So, I think my wine party last night was a success.
Apparently wine sneaks up on you. Bastard. Because I was definitely intoxicated. Fun was had, though. Fun was had.
Highlights:
* My friend/co-worker Natalia and I kind of drunk called our boss. wow.
* I receieved SOO much wine. Everyone was very generous in that regard--Cab Sauv, Pinot Grigio, a Port, Reisling, Sparkling Cider, Merlot, Chardonnay. . .(and one bottle of Parrot Bay).
* Yes, that's right, Natalia brought rum to the wine party. . . I was proud. haha.
Thanks to Cheyenne running home, we had shot glasses.
* I had everyone sign in a "guest book" requiring them to give me their name, something that makes them happy and a favorite quote.
Best "happy" thing is a tie between Greg and Mike who wrote "Long Walks on the Beach with Shanon" and "Wine parties" respectively. :) (suck ups) hehe.
Best Quote goes to Ryan "Ah music, a magic far beyond what we do here."
* At one point Amanda and I went for a walk because I was upset about various things in my life. . .damn wine. It will bring it out everytime. . .thank God for good friends, though.
It is almost guaranteed that at any event where I am hosting or a part of, certain things will probably take place. . .I might sing. It is likely that I will ask "Shanon" questions such as "name 3 things you thought of when you first met so and so". I may offer massages to anyone randomly and I could ask people to write something to commemerate the night.
ALL OF THESE THINGS OCCURED LAST NIGHT. WHO COULD HAVE GUESSED?! :)
and more. . .
* Taking pictures with the girls
* bustng out my John Denver and Joni Mitchell records! HA!
* Having deep conversations with Lee and Robbie
* My frend Ryan showed up late because he had prior plans, but brought a great wine. And in my obliterated retardation, I attempted to cut him some cheesecake. I think I may have used a spoon, and it looked like mush, but my heart was right. ;)
* Lee, Robbie, Ryan and I sat on the floor and prayed toward the end of the night.
Who sits on the floor and prays at wine parties?? Apparently at my parties. HAHA.
That's just me, I guess. Ecclectic?-- All in one package you get ridiculousness, song, deep contemplations, questions, compassion and fire, randomness but also faithful loving.
I had a great time! I love all of you more than you know
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
"Poem is where the heart is"
The following poems/prose are pieces I've written more recently. This exact month 10 years ago, I picked up a pen and wrote my very first poem on a McDonald's napkin. HA! I think it was about how Fantasy and Dreams were my only friend or something to that affect. Perhaps sadness has always been an inspiration to any artist. . . though, memories, love and connection aren't far behind.
I still write on napkins, and probably always will.
Here goes:
1) MY WRITING PROCESS: (And then)
I sit to write
and
I hear the echoing ache in the voice of Tennessee Williams as he was
struggling to bring dreams to art
I feel the eccentricity of e e cummings in all of his lower-cased
ill-grammar of glory
and the teaching spirit of Rainer Maria Rilke in his letters to a
young poet. . .
I see the heart of my mother, as a struggling young wife, the
disappointment and pain she must have felt, and yet the great joy she
has experienced through her wild life.
I see my heart there too enduring the pain she has inflicted upon it,
even unknowingly, but also the immense love she has unselfishly given.
. .is there also-- and I believe that she is equally unaware of her
mistakes as she is blinded of her magnificent goodness.
I remember the sound of ice cream trucks and the voices of excited
children during games of Red Rover during warm, breezy summers in
Northern California. . . the tiny blades of grass stuck between my
toes, and the reminder that it was time to go inside when the sun was
on her descent. . .
I also re-live many moments of despair that stayed far beyond their
welcome. . .nights so long, that morning never came. . . All the
struggles from foolish decisions, life's curve balls and possibly
divine love. I think of all the people I've loved and hurt, and the
ones who have loved and hurt me. . .
And I feel deeply inside my being, the nervous laughter that comes
from relief.
. . .like a confused and love-needy man who attempts suicide, only to
discover that his complex contraption of death has failed him. . .
there is a moment there, when the noose uncoils from around his neck,
disengaging the puzzle of time into a thousand broken breaths, which
say everything somehow . . . but nothing that language can bear to
utter.
Yes,
I pick up my pen using the memory of great poets
The imperfect beauty of my mother's humanity
and the childlike enthusiasm of youth
And with the extended casualties of my broken soul
I have the ability to put my pen to paper,
smiling with the gratitude of relief--
that although I deserved to die from my own self-inflicted weapons,
something reminds--
the writer, the lover and the life-giver in me,
that her book has yet to be written.
And
as the pain lifts from my mind just long enough for happiness to tiptoe in,
the incorrigible laugher of sorrow returns. . .
and then,
then
the words come
2) MADLY
There isn't anything worth a damn in this world except wild, mad love.
Not tamed, obedient love that can be placed in glass containers on
display. . .but undomesticated passion, the kind that disheveles your
hair on humid nights as the wind blows against you and waves crash at
your feet. . .it's the look of your lover that ignites you both into
flames of surrender neither is prepared for. I'm talking about love
that asks you to be things you didn't think you were capable of. A
love that requires us to carry burdens we didn't think we could carry,
which become delightful to take on for the sake of another. Oh the
pain and joy that comes from truly knowing another and by them, to be
fully known. There are so many avenues easier than love's course, but
at the expense of spirit and flame? Who wants easier? Perhaps we've
dreamt of love in stories...Romeo and Juliet, or a lost princess out
at sea longing to find her prince. We read of love's doom and
splendor, yet seldom recognize its truth and preponderance in our
lives when it comes knocking at our door half-dressed and homeless. .
.
Today I watched an old man at Lake Ella. His hair was dry as straw
and his face looked worn, not only from what life had perhaps given
him, but also from what he had lost. The sun touched his face in
desultory segments, as if he couldn't be fullly warmed by it. He
reached down for pebbles, moving them carefully between the grooves of
his fingers, then slinging them into the water with an almost precise
rage. I wonder to myself if he has lived in this town for many years
and had once sat at that same bench with his young wife. I think of
how much he loved her, how they met and the conversations they may
have had around the lake, holding hands under a clear May sky.
I got up from my pondering to walk past him for a closer look at his
face, but he didn't look at me. His face, now full of shadow,
remained steadfast on whatever he was dreaming about. . .her face, her
eyes, the way she smelled, or how when the light of the sun hit her
hair perfectly the red in it reminded him of the madness of secret
moments only they had shared. . .
As I made my way back to my car something touched me lightly, like the
fine edge of a knife blade. I felt it cut me, just slightly and
inside I flared hot, then cold, then hot. . .and then
I thought of YOU, whom I love, madly.
3) WE ARE THE PROOF
We disengage this puzzled night like specks of stardust being shaved
off the moon. Our liquid eyes insist that we murder the doubt which
fills them, but we find ourselves unprepared to be changed, like a
country being suddenly bombarded.
Our days are filled with fingers turning pages, casual sips of coffee
and random stares which tell a thousand truths.
Other people fill their days with million dollar estates, mind control, 401K.
But we are strangely sufficed with our own version of dreams, as your
eyes smash molecules and rivet me unknowingly into strange regions
(imagine an ocean full of flames or a blanket made of seashells)
We are not as we should be, but we do not wish to be as we should.
I hold a coma in my hand which stands for the patience we are both learning.
Behind you, hangs a mirror that doesn't reflect us accurately, which
stands for our destorted perceptions and limited minds.
And between us are words which we will never know the definition of.
Today you wear those unknown words instead of your dress shirt, with
pants as plaid and strange as your intrinsic self.
"God is here.", you whisper. . .
(you know-- scientists say that there cannot be two separate laws
governing the universe simultaneously, but I think they are wrong tonight.)
you are one
I am the other
And we dare to cross dimensions, as if our dreams were a wild river in East Texas.
I still write on napkins, and probably always will.
Here goes:
1) MY WRITING PROCESS: (And then)
I sit to write
and
I hear the echoing ache in the voice of Tennessee Williams as he was
struggling to bring dreams to art
I feel the eccentricity of e e cummings in all of his lower-cased
ill-grammar of glory
and the teaching spirit of Rainer Maria Rilke in his letters to a
young poet. . .
I see the heart of my mother, as a struggling young wife, the
disappointment and pain she must have felt, and yet the great joy she
has experienced through her wild life.
I see my heart there too enduring the pain she has inflicted upon it,
even unknowingly, but also the immense love she has unselfishly given.
. .is there also-- and I believe that she is equally unaware of her
mistakes as she is blinded of her magnificent goodness.
I remember the sound of ice cream trucks and the voices of excited
children during games of Red Rover during warm, breezy summers in
Northern California. . . the tiny blades of grass stuck between my
toes, and the reminder that it was time to go inside when the sun was
on her descent. . .
I also re-live many moments of despair that stayed far beyond their
welcome. . .nights so long, that morning never came. . . All the
struggles from foolish decisions, life's curve balls and possibly
divine love. I think of all the people I've loved and hurt, and the
ones who have loved and hurt me. . .
And I feel deeply inside my being, the nervous laughter that comes
from relief.
. . .like a confused and love-needy man who attempts suicide, only to
discover that his complex contraption of death has failed him. . .
there is a moment there, when the noose uncoils from around his neck,
disengaging the puzzle of time into a thousand broken breaths, which
say everything somehow . . . but nothing that language can bear to
utter.
Yes,
I pick up my pen using the memory of great poets
The imperfect beauty of my mother's humanity
and the childlike enthusiasm of youth
And with the extended casualties of my broken soul
I have the ability to put my pen to paper,
smiling with the gratitude of relief--
that although I deserved to die from my own self-inflicted weapons,
something reminds--
the writer, the lover and the life-giver in me,
that her book has yet to be written.
And
as the pain lifts from my mind just long enough for happiness to tiptoe in,
the incorrigible laugher of sorrow returns. . .
and then,
then
the words come
2) MADLY
There isn't anything worth a damn in this world except wild, mad love.
Not tamed, obedient love that can be placed in glass containers on
display. . .but undomesticated passion, the kind that disheveles your
hair on humid nights as the wind blows against you and waves crash at
your feet. . .it's the look of your lover that ignites you both into
flames of surrender neither is prepared for. I'm talking about love
that asks you to be things you didn't think you were capable of. A
love that requires us to carry burdens we didn't think we could carry,
which become delightful to take on for the sake of another. Oh the
pain and joy that comes from truly knowing another and by them, to be
fully known. There are so many avenues easier than love's course, but
at the expense of spirit and flame? Who wants easier? Perhaps we've
dreamt of love in stories...Romeo and Juliet, or a lost princess out
at sea longing to find her prince. We read of love's doom and
splendor, yet seldom recognize its truth and preponderance in our
lives when it comes knocking at our door half-dressed and homeless. .
.
Today I watched an old man at Lake Ella. His hair was dry as straw
and his face looked worn, not only from what life had perhaps given
him, but also from what he had lost. The sun touched his face in
desultory segments, as if he couldn't be fullly warmed by it. He
reached down for pebbles, moving them carefully between the grooves of
his fingers, then slinging them into the water with an almost precise
rage. I wonder to myself if he has lived in this town for many years
and had once sat at that same bench with his young wife. I think of
how much he loved her, how they met and the conversations they may
have had around the lake, holding hands under a clear May sky.
I got up from my pondering to walk past him for a closer look at his
face, but he didn't look at me. His face, now full of shadow,
remained steadfast on whatever he was dreaming about. . .her face, her
eyes, the way she smelled, or how when the light of the sun hit her
hair perfectly the red in it reminded him of the madness of secret
moments only they had shared. . .
As I made my way back to my car something touched me lightly, like the
fine edge of a knife blade. I felt it cut me, just slightly and
inside I flared hot, then cold, then hot. . .and then
I thought of YOU, whom I love, madly.
3) WE ARE THE PROOF
We disengage this puzzled night like specks of stardust being shaved
off the moon. Our liquid eyes insist that we murder the doubt which
fills them, but we find ourselves unprepared to be changed, like a
country being suddenly bombarded.
Our days are filled with fingers turning pages, casual sips of coffee
and random stares which tell a thousand truths.
Other people fill their days with million dollar estates, mind control, 401K.
But we are strangely sufficed with our own version of dreams, as your
eyes smash molecules and rivet me unknowingly into strange regions
(imagine an ocean full of flames or a blanket made of seashells)
We are not as we should be, but we do not wish to be as we should.
I hold a coma in my hand which stands for the patience we are both learning.
Behind you, hangs a mirror that doesn't reflect us accurately, which
stands for our destorted perceptions and limited minds.
And between us are words which we will never know the definition of.
Today you wear those unknown words instead of your dress shirt, with
pants as plaid and strange as your intrinsic self.
"God is here.", you whisper. . .
(you know-- scientists say that there cannot be two separate laws
governing the universe simultaneously, but I think they are wrong tonight.)
you are one
I am the other
And we dare to cross dimensions, as if our dreams were a wild river in East Texas.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Past Week
So. . .here's a little update
-I've reconnected with an old friend who I feel is similiarly spirited.
-I got a Christmas present on August 1st. Apparently the girl forgot to give it to me back in December and when she was moving out of her apartment, she found it in her closet. I laughed so hard. It was pretty great.
-I've realized that the bad and good aspect of relationships make you better if you're open to it.
-I analysed a friend's dream the best I could.
-I drank wine from Finland with a good friend who made me laugh so much I couldn't breath. (Sounds horrible, but it was soo good.)
-I sang "At Last" by Etta James with that same friend at the top of my lungs and didn't care if it sounded good or not.
-I got a $25 gift certificate to Target and a free pizza. Score!
-I saw "Funny People" and had good conversation with my friend Ryan.
-I discovered something disconcerting about one of my best friends.
-I finished my Anne Lamott book "Plan B--Further Thoughts on Faith"
-I wrote some really raw, honest, cut like a razor poetry and it felt really really good.
-I actually got to lay out for the first time in about two weeks
-I received a beautiful handmade postcard in the mail.
-I'm going to meet my mom (and possibly my sister) in NY at the end of the month
-I'm trying to plan a trip to St. Augustine/Jax soon.
-I feel strong in every way
That's all I got for now. . .to be continued. I guess the week . . ."ain't over yet" :)
-I've reconnected with an old friend who I feel is similiarly spirited.
-I got a Christmas present on August 1st. Apparently the girl forgot to give it to me back in December and when she was moving out of her apartment, she found it in her closet. I laughed so hard. It was pretty great.
-I've realized that the bad and good aspect of relationships make you better if you're open to it.
-I analysed a friend's dream the best I could.
-I drank wine from Finland with a good friend who made me laugh so much I couldn't breath. (Sounds horrible, but it was soo good.)
-I sang "At Last" by Etta James with that same friend at the top of my lungs and didn't care if it sounded good or not.
-I got a $25 gift certificate to Target and a free pizza. Score!
-I saw "Funny People" and had good conversation with my friend Ryan.
-I discovered something disconcerting about one of my best friends.
-I finished my Anne Lamott book "Plan B--Further Thoughts on Faith"
-I wrote some really raw, honest, cut like a razor poetry and it felt really really good.
-I actually got to lay out for the first time in about two weeks
-I received a beautiful handmade postcard in the mail.
-I'm going to meet my mom (and possibly my sister) in NY at the end of the month
-I'm trying to plan a trip to St. Augustine/Jax soon.
-I feel strong in every way
That's all I got for now. . .to be continued. I guess the week . . ."ain't over yet" :)
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