The Story of Fanny Piff (A Personal Myth)

Dream Nameless

     There was a nameless town of many cultures that sat at a crossroads between the three kingdoms of Haverworth, Valinoth, and Ixie, respectively.  The town sprang up around a small spring surrounded by three lemon trees, each tree facing one of the three kingdoms.  The town’s founding happened when three trading caravans, one from each kingdom, all happened to meet up one day in Autumn around the clear, glittering spring.  That the traders all happened upon the place at once was mere chance, wasn’t it?  Whatever the case, their six day journeys to and from each of the other kingdoms, having been cut in half by the chance encounter, became the foundation of the town that grew there.  The unique location made the place a center for trade and commerce between the three kingdoms that the town soon had a monopoly on, but there was always one problem.  The people from each of the three kingdoms all had different ideas of what the name of the town should be, but once it came time to decide a name, the campground-come-village had seen a generation or two and the children born of traders from entirely different towns no longer cared to be associated with one kingdom or another.  The area was simply known as The Crossroads, though no one that lived there particularly liked the name (or the notion that The Crossroads’ citizens would be referred to as Crossroadians, Crossroadanites, or Crossroaders).  Instead, they all chose to have their town be nameless until they could all agree or until one of the kingdoms decided to annex them and force them to take on a name.

One of those (bursting) times . . .

Did you ever have one of those weird nights where all of a sudden your humanity is made apparent and the terror and wonder of this is simply too much to bear?  It's like this great freeing weight that's trying to crawl right through your chest and explode in energy and abandon.  You know that it won't last, but you've got to do something with all the feeling- it's going to leave as soon as you stop rejoicing or crying or wondering or loving or hoping or knowing.  Like a petulant child you're screaming in your head, "No!  I don't want to let it go! It's not fair! It's not fair!"  But there it goes, softly and quietly and disturbingly, particle by particle into the humid summer air that fills the room.

O, I haven't been connected to it for such a long time that my body can't handle it's onset, much less its departure!  It is the pain that a body seeks out and revels in with heartbreaking abandon, this wonder-feeling.  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry I haven't been there to feel you!  I'm sorry I haven't been there to let your presence be known to me and the people that I try to touch with my work. I'm sorry that I have done no work. I can't apologize and you don't even know what remorse is, you can't feel it because you are simple energy, The Good, The Mystery, The Grace.

I am having an epiphany, and now I see that I am a servant.  I am a servant of hope because I want to capture you in words, though no one has been able to yet.  Our valiant efforts just tell us that we are still alive and that in the end the effort is worth it because it shows others that there is something to reach for. This is what a religion should be.  It should be feeling connection instead of severing it. I don't know how to love this feeling yet because it is so shattering and wholesome.  Only I can forgive myself for letting it fall by the wayside for so long.
More coherence, after the jump.

Why The Hangups?

Ever turn around and look at the past couple of days and wonder: Ok, what the hell is going on and what that fuck am I thinking?

As only partial explanation: I find it strange to be a sex-positive person but to still have my own unique hangups that I can't even seem to control. Did I get so embarrassed today because of the cute boy ...or because of the vibrator he was telling me about?

More on this soon.

A Letter to Christina

Dearest Christina,

The speech is lovely, well done.  I can hear your voice when I read it and it is a comfort to know that the duty of it came to a person of such admirable quality.  I must say however, that the experience of your speech (for me) was different and, in a way, far from comforting.  It may be nothing more than envy and a special kind of sadness that brings this about, and while that is perhaps unfortunate; I believe, and I think that you will agree, that my emotions are valid.

The imagery in the speech is, in part, what does it.  I am jealous that you got to be there.  I am homesick for that sky, and that earth, the adobe, and those mountains, and the air that can be sharper than a knife.  Santa Fe is such a rooted and soulful place that so many of us shared together, that it just doesn't feel right not taking that final step as one, not finishing the dance; having the final note fall silent and the last word on the page gone missing.

Pre-Graduation: A review based on common sense

I don't understand the difficulty in having everyone on the same page.  Here are some steps:

1.  Shut everyone the-fuck up.  If everyone's talking all at once, then who is listening?  If you catch yourself yelling over everyone else, close your trap, get up, and start blinking the lights on and off.  When one sense becomes overloaded, switch to a different sense; audio to visual.

2.  If one person thinks that they are doing the most important job in the room and they're running on a single track mind, cut them from interaction with anything else going on.  Put them in time-out in the hallway and let them do their work there, where they won't be interfered with.

3.  Take a breath.  When silence comes, you only have a split second of actual attention.  Formulate the most concise way to express yourself and get ready to deliver.

Another [Broken] Box

“Author, why are you so fascinated with boxes, and containment, and structure, and assigned purpose?”

The reasons are so cliché I don’t want to put them on the page.  I don’t feel like they deserve to be set in ink.  That might give them power and I don’t know if I could control them after that.  How often can we hear the chorus before we can’t stand hearing the song?  Sure, the verses are different with every artist, but the refrain is sung all together:  This is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some people started singing it not knowing what it was and they’ll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends . . . Maybe this feeling about the song comes from nearsightedness.  I want the future now.

I don't know what this is going to be about

Alrighty Darlings, let's begin.  I have had an interesting week and I realize that I haven't updated in a bit.  I've also been really busy, but enough with the excuses.  Here is another box for you:

We are going to see how our boxes are doing today.  You will go first.  Tell us:  what color your box is today, whether or not it has sprouted any new growth, if it has changed color, if it has died, if it is flowering, if it looks more or less wilted since yesterday, if you fed it yesterday, if its soil is moist or dry, if you are going to feed it today, if it has begun to smell.  If it is dead, or has just died, tell us:  if it is deteriorating, if it has now begun to smell, what it’s color is, whether or not other growth has sprouted in lieu of its death, whether its soil is still moist or has dried, if you will continue to water it, what you believe the cause of it’s death was.

More interesting stuff after the jump.