Gun…