Bibliophile

 

"My name is whatever you decide and I'm just gonna call you mine:YOU WILL BE MINE. YOU WILL BE MINE. YOU WILL BE MINE ALL MINE" 

That right there is a Swift/Rolling Stones mash-up...

I digress... What's on my mind?

Fret

I fret. 

How do I organize my bounty?  

What happens when your book collection is disorganized?

What I mean to say, I mean... I'm not trying to anthropomorphize books, but I'm inclined to anthropomorphize books. 

After all, there's a lot to consider: personalities, genres, tone...

Would it be considered offensive for Camões' The Lusiads to be placed next to Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter?

What does Paul Bowles (The Spider's House) have to do with Hermann Hesse (Narcissus and Goldmund)? 

What will Gavin Maxwell's (Lords of the Atlas) neighbor, Amin Maalouf (Ports of Call), think? 

I could be wrong, but my instinct tells me that Carleton S. Coon (The Riffian) might consider it a travesty to be placed next to Tim Mackintosh-Smith (Travels with a Tangerine).

I am a peace keeper. Thus, Mohamed Mrabet's (Stories of Tangier) will referee between the two. 

Who will fall from grace?   Will I have to build a wall? The wall?

Perhaps 'they' will just all have to duke it out together and let the cards fall where they may. There is great potential for this to be the most organic solution amongst these strong personalities.  

 A heap. The motherlode.  I hit the deep vein in Rabat. Dragging JC & J-Bird across town to Mohammed Belhaj's English BookShop, I indulged in my indulgence... Don't blame me. Books make me crazy. If they don't you ain't doing it right. This drug I'll be perusing all my life (yes, it's a strange nod to T.Swift...). 

So yea, there you have it. I've admitted my weakness. Intervention. Nah. I cross the line, everytime.

It was a delightful find, Mr. Belhaj's English BookShop. He's famous, you know. He has this saying: 

                If you don’t have wrinkles on your forehead, says Mohammed Belhaj, 

                the books you’re reading aren’t making you think enough.

Because we were on a mission, I allotted only 30 minutes max to my endeavor. In the end, I lugged around 8 books as we made our way to Hassan Tower, the unfinished 12th Century mosque/miniaret. 

The End.

 

 

Hmmm just found this in the drafts folder... Let's just publish it. I wonder what it is. Oh well... going down the rabbit hole, I'm sure

With intensity increasing, I press on forward. The steps are solid. It feels good to firmly place one foot after the other. I feel whole. On track in my trajectory. 

Stroke the stoke: winning. 

Various avenues of my life are in sync: work, friends, family, looking to the future, learning lessons from the past, keeping up with the present, reading, writing, studying continental Portuguese, working out, running, etc. 

Matriarch. This word keeps coming up with my family talk sessions. There is such beauty in coveting tradition. Each generation must take action to continue to keep the torch lit as older generations pass. 

Legacy. As an anthropologist, I'm obsessed with legacy. This past summer was eye-opening. I learned a lot about myself, my family connections, circle of friends, and where I'm headed. I feel honored to have such abundance in my realm. 

It's the little things.  Texting back and forth with one of my brothers, for example. Our exchanges are so interesting. We randomly get a hold of each other to bring attention to such mundane things. Most always, a long conversation ensues that involves so many life dimensions; memories of when young, political pundits and podcasts we're currently listening to, recipes, links to old movies to watch, etc. 

Writing Exercises. One of my cousins is involved in a writing group, along with one of our neighbors back at the family compound. They've been at it for many years.  Another friend, a writer experiencing incremental successes in the publishing world, as well as rejections, also inspires me. As a result, I've finally did it.  I've put together a budding writers group. My hope is it will blossom into something consistent. We are researching weekly topics and how to run a writers group. It's fascinating: brain porn in fact. 

 Another fancy of mine is to learn how to write book reviews. I've spent the past 15 years delving into various literary genres. My love for book possession borders on obsession. Again, brain porn. I'm addicted.  Reading is SO sexy. Reading is SO stimulating. My next goal is literary debate. Another friend has been doing their MA in creative writing, so I hound him each semester to give me the pdf of the class book list. 

 I might be sequestered away in a unique part of the world

 

6 May, 2024 Communique from The Cradle of Civilization

 Bewitching Hour Communique

6 May, 2024

Sulimani, Iraqi Kurdistan

my lanai

These coordinates have been a big chapter in my life, I ponder. Tiny white lights glimmer in the dark crispness of early early morning. The Bewitching Hour moving picture show fading into the coming day. The cacophony of neighborhood street dogs. Their solitary barks morph into a synchronous chorus. A motorcycle joins in the music-scape.

I've been pretty content in this cell-block; a willing detainee indeed! I've evolved as does this chapter. I'll migrate into my next chapter. I sense exhiliration. I feel elation. It's not a stretch to express a sense of funky delerium-ness in this moment. Destination Known, yet Destination Unknown, and this is my dance. Imma just Boogie on Down, on Down... As Earth, Wind & Fire sang:

Just move yourself and glide like a 747
And lose yourself in the sky
Among the clouds in the heavens cause

 

So, yea. I'm obviously hijacking the song's meaning to one of Boogieing down the runway in my 747 cruising through the sky passing clouds in the heavens cause... I'm moving on to the next chapter!

Dawn nears. The early birds have since stirred and composing birdsongs. Neighborhood lights are twinkling as a car engine starts up. Another type of early bird stirs; perhaps holding their to-go cuppa joe as they head out to bring home the bacon.

 

Joining the birdsong in this moment is early morning call to prayer. I wonder how it will sound during the Bewitching Hour at my next Destination Known. 

...aaaaaand the universe suddenly throws a (not-so-random-for-this-time-of-year) crack of lightning and thunderbolt into the mix.  I DIG THIS DJ TONIGHT!

A light breeze wafts through my moving picture show. Call to prayer turning up a few decibels. Everything feels ecstatic. 

And now, quietly creeping through the early morning hours of The Cradle of Civilization- stillness.

Back in the Cradle (of Civilization) again

Once Upon a Time in Mesopotamia was Gaziantep.

Second time is a charm: Sulaymaniyah

A thin veil of fog descending from the heavens begins to cloak the twinkling city lights. Will it fall to this Earth that I’ve been walking for some years? Probably not, but it’s just enough to close off this Bewitching Hour episode.

-peace

Smells like Jasmine

 

 

 

Each new year since 2010 (yes, this is still 'THE new year) my instinctual internal alarm clock sounds off. There's no way to snooze this alarm.  It is part of me. It IS me. It is a rite of passage marking my transformation into... I don't exactly know. What I do know is that I somehow treat it as a privilege; something I am honored to have been privy to. Some sort of secret society that myself and a few others were inducted into. 

I've written about the events of the Arab Spring throughout the years. I found this text in my files that I am apt to so cleverly code-name as a rule. So clever that I can't find them anymore. As well, I need to fire up the old much-neglected Mac Book Air to conduct my investigations. Most the evidence I uncover has nothing to do with my intentions; food scraps in between the keyboard, old post-its still adhered to with my most important passwords of yore, old photos that I never see since the mysterious 'Cloud' has stopped uploading photos to currently running devices...

This text is from years back; a submission to the Hawaii chapter of the Teaching English as a Second Language (HI TESOL) organization.  I need it to submit a writing sample for another organization, so I figured it's a fitting time to repost it anyway since 'we' (those of us in this secret society) just rang in our 13th anniversary... Enjoy

Is That Jasmine I Smell in My Revolution: Thoughts on Teaching in Tunisia during the Arab Spring

 

Setting the Scene

 

The following is a commentary about my experiences teaching English at Amideast during the events of the ‘Jasmine Revolution’ as it has been coined. Tunisia is a small unassuming country bordered by Algeria to the west and Libya to the east in a region called the Maghreb. The Sahara Desert is south and the Mediterranean Sea greets its northern border. Tunisia’s history extends back in time encompassing many waves of inhabitants dating back to the original desert Berber populations to the seafaring Phoenicians ruling the coastal regions over 3000 years ago. Also passing through for a minute were Romans, Ottomans, and, until more recently, French colonial rule.

 

It was December, 2009 and I was fresh from graduate school and eager to start teaching English abroad. My previous, and quite successful, career had been as an archaeologist and cultural anthropologist here in the Hawaiian Islands for the past fifteen years. I felt that these two disciplines would complement each other and give me a well-rounded career bath where my background would give me a slight edge concerning my deficiency in actual teaching experience. Before I started the master’s program at The New School in New York City, I had never been inside an ESL classroom before.

 

Fast forward to Tunis. Arriving mid-summer in 2010 during Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, the die was cast: A new chapter of my life was starting with, “Once upon a time in a far-away land…” I had already experienced Ramadan observances while temporarily living in Istanbul a few years earlier, so I knew to be respectful and refrain from drinking and eating in public and at school in front of my students. It’s the “when in Rome” concept that has everything to do with cultural sensitivity.

 

 

I had been teaching in Tunis for four months before this complete upheaval, that would eventually become permanently tattooed in my memory that I continue to wear as a badge of honor of sorts, unfolded. I had just begun to get into a steady rhythm of life in this north African city: my students were enthusiastic learners, I met friends, I learned basic Arabic words to get by, etc. During this time, I also discovered a new passion: I roamed the backstreets of the neighborhoods each weekend before meandering through the narrow passages of the souk and getting lost.

 

 

Talk Story; in What Language?

 

Tunisians are natural language learners. They are both diglossic and bilingual language speakers. The Tunisian Arabic dialect has no written system, yet they have a standardized written language. As a former French protectorate, education was heavily influenced by the French educational system, and Tunisians learn French early on in their schooling. French is the ‘official’ language of Tunisia, resulting in code-switching in contextual usage. Add another language, like English, and rise to the super-status of polyglot-ism. (Is that even a word?)

 

Inside the Classroom

 

I recall my academic director explaining to me that Tunisian students expected their instructors to know all the answers to their questions, so if a student were to ask me a question, and I couldn’t answer it, instead of saying, “Okay, let me get back to you on that after break,” I was supposed to run out of the class and race to the teacher’s room and ask around in there for the answer or go online to get the answer and then return to class… As a new instructor, this made me quite nervous. But again, when in Rome…

 

And So the Revolution Begins

 

At the start, that first day, the air inside the classroom was suddenly different. I would look up at my students before class while I was writing on the whiteboard and they would be talking, as usual, but more uncomfortably. They were shifting their eyes, quietly, and whispering in Arabic- not English or French. The next day, I directed my attention to them and said, “I know what you are talking about, but I don’t know what you are saying.” Because of the advanced stage of protesting going on, there was no way to avoid the topic, so I decided to tackle it directly. This was in my Level Four class where students were younger, and Ben Ali, the country’s president, had been in power longer than they had been alive.  

 

In the ensuing days, class dynamics changed. What was most interesting to me was observing my students becoming their most fluent selves when discussing their opinions on what we were experiencing in daily life now. They excitedly debated with each other over their opinions, possibilities of freedom, new daily events, etc.

 

“Teacher, we have been silent for so long.”

Teacher, we have never been able to watch YouTube without using a proxy until now.”

 

Class Dismissed

 

Little did I know this class was to be my last class become Amideast closed down until further notice. The unrest and violence had finally arrived to Tunis from down in the south, in Sidi Bouzid, where it started. What was to follow was two of the most frightening days I have ever experienced.  Tunis was shut down to the point where the main event of the day could be waiting in a bread line in the morning for two hours and hurry back home before curfew started up again. Constant shouting, helicopters circling, and gunfire dominated the darkness along with the wafting smell of tear gas.

 

During these days, there wasn’t much for us teachers to do; we all kept in touch via social media and met up for coffee after the morning food runs and before curfew fell again. Many of my students were calling, checking up on me, and asking if I needed anything.

 

Wrapping up the Revolution

 

In the end, I had to make the decision to leave Tunisia as it had been almost a month since the school closed down and the dictator, Ben Ali, had fled the country, but the city was still a disaster and protesting continued.

 

I am now back on Maui working, but have accepted a position teaching English at a university in southeastern Turkey. I can be reached at hjform@gmail.com or you can follow my blog which relays my experiences living abroad and teaching.  In fact, you should follow my blog as I haven’t even delved into being out on the streets in Tunis that fateful day, January 10, 2011, when I was with my friend, another instructor at Amideast, and he got shot… And then the dash to the hospital… And then the ensuing days of intense action on the streets… And then…

2024.Dream.Cream.Steam.Machine.

 2024.Dream.Cream.Steam.Machine. 

In other words... Stroke the Stoke; A Continuation...

 

 

Up in the air @ 36,000 ft., many things orbit my consciousness. Such an orbit traversed yesterday. All day yesterday.  The penultimate sunset of 2023 started off getting off of a train. Well, first a bus. I navigated my way through typical Portuguese streets of Small-Town Portugal, in Ílhavo. I found my bus-stop, engaged in some local niceties with fellow bus-commuters, and made my way to the charming Aveiro Train Station. Yes, the old train station, decked out in classic white stucco with traditional Portuguese azul azulejos, is to basic, yet so incredible simultaneously, for my love affair with Portugal continues. Never has a country captivated me as much - only being eclipsed by Turkey. By captivating I mean ease. More specifically, feeling at ease engaging in all facets of life. Sure it's so different, challenging even, but that's what moves me- really moves me, you know?

As I often do, I digress. But, what the fuck; this is my blog, and I'm not necessarily going to be bullied into any dogmatic genre of writing, thinking, doing, etc. I mean, who the fuck ever came up with 'stream of consciousness' anyway? I don't know the answer (perhaps one of my readers will enlighten me), but I'm glad I understand the concept!  Shout out to Ulysses!

Double Digress

• What's happening in Suli?
• What's happening in Iraq w/the Iraqi Dinar?
• How's the progress going in Portugal?
• Will I make it back in time for class on Tuesday, or will I miss my flight to Suli (late start in Madrid)?
• Why didn't I buy those Prada sunglasses at Francisco Sá Carneiro Airport (Porto) Duty Free?
• Why did this time leaving Portugal feel so different?
• What's happening next summer?
• Why didn't I give that dude my # (he can find me on social media, I suppose, or... chalk it up simply to 2 ships passing by in the night along those exotic shipping lanes)?
• Did I bring back enough Portuguese sausage? 

3.2.1 GO

Off and running, I was.  Trying to escape Iraq is complicated. I mean to say that flight options are limited up here in Kurdistan. And expensive. So, I paid dearly to fly through King Hamad Airport (Qatar), and I better had enjoyed it. I think it did; I made my flight! Qatar Airways has been pretty good to me overall though. I mean, I'm not in the habit with getting bumped up to business class very often, but if so, it's been with Qatar. 

So does anyone remember that commercial in the 70s (or YouTube) of Joe Namath running through the airport? That's how I felt. Okay, I just fact-checked myself; the Joe Namath commercial was of him wearing pantyhose (yes, you should remember THAT one-back when shit wasn't politicized), and the airport commercial was with O.J. Simpson for Hertz Rental Cars... That fact just defeated my point, if there was one. I made my flight after flying through Terminal A to Terminal S, and so did my luggage (with said Portuguese sausage & village-crafted cheese(s). 

2024, so far

Flying at night has always captivated me. Observing the landscape illuminated by dots that make-up our existence just makes me feel so... wondrous. How did we all get to this point? What the fuck IS it about colonialism (my mind wanders- perhaps something to do with the whiskey/cokes on the Madrid flight). 

Suddenly I see colored lights down below- somewhere over Saudi Arabia. I know as I was completely consumed watching Bahrain come in/out of my moving picture show minutes earlier. There was the Causeway, linking up Saudi Arabia to Bahrain- in more ways than one, I can say, from living in Bahrain and understanding the complexity of the situation on the weekends! 

Fireworks exploding beneath the airplane! What a non-stop show I had following the coastline up to Kuwait. The bursts of color distracting me, soon enough we were touching down onto Sulimaniyah landscape. It was an interesting route, though Iraq, the airplane took. I suppose due to flight restrictions and politics dictated our route. We flew right over Nasirayah & Baghdad, keeping to the west instead of staying east (mountains/Iranian side), which is the usual route I am familiar with. 

We followed the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. For a moment I let my thoughts wander. Soon enough I was staring down at the lands of the Marshes- a fascinating region of Iraq that I will visit later this year. It's been on my list for so long. It was a hypnopompic experience, which I have familiarity with. 

Training one's mind- think Jedi Mind Tricks here.  I would say, if I had to try to box 'myself', that I come from a background of stoicism. My world was pretty ordered, as far as what I noticed, growing up. As I went out 'on the road' after high school, I came into so much unfamiliar stimuli, or stimuli that I educated myself on, yet never experienced. I've run with 'it' ever since- never looking backwards with regrets. Higher consciousness turns on all my buttons.

Back on the airplane... I was reflecting on conversations with friends and family over the past few days.  One friend in particular was describing about setting their intentions for 2024. I've never really been this 'type' of person, or so I thought.  Pondering this, I decided that I do in fact set intentions, but I see it more as a casual type of thing; something that I would do on any given day. I guess I can sum it all up as:

 

Dream.Cream.Steam.Machine. 

What it all means to me I cannot easily write out. I know it, though. My quest is to know it intimately. To be it endlessly. If you're following this trajectory you know I know I know it. You know that you know it as well. Last, you know I know that you know it. Reality or Absurdastan you might wonder. It's okay. I know.

Although I consciously set no goals/intentions, they are underlying. I guess I call it 'maintenance'. I thirst to create for myself: suppleness, fierceness, inquisitiveness, reading lists continually being updated, writing rhythms; basically all that in a drama-free existence where I can 'maintain' a balance with home, work, friends, family, money, life. This is dedication to my inner-voice. This means developing intuitiveness, being receptive, strengthening my resolve all to continue to learn to trust my instincts. Keep toxicity at bay. Keep my energy force strong, active, receptive to love. Learn to let go of toxins that try to penetrate my shield. I try. The goal on this highway is peace.

Last, a mention about 'filth'. It's such an abused word. I kinda like it. Sometimes it's necessary to revel in it and don't wash it off until satiated. Yes, honor thyself. 

 

Stroke the Stoke: practice happiness. Cultivate it. Reap it. Share it. BOOM 2024

 

 

 

December 27, 2023

Communique from Ílhavo, Portugal

 

Lounging on Starr’s couch ‘manning’ the fire, I focus on ‘Postman’, Starr’s Dilmun cat. So unassuming, he’s curled up on the chair- in apparent ecstasy (completely sacked out not giving a shit about anything- as he’s already been fed). He’s a regal cat, surely. He’s from Shaika’s tribe, in Bahrain. Dilmun kitties, as far as I’m concerned, are second to none. The Dilmun civilization extends as far back as the Epic of Gilgamish in written reference. Based on contextual archaeological evidence, the Dilmun civilization is located in Bahrain & environs- along the ancient trading route. Its heyday was circa 2050 BC. Dilmun lives on today, for me, through Postman, for Shaika Spot has already passed on from this plane of existence.

      

With vinho tinto & da kine pulsating through my veins, I’ve made a rash decision: I’ve broken into Nori’s Christmas Cookie ensemble to take 1 of each; gingerbread man, shortbread, and a rum-ball cookie. I blame da kine, of course!

 

Christmas is becoming a tradition away from ‘home’- wherever that is. Away from ‘home’ simply means that I’m not in the same country that I currently reside in.  It also means Christmas cookie parties, and, perhaps, copious amounts of holiday spirits!  Some highlights are Istanbul (still my most favorite city in the world) and Portugal- my soon to be ‘home’.

 

The silver Christmas tree (yes, that is correct) is aglow with Egyptian Blue blinking lights.  It’s all there; the manger scene, ornaments, a roaring fire, vintage candelabras lit, colored Christmas lights, holiday music playing on the public radio station, and said cat(s), wine, & da kine.

 

Although far from family, family time is a daily occurrence- so I never feel so far away. Yet, I am. For me, friends become family, and so I am blessed to cultivate my growing family. Here I am (case in point) in Ílhavo cat-sitting for Starr as she journeys far from ‘home’. Family asked if I was available, i.e. not working as university is on winter break, and I answered in a heartbeat; YES! Unfortunately, to get anywhere from (northern) Iraq is quite complicated, and does not happen without excessive expense…

 

Fortune. What is fortune? Fortunately, for me, I create pathways to dwell within ‘fortune,’ all the while lacking material ‘wealth’. And, it’s okay. I work to create fortune in many ways, as well as work to create a (small) fortune to get through life. What can I say. This is me.

 

“I get by with a little help from my friends”

 

Gazing into the flames to understand the heat, I ponder existence. Make thyself malleable- seems to be the message.  The heat, the wine, the incense, the da kine, the lights all infuse a message dancing through my being.

 

Cat purrs, fire crackles, lights flicker, incense wafts, wine seeps, da kine enlightens, music soothes.

 

What do I know? Purge toxicity, that’s what I know. My immunity is a fiercely positive belief system. Our timeline is short in this dimension, so seize the way!

 

It’s time to stoke the fire y’all. Happy Holidays to all

Renewal

 

NOT Mesopotamia :)

The evidence: snow melted except the highest mountain tops, the coconut oil-although still solidified- is softening, the goose-down comforter is becoming heavy, and I'm perusing my closet seeking out the hidden garb. Spring is just around the corner here in Mesopotamia. 

Soon the roses will be exploding throughout the city. Spring renewal. It feels damn good. So many signs to drown out the darkness of a long winter. I'm all game. Spring in Mesopotamia is joyful, if not a wee-bit brief. Early spring, though, bring it. 

In the past few days I have sensed the sun seeking the skyline earlier and earlier while I slumber. There is a certain joy here in Mesopotamia, before it becomes blistering hot, to open the curtains and let the sunshine in. This celebration of renewal is short-lived, of course. Too soon I will repel the sun and concentrate on sequester myself as far into the inner chamber as possible, but until that moment comes, I will use my wiles to attract its golden rays and bask in them. Renewal.

Vitamin D and Vitamin Sea collude for the win. More to follow. It's still the middle of winter, after all...

Blizzard-trippin January, 2022

Flurries of snow swirling. As I watch the moving picture show I am reminded  blizzards of life come and go. As a blizzard approaches, warning signs appear. They are not always obvious.  Some are actively creating havoc underneath a calm blue sky perhaps; the calm before the storm. 

I'm not so familiar with snow blizzards honestly, so they are a welcome event in my life.  All other blizzards of life I try to navigate through with the least amount of chaos to touch me.  I do tend to excel at this.  In this respect, I'm not too familiar with blizzards of any kind that threaten to touch me deeply. 

I am emotional, and I protect my emotions.  Only but a few really need to traverse so deeply into ME. The complicated me. The complicated me which, in reality, is so simple due to the constant mental/emotional/physical/spiritual work that I actively engage myself in. In the deep of the night, the bewitching hour is in full session. Roaming the halls of my imagination, I open doors. I sequester myself away into this cocoon. What's behind this door? Let's check it out! Fuck the blizzard. I am whole. I am goddess. I just need the ocean now...

Throughout the years, I realize that to shut the door to the impending blizzard one must simply be graceful. It's a winding road to grace, and a beautiful journey.  I love finding the right path again, after faltering perhaps on an off-ramp leading to nowhere that serves me or that I can serve- with grace. 

It's really coming down now, the blizzard. My window tells me it is so. My eyes? Another window that I can see clearly through. I'll ride out the storm, with grace whispering in my ear; I'm listening. I hear your ROAR.  Fade to grace...

27.08.2021.AmerikaOdyssey

 

The U.P. giving what she's got in full force today: pouring rain. Timing is everything. The days grow heavy as the barometric pressure dropping. My heart growing even heavier. Decay exists. Fascinating to witness. Is it real? Why do we persist to exist? Life is strange in this way; we set out to conquer life- through all our triumphs and tribulations- and for what? We decay. We deny, but we decay. We violently turn away from decay. What if. What if instead we don't? 

Pondering. Musing. And off to dindin fun. Curt working his family favorite carbonara recipe while I perfect my famous salads. Tim pontificates. It's happy hour and we are happy to be together discussing the day's events, which were challenging at times. Happy hour morphs into dinner hour while evolves into South Park hour. This is my cue to fall into a jet-lag haze. Fade to black. *kerplunk*

It's a Cool, Cool Summer

7 August, 2021 communique 

current mood:

inspiration: DP [aka Wild Thang]

websites currently opened:

https://www.harpercollins.com.au/blog/2018/04/09/how-to-read-jonathan-franzen/

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYs8tVQ8oZw

current podcast: My Favorite Murder 286

current state of mind: Da Kine...obvs...

current design projects: 2 (1 piece nearly finished)

current location: deep in the depths of my hard-drive

current focus: finish semester, hop on a plane, Portuguese, Amazon packages (yea, sorry I gotta say that I'm back once a year in 'Merika & I NEED things, so...), family time, new endeavors, The Kitts 💖

 

That's about it. Too much on my plate today! Podcasting while researching = many re-starts :) 

To summarize: I WANT IT ALL

 

 

HERstory: Spiritual Gangster Part 397...

 

I'm in a "SHE-RAH" kinda mood these daze. No apologies, but pondering. Lots of pondering going on over here in Camp Holly... 

Solo_ojo (unknowingly) taught me a lot about the art of penning while pondering others actions, which feel unjustified. Yea, back in the daze of Gaziantep.

Fast-forward to today: I.Have.Learned.Much in these arts.

So in America today, I see this meme or soundbite (wherever it first came from, I know not): "fuck around and find out." It's been all over Twitter for some time now. I like it, politics aside. 

Let's see what my latest foray into this realm will bring me... I have no expectations.

You know what feels good? Just the art of the email itself and figuring, "what the fuck. Why not? What have I got to lose?" When you express yourself from the heart, there is nothing to lose. One has said their peace & laid it out for others to attack, accept, debate, etc. Whatever the result, I'm already winning, I figure.  As well, I've always thought about what people inevitably say to help express their sympathies with you, etc., "When one door closes, another one opens."  I will take that to heart. 

In other news... next up on deck: channeling energies into useful distractions.

I got this one, too. I have this love/hate relationship with my sewing machine.  I love that Miss Barbara, Sardar, and myself went out shopping for one a few years back here in the bazaar.  I hate that it doesn't have a foot pedal. It sat ignored for a full year- minus the 1st casual dalliance with it soon after its purchase (uhm, putting stickers on it, threading it, checking the tension, etc.).

I've been quite the creative crochet-core enthusiast this past year and now I'm in 'cross-over' mode: splicing together two favorite loves of mine- sewing and crocheting. Yes, knitting is taking a back-seat right now because... crochet, of course!

So I'm making this funky-ass pencil skirt. Once again, the fabric comes from traipsing through the Sulaimani Bazaar with Miss Barbara and Sardar a few years back. Because I'm growing tired of all this conservative dress that has been self-imposed on myself, I'm going all out. Thinking forward to live in Europe, I've got a thigh high split so high that it's going to create it's own windy weather system... 

Anyhow... I'm digging on the two textures. 

I'm also really into the HERstory of my pieces: I've been creating some pieces in the last 6 months and feeling super creative these days- which offsets the bs exploding all around me, as well as throughout the world... To date, my favorite pieces are my wrap-skirt I recently completed (a la Diane Von Furstenberg), a minimalist, sleep racer-back slip dress, and now this stretch pencil skirt. 

The process of art and science keeps me entertained for sure.  Add in some happy hour entertainment and BOOM. I'm a one-woman show. As I've recently stated, I think us Gen-Xers have sailed fairly smoothly through 'lockdown in the age of coronavirus'. 

With each piece I've created, the story that I have woven and inset into the fabric, etc., is monumental.  Each piece has its own life, its own story and each is titillating- however you wish to interpret that is fine by me... To top it off that all this has occurred in Kurdistan is the icing on the cake so to speak. HERstory is real y'all...

HERstory rocks

Spiritual-ness

 So... readjusting the kaleidoscope is EXACTLY the medicine for today. Damn straight. The usual Friday shenanigans ensued, as always: up early and into the gym. Today I received the additional gift of being able to talk story with one of my fav. gym partners. A by-product of her getting up early and myself getting up late!  Win-win. 

Likewise, I found some time to talk story with my friend in Bahrain, who has recently bought an apartment in Portugal!  Yes, I'm focusing on creating a community of friends in my future headquarters, and now those friends are purchasing properties before me!  All in good time though, I figure. 

I'm also so stoked on realizing that I will indeed have some time in the near future to get to Portugal and start my house-hunting. Knowing that I will soon have a sweet village house with local neighbors... this makes my heart soar. 

Speaking of soaring hearts, I just returned from a run, which I almost didn't go on- because... well, just because.  Anyway, I re-adjusted my kaleidoscope and BOOM! I was out the door. Just three days ago I was working out with my pal David & I showed him the secret gardenia bushes on our trail- which were not yet flowering (but the mulberry trees did indeed have black berries on them that tasted delish). To my surprise, this afternoon, there was one solitary gardenia holding court all alone in its glory.  Five laps and 3 sniffs each lap... I'm winning.

Cultivate what you want. Cultivate relationships with who you want to hang out with. This is big. Some people are energy-suckers and their toxicity threatens to permeate. They can spew all the bs that they want, but none can permeate my spiritual membrane- that I nourish, replenish, and let flourish. Something that my father, likely unknowingly, taught me early on. 

Perhaps he taught me to remove myself in order to find myself. After all, I can always return...Perhaps that is exactly what Brother David thought as well, as he trotted off early in life to 'find himself' on his own spiritual journey.  I certainly think so. Leave the nest to find your zest. I'd like to think that they both are shining their light down on me and are somehow a part of my path.

Sure, I have my bad days. When the time comes to finally pull myself outta my funk and realize that I have cultivated family relationships & circles of friendships that are 'family', I realize how fortunate I am and consciously work to shut down my negativity. Works like a charm. 

I'm beginning to feel it's time to start the process of winding down shop over here, and the unknown is feeling kinda fresh. Let's see where the USDOS Teaching Specialist gig will bring me. Should I stay, or should I go? That is my decision at the moment, and it feels pretty good in this time of big unknowns. 

I think I'll just relish in this thought for the rest of this lazy afternoon... It's probably also a good afternoon to re-instate my Netflix account!

dis-connect from discordance

 Re-adjusting the kaleidoscope this weekend as I know how to. Disharmony has no invitation to settle into my essence. Check it out. Check out. Check back in. Renewal. 

Saturday morning on the lanai feeling hypnopompic. This. This state of mind is where I flourish- even in this discordant environment where work life threatens to dominate my being. Fuck it. FUCK IT. Get the fuck over it. Fight or flight. I give a beauty of a fight when push comes to shove. I shoved myself this weekend. 

So... the cocoa butter has liquefied. It's that time of year. The morning breeze is steady and further checks me out. The healing continues. Elemental. It's all syncing, penetrating, making me malleable once again. 

One of my yoga teachers in Istanbul had this funny way of checking it out in class. It went something like this: "Inhale deep. Exhale long and slow: f   u   c   k   i   t". At some point the entire class is chanting FUCK IT. Good days, those were. 

So a good dose of 'FUCK IT meditation' is up and running this weekend.  It's all about the dose and I give good dose- especially when I'm at critical mass. 

One Hundred Years of Solitute. An interesting book to discover During the Time of Covid-19... Here's the thing; Covid-19 necessitating solitude was never the challenge for me. Perhaps it's true that the Generation-X peeps weather the isolation easier than others, I'm not sure. My cocoon has been pretty tightly wrapped long time now. I'm doing well, for the most part. I have surrounded myself, as always, with my passions. 

The beauty of that feeling of turning pages of a book... That sound. Connections made. Minds altered. Spirit travels. Yes please. Take me away. 

Working out + jazz music. What a powerful combination I've delved into. Charles Mingus. Art Blakey. Freddie Hubbard. Miles. Stan Getz. Sergio Mendez. All the ledgends old and current. 

Crocheting 'granny squares'! Yes hardcore cottage-core happening in my abode. I'm crocheting together my path. My story. So much goes into each square: energy, memories, tears, fantasies, goals, life-force. 

Today... I think I'm ready to pull out my sewing machine- that I have a love/hate relationship with. Unfortunately, when I purchased it here in Sulaimani, the only models available were without a foot treadle...Who the fuck uses a sewing machine like this?  There is a button to press on the machine itself to 'reverse' & when you need to stop. It's a lot to deal with when one likes to be guided by creativity and instinct and suddenly you stress to figure out how to stop the machine. 

Stopping the machine... Yes, that's what I'm doing this weekend. A HARD STOP and a FREEING RE-START. Yes, FUCK IT. That's where I'm at and so thankful that I  continue to reach this space. 

My Secret Gardenia Garden Season 3 is nearly here. On my walks and runs right now spring is EVERYWHERE. Those pesky gardenias are still undercover though. It takes perseverance to appreciate their blossoms!  The weather is increasingly hot. I feel they are ready to POP any day now. The roses are in full-bloom so my olfactory sense is overflowing with sweet nectar, allowing me to get into that dream-time space. The cake... soon come. The March of the Gardenias nears. I wait with anticipation. 

The freaky gas canister delivery truck is blaring in the background. It's like some kind of fucked up horror movie starring scary clowns. A jackhammer hums nearby. As I occupy my lanai the, pigeons fret about- wondering why they are barred from landing on my lanai. FUCK IT. Fuck them. Fuckers. I'm at war, and I give good war. 

 I am whole again. 

Peace 

 2021 taking shape

 

A Mesopotamian teaching moment in the UP of Michigan

With trepidation, I rang in the New Year here in Mesopotamia.  As it turns out, so far, 2021 is full of positive vibrations. I have a lot to be thankful for. I have an awesome family that accepts and supports my strange existence and loves me as I love them. I have work that is challenging and allows me to grow stronger in my perceptions of what I am willing/not willing to do. A safe space has been created where we can discuss freely our opinions, suggestions, grievances, etc. 

Recently, I felt I needed a boost with my career so re-applied to be a Georgetown Teaching Fellow, or now a 'Specialist'.  I was accepted and am awaiting an assignment/project/country. We shall see what happens. Now that classes are back face-to-face I'm feeling re-invigorated. Change is in the air- even if it is simple from 'within'. 

I think it was simply the process of re-evaluating my space that I needed to delve into.  My situation is golden: I am healthy, happy, loved, working, and, increasingly important, moving towards my goal of buying a property in Portugal. 

As I review my existence, I see how hyper-focused I was on US politics during the previous administration.  As 2021 is falling into place, I transfer this dis-service onto my back-burner. Let it recede into my background to reach the back recesses of my external hard drive- to never bring up again. 

Some luxuries were offered up in 2020- like being able to return to the US- mid Covid 19 pandemic- and teach remotely while visiting family. Three luxurious months.  Probably the highlight was driving across the country with my brother, sister-in-law, and Madison the dog. For a week we traveled, and so did my students. They traveled the US with me with our ZOOM sessions.  They were so excited to see the next rest stop, the next trailer park, a US basement, meeting all my family, etc. I have a small group of ex-students that still ask about my nephews or their dogs, etc. 

It was an amazing experience to share with them. They got to hang out on my mother's front porch and watch the UPS truck drive up and drop off Amazon boxes for me, they met our neighbors, they traveled to the Pine Mountain Ski Jump with me and walked the steps with me. It's strange to think that online teaching brought us closer together. Or, it's not so strange actually.  

So fast forward to February 2021 and I feel pretty solid with my trajectory. Change is in the air, always, and my focus is to take on change with as much grace and positivity that I cultivate from with-in as with-out. I obviously have my setbacks, but that's alright.

It's a long weekend since midterms at the university are tomorrow so I gave myself this time to hunt for properties in Portugal.  Covid and continued lock-downs have continued to stunt my plans, yet solidify them at the same time. Yesterday I went down that beautiful rabbit hole and checked out properties all day. Twas a glorious rainy day indeed!  

So, that's where I'm at in this chapter. It feels good- even in this unfinished, unpolished state.  Life is a rare gem that arises from eARTh in its raw form and what follows is a series of polishings with a focus on attaining eternal shine.

Books are Sexy AF

 Current read: The Fifth Mountain

Discovered while road-fishing through an ex-colleague's apartment back in July, I delve back into Paulo Coelho 30 years later...

An author that never really took hold for me back in the day of 'discovering spirituality', I guess I felt I had long past that 'point' of my spiritual discovery journey so decreed the book as necessary for 'neophytes' to need to read.

Anyhooooooo... here I am in my rawness still journeying. I've been luxuriating in books since early summer and as my intimate time book-reading nears its end (yes, the new semester is set to start soon and we all know that means you have to divorce yourself from pleasure reading), in the 11th hour I rummaged through my humble bookshelf skimming the titles. 

[Can I just interrupt here and say what a pleasurable feeling it is to SKIM THROUGH A KICKASS BOOKSHELF!!!]

...I was scanning for a 'skinny' book. And there it stood out like a gaping wound. 

This is a budding relationship. I'm only on page 38 so we are just feeling each other out as to what we are about. How serious are we? Is this going to be a solid commitment or a 1-night stand? Page 38, though, isn't like page 7 so there is a certain amount of intimacy that has already been indulged in and slipped out from underneath our stern facades...

I can already tell that 'this isn't the right one, but the one for right now', and that's okay. There is solid satisfaction in that knowledge, meaning I can delve further without any collateral damage that would otherwise be leftover after the break-up. 

So yea these are my ponderings.

Further enjoyment about the book isn't necessarily the contents, but the circumstances of acquiring it. This is perhaps the real story. The story that lasts in my memory of time and place.

As an 'expat' (hate that word but what other sums it all up in 1 word?), I flow through life remembering places more so than years. feelings more so than words, etc. And objects in their settings. This book forever will be for me: Sulaymaniyah, Pak City, and covid. As another colleague packed up an ex-colleague's life left inside their apartment, we shared this strange experience. It is an odd feeling to be rummaging through someone else's life, in such a way. Happening upon someone else's bookshelf- what an unexpected pleasure! 

I think about books like this:  I'm the hostess with the most-ess for a weary traveler that needs to be put up for some time.  Shacking up, we share a temporary journey together- which mirrors (at least my) real life. We laugh together, get sad, bored, angry, and finally terminate our existence together. But do we forget? Should we? I would like to think my essence is 'etched' into the lifespan of this physical tree of knowledge. Long after I return to the soil a part of me lives on in my books. Yes. This. 

The content of the book was unexpected. As it unfolded I came to understand the backstory of many words: Jezebel, Sidon, cedar, Ahab, Baal, Elijah (okay I had to really research this one as only had the faintest of ideas), Phonecians, etc. 

There is a certain smugness or satisfaction to find oneself so familiar already with the backstory of a book when going into unknown title territory. This is perhaps a reason I'm turning this 1-night stand into a simple fling as I'm just interested enough to delve deeper because of familiarity.  I like these familiar words. I like what they do to my mind, how they make me feel. 

Well that wraps up my ponderings this morning. Damn I've already finished my 2-cup of coffee daily limit. 

main idea: BOOKS ARE HELLA SEXY

Peace

Coronavirus Communique November 8, 2020. The USA series: S1 E1 MaSheila

 The Art of the Deal

The deal went down as such; a bottle of Absolute vodka, picked up from Hilt, Ca. (All Stars Liquor Store) in exchange for my drug of choice - books. This is not to say that books are my only drug of choice. It just all depends on what I'm hungry for at any moment in time. I have many compartmentalized facets that I like to let shine with equal enthusiasm.

*

So much to divulge as I had not written a post during my 3-month US of A odyssey; however, I'm going to draw it all out slowly tantalizing you all with my penned soliloquies. They won't be following a chronological ordering either because I'm just complex like that, or so my brain waves are. You know, Da Kine...

MaSheila just makes me smile.  I love hanging out with her and the family. We share a bond through our love of books. A bookseller she is! When heading to her shack with JenTalks for morning coffee, which didn't occur nearly as much as it should have but alas, MaSheila is a working woman and all these daze so...  Incidentally, right before my departure back to Iraq we visited her at the antique mall that she haunts on weekdays. Also, the kitty kat that is shacked up there was spotted. Me thinks MaSheila will soon bring her to the apartment, on occasion, for some good feline company. Kitty must love living inside a HUGE antique warehouse though.

I digress... Last year I enlisted her aid in searching for an English copy of 'Les Fleurs Du Mal' (The Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire, affectionately immortalized as the 'cursed' poet. I got turned on to his writing back in Hawaii and always knew that I would at some later time delve further into his 'abnormal' way of expressing/penning himself. By 'abnormal' I don't mean to express that his deviation from what is 'normal' is worrisome to me.  Rather it is challenging, inspiring, and quite the opposite of 'undesirable'- in fact being very desirable to delve into. Yes, every exquisitely (apparently) sordid detail I mopped up with rabid fascination.

*

I recently read a book, I think in Budapest earlier this year, or perhaps it was in Paris in 2019. Who can remember!  It centered around the Paris art scene in/around the 1840s. Jeanne Duval, a Latin Quarter artist, met Baudelaire and their relationship continued on from there arousing much speculation into modern times as well. As any urban legend worth its weight by today's standard, their story is steeped with interesting history.  Apparently they were painted together in Gustave Courbet's The Artist's Studio yet she was 'erased' from the mysterious 'manifesto' composition years later at Baudelaire's insistence after they (Baudelaire and Duval) had an argument? 

Apparently their lust for each other was of the 'forbidden' type. Whatever the fuck that meant at the time, as I see it she was black (born in Haiti to a mother in Europe, who was the result of her grandmother being a slave from Guinea who forcibly traveled to Europe to work in a brothel) and he was an opium-loving white Parisian  dandy... Other tag words to familiarize yourself with for this setting is as follows: bohemian, syphilis, urban romanticism, stormy relationship, and Black Venus. Paris as his backdrop, his manifesto, I think, was that one "must create beauty from even the most depraved or "non-poetic" situations." Urban beauty and decay are deliciously juxtaposed in this heaving contextualized sexual scenario and I can dig it. 

Ever popular for her 'exoticism' (how 'orientalist' in nature, yes? After all, she is referred to as being 'mulatto'), Duval was also painted by Edouard Manet simply titled, 'Baudelaire's Mistress' (Reclining Lady With A Fan). I had the honor of viewing this Realism masterpiece while visiting the Budapest Museum of Fine Arts last winter. 

*

I've digressed yet again. 

So, MaSheila found me 2 copies of the book and insisted that I take both, one of which was, I'm sure, quite a spendy edition complete with beautiful illustrations to accompany each poems- including some of the 'fobridden' ones that had previously been censored in the 2nd edition. Also, this edition is in French. 

Anyway, this is how MaSheila operates. She would take no money for the additional edition that she purchased from one of her rare books booksellers she enlists in searching down books.  She is like a book sleuth! I adore this lust for books she has.

*

What is fascinating about La Fleurs Du Mal, IMHO, is the section of poems titled, "Black Venus". Obviously you guys knows what follows next; Duval was his muse here. 

*

I fear I've regressed too much now. Let's return back to the original story line, which is this year's selection of my 2 picks from MaSheila's personal library.. 

We were having coffee in MaSheila's living room, or perhaps it was happy hour cocktails that day... I am in my requisite Queen Anne-style upright upholstered chair staring deeply into her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, giving center stage to her rather unique and vast collection of books. I swear, so many hours I have spent thinking of those bookshelves and wondering about the possibilities.... All the feel-goods come out; owning a bookstore in Portugal where I can cherry-pick my selections of English language literature for expats and locals alike, renting a lighthouse to live in while writing a book, traveling the world for unique literature, etc...

Anyway, as an early on devoted fan of Anais Nin I had heard of Erica Jong- as the authors share the same writing genre, yet never read her. Scanning, scanning, BOOM. Fear of Flying by Erica Jong. There it was sitting there looking all coquettish. Hardcore seduction at this point, I grasped the book all the while feeling quite provocative in my efforts. Compulsion perhaps? Revulsion? No, definitely not revulsion. Attraction. Definitely attraction. 

[STOP. Let me just put this out here right now, Fear of Flying is no 20 Shades of Gray or whatever the number is... "Oh Holly you have got to read the book. The protagonist is an anthropologist", and other such phrases were relayed to me by various friends. I tried to read the book and couldn't get past page 15 probably.   More recently I tried to watch the movie. Never got into it. Finally during a recent flight perhaps I was forced to watch the entire movie out of sheer boredom. Meh...]

Contemporaneously I offered money for the book as MaSheila demanded that I just take it off her hands. A kinda one-less-book-that-hasn't-sold-in-a-long-time-so-I-don't-have-to-deal-with-it-anymore scenario was proposed to me. I graciously accepted. 

About 2 weeks ago I found myself again in MaSheila's living room- this time it was definitely for sunset happy hour cocktails, I think... Again in my seated position I start scanning while conversing. Another book stands out among the sea; Thelma A Norwegian Princess. Thus, the same scenario ensues and I bring my new book back to the homestead. 

I have no idea what it's about, but the book binding looked super old and interesting. All I know is that it is also about some sort of 'forbidden' love.  I guess this was on my mind after finishing my last quiver of books, The Ice Maiden (Juanita the Inca mummy discovery), Left for Dead (Mt. Everest climbing), and High Exposure (Mt. Everest climbing).

Here now is where Hilt, an old favorite liquor store from my days of yore- high school in Ashland, Oregon- and the ritual of driving the 25 or so miles across the border to find someone at the then Hilt Liquors to purchase alcohol for us enterprising high schoolers), comes into focus. 

vodka for books, my drug of choice. True store

 

links:

https://thehammocknovel.wordpress.com/tag/jeanne-duval/

https://www.wikiart.org/en/edouard-manet/portrait-of-jeanne-duval-1862

https://www.gustave-courbet.com/the-artists-studio.jsp

https://poets.org/poet/charles-baudelaire

 http://www.ericajong.com/flying.htm

https://essentials.neh.gov/projects/the-ice-maiden

 

Coronavirus Communique: Saturday May 20.2020

Bom dia,

Eu preciso de practicar meu Português mais tão estou escrevendo em Português só hoje. 

Eu acordei cedo para exercicio fora, antes que fique muito quente. Já está 31º C as dez horas... Minha caminhada foi pacífica. Depois eu fui direito para o ginácio. Agora me sinto relaxado tomar meu cafe no meu lanai na sombra.

Estou ouvindo reggae música a partir dos meus amigos sala de estar na Hawaii. Isto é, claro, de um computador.  Cada semana eles fazem videos para que todos possam desfrutar.  É muita masa! Eu sinto que estou de volta ho Havaí. Eu posso ouvio os sapos ('coqui' frogs- a very bad invasive species to Hawaii) no fundo.  Eles vivem na selva (jungle?) é, bem, isso me faz saudades para os trópicos.

Tem sido séculos desde que eu ouvia reggae parece...

Hoje eu vou continuar cortar tecedo para fazer um vestido de verão.  O tecedo tem bolinhas brancas em um fundo azul.  Felizmente, eu tenho dois mais semanas gratis de trabalha!  Recentemente, um ano atrás, eu comprei uma máquina de costura é tem sido último para costurar novamente.

Na verdade eu tenho minha amiga, Denise, de agradecer pela insperação. Eu a conhecí há trente anos em Santa Cruz, California.  Ela é o melhor!  Ela costumava tem um atelier chamada 'Wild Thing' e eu trabalhei lá. Foi na praia no Capitola Village. Ela me ensinou sobre a vida & estar feliz em tudo. Também, ela me ensinou a amar a música jazz.  Agora ela está vivendo no Surf Beach, Austrália e tem seu estúdio de design em casa.  Ontem, ela me disse que ela vai me fazer um vestido!  Então, eu escolhi um estilo e tecedo.  Ela só usa tecedo com Aborigional impressāo. 

Aqui está a sua informacao para a 'Etsy store', se chama 'Global Vibe' dela:

https://www.etsy.com/shop/globalvibe?fbclid=IwAR0-EetNXqwhQhUC1nAKraAL6f5lF3WXmW22EZRAeJNuIglYO8FkXiX3kqI

 E uma foto de nós: Ela visitou-me e meu namorado e sua familia no Hawaii para as férias.

Hippy chicks. Denise e eu na manha de Natal no Maui. Eu não me lembro o ano...

Voltar a Português...

É muito difícil para mim entender Português... Eu posso escrever e ler muito melhor do que eu posso escutar.  Eu vou tentar ouvir podcasts Portugueses mais.  Minha nova coisa é ouvir Bossa Nova podcasts porque as palavras são cantadas mais lento. 

Isso é suficiente para hoje! Como é que eu faço?

paz

Coronavirus Communique: June 17, 2020

I've never been much of a Sting fan, but I have always admired his range of music and his dedication as a wide ranging producer.  If you wanna listen to some kickass Jazz, check out Sting here.  Super fresh funky smooth:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrPofqZOj88&list=PLNjRYW-OT9mYyM05GXEMDnRF63wmDOsty

Days gaining momentum, tumbling down like boulders seeking out a stream bed to rest in. My doors of perception swing back and forth like a popular saloon back in the days of the Wild West after coming upon a vein of gold deep inside the eARTh after much work. You don't want to give it all away, but you definitely feel like buying everybody a round of adult libations...

I'm that miner.  I've sharpened my tools, honed my skills. I wanna dig deeper for that inner gemstone radiating out, giving me clues on this trail I plod through. I dig this challenge.  If I fail today, there is always another quest, another day. Completion is so sweet. Necter from the gods/goddesses that dwell, swell, inside me. Addiction is a motherfucker. Nothing like being addicted to honoring thyself...

I follow the trail; this vein looks interesting? Yes. Go forth. Discover what gemstone awaits my awakening. Finding my spirituality here in Mesopotamia is the quest.  Forces of nature seem to always have been chaotic here in the Cradle of Civilization. The Shamash (sun god) and Sin (moon god) are always in conflict within myself. I seek, in the dark of the night, solace- the domain of Sin.  I know. I know I need this Yin to balance out my Yang nature (Shamash).  The dichotomy motivates me. *digging deeper within to locate that evasive turquoise mine. THIS.  This is it!

AHA! The turquoise!  I follow this blue-green vein, blood pumping.  The fluid network running through my being, it needs to remain liquid.  Alchemy.  This region might persist, outwardly, in petroleum, but I need an element that reaches further back in time- that is more useful for me. Of course bitumin has always existed among the ancients here. In solid form, it was used in the construction of buildings and in waterproofing reed boats, etc.

But I digress. The blue rays of MY gemstone, my turquoise shine through my continually fossilizing framework, detoxifying me.  Transmutation. Feeling complete for yet another day here in the time of covid-19...

Back in the external realm, my secret gardenia bushes are in an advanced state of decay. Shamash wins this cycle of nature right now.  Two blossoms remain for me to steal its essence from.  I inhale their essence so greedily. I wanna be drunk on gardenia. Thus, I am.  It lingers all day. When challenged, I retreat back to this olfactory presence. I covet these daily outings. Outside walking Pak City Parkway in the early mornings, I steal away these moments. I cannot help but smile wide. Who can benefit from this energy stirring inside me, rising, bubbling over?  Hopefully anyone that comes into my presence can tune into the VIBE.  There are now a few others out walking so early. There is this unexplored acknowledgment when we pass each other. It is like this clandestine society. We nod to each other in silent respect.

Yesterday morning one of the groundskeepers saw me making a beeline to my secret gardenia bushes.  He was spraying something (who knows what in these times, pesticides, sanitizers?). As I looked up from underneath my protection shield (my trusty Yosemite trucker cap and Maui Jim sunnies), I could tell he was waiting until I completed my task; he knew that I was going right up to those gardenias to take my elixir!  Afterwards, I continued on my journey.  Not wanting to end the connection there, I locked eyes with him, turned back and pointed to the gardenias and gave him a big smile that resonated from deep within.  It just gaped out of me.  We both laughed. That was it.  I felt a part of the community and we experienced this thing together.

So yea, constant upkeep in these times of covid-19. 

Coronavirus Communique; remember remember...the 8th of June...

For you Pete-Y boy:

 JayQUElin:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dd7FixvoKBw

 Mary Jane:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrPNwLuk0zQ

JaQUElin lives

I got a late start today getting outside. It was 8 am. I knew it was going to be a scorcher, but I needed to do it- if only to take a small side journey to another time- one year ago to the day.

I left the apartment building, as I've been doing for the past few weeks in the early mornings- through the back entrance.  There has been some element of comfort in this, as I walk by that small shady grassy patch of space just outside by the sidewalk. 

At first I did so with trepidation.  I would stay on the sidewalk, and reflect.  The past few days has been more aggressive, forcing myself to stand on that small patch of grass...

This morning I was on a mission though.  As I stood there, cloaked behind my requisite dark sunglasses and baseball cap, I knew they served a higher purpose than solely shielding the sun.

You were something Pete-Y boy. Larger than life I suppose. I learned a lot from you about life. Although, I have only recently starting taking notice of these unintended lessons that poured out of you in such an under-the-radar kinda way. 

See you around sometime Pete-Y boy

Coronavirus Communique: drying cucumbers & mango margaritas sunset cocktail hour on the lanai-I-spy

 June 6, 2020 post workout bliss ponderings...

Surf Jazz + bossa is how I'd even attempt to start off describing Canadian electro-jazz group 480East sound system. Today's music genre's are so convoluted and can be quite annoyingly broad, or narrow- depending on how difficult it is to search for a sound.

I find jazz to be most confusing- in trying to really pin down what grooves I dig.  Electronic music perhaps even more so, but my focus these past few years has been seeking out jazz sounds. 

Deep Jazzy House
this genre is one of my fav for just lounging around early mornings. Slow, sensual wake-ups, lingering in that hypnopompic dream-state just a little longer before starting the day.  What the hell, drink that exquisite first cuppa coffee in bed. These are the mornings where I ignore my bodies cries for a HIIT work-out, or an early morning run.  Yea, these deep jazzy house mornings are for inner visions.  Thoughts running amuck with wild abandon. Worship thyself. Perhaps a yoga sess. Get grounded on a funkadelic undertone (just enough that you don't even consciously know it's there, really) that just glides through your system, taking you on these journeys into the realm of music + chemistry effects from the experience.  You are within the dialogue but not necessarily recognize that you are indeed one of the centrally themed characters. 

Okay I'm not sure if those last few sentences even made sense, but... whatever.

Here's some deep jazzy house:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYSo692Cl68

How do you seek out sounds of:  The Brand New Heavies + jazz funk + Sol Lounge?  It's a genre-bending trip down the rabbit hole. The rabbit hole is as fun as it is interesting as it is frustrating.  It takes some dedication, and time.  Lots of both these days! Surface for air as needed...

Also, "Sol House" is a thing y'all. Think 007

So MzH and I were soaking in last night's sunset and ensuing full moon rise from my lanai for our  perhaps weekly happy hour festivities. Whenever the mood strikes actually.  Days end every day makes me smile, as well as finally get a chance to step out on my lanai and relax into cooler air. Recently, the thermometer has been increasing steadily starting early in the mornings. I find it most important to get my workout in before 9 am. Because my head is like a big radar attract-or, I work out so many mysterious concepts I've kept in my mind during the days while exercising.  I never bring my phone with me so as soon as I get back, I sit on the lanai and type out my thoughts (these blog posts as one example).

But I digress...

So we're drinking strawberry-mango margaritas (blended even) and shooting the shit and down below we spy on maybe 5 of the Chinese girls from the other building. They have walked up to the courtyard/recreation area, which was strangely devoid of kids last night (suppertime perhaps?). They were all wearing pastel color-bloc sleeveless flowing dresses. Now, at that moment I was thinking, "wow, maybe this is a performance art piece, or the beginning of a #BLM protest march, or a full-moon goddess ritual (yes, my mind naturally wanders to far out reaches). I'm stoked. I'm ready for the show.

A few of them break out 2 sheets and drape them over the concrete.  What followed was the spreading of some type of leaf or something.  We were aflutter with ideas, of course, and captivated by the happenstance of the powerfully interesting scene unfolding. In that moment I wanted to go down and ask them because, curiosity... I imagined it was a cultural thing. We decided they were drying out some leaves (for cooking) in our buildings courtyard because of the direct, relentlessness of the morning sunshine. Yes this morning marks a change in the weather that I 'felt' loud and clear: It was already bloody hot at 8 am... So hot in fact that yesterday I was starting to sit in my made-in-China folding camp chair that I proudly purchased at Carrefour last month, when it suddenly started slowly collapsing... It had melted... The amusing part is now that the plastic chair arms have melted, it has brought the chair closer to the ground so now it has transformed from a 'camp chair' to a low beach chair- WHICH IS WHAT I WANTED IN THE FIRST PLACE!!! Haha.   Okay, back to the story!

And then 'POOF' they were gone. 

Fast forward to this morning. I'm trotting off about 6:30 am, sun blazing high in the sky already, and so I divert and check to see what remained (nothing like a good reconnaissance survey of the immediate area thought to host something incredible to dwell on and divert mis-directed attention from the all-too excessive thoughts of shitty news being shoved down our throats on a global scale). Anyhow... The sheets were still there! On closer inspection I can confirm that the 'leaves' are in fact cucumbers!

Still curious. What is this story? Ah yes, right.  Molly-wog, from her Joshua Tree NPS lilypad, called during this unfolding scene. I should update her most definitely to let her know of its outcome. As like any anthropologist/ archaeologist, she got sucked into the story like flies on shit.  SCIENCE!  So cool.

Oh yea, here's my secret gardenia bush(es) update: Fortunately the coveted gardenia cluster is well-shaded so are still producing an abundance of flowers. 


Music to accompany this blog post:

Four80East- "Cinco Cinco Seis"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5Oa_KUxBm0


Four80East: En Route - Live at SiriusXM


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEHplYngjHI&list=RDJ5Oa_KUxBm0&start_radio=1 


Marga Sol

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GoRxukBjgjI



Incense to accompany this blog post;

 Satya Sai Baba Nag Champa Agarbatti


corny movie to check out after reading this blog post:

Out Cold (2001- yes, 2001...)
Just enjoy it for what it is, is my best advice for the cornball cinema...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_7nVDz0tUE
 

You Tube series to check out: 

 History of Africa with Zeinab Badawi (BBC)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETnIsBnNRr0&list=PLajyiGz4JeyPq2lpEt2skZRhQsAspIQCp&index=1 


Podcast to check out:

 Imma say 'summer beach world' to describe this Aussie-boy's showcase of sounds. Think sway, happy hour, sun worship,

I listened to epi. 134 this morning. Still in groove-sway mode...

https://www.adamdunning.com/the-sun-lounge


Okay, that's all folks

Margaritaville de Sulaimani

cucumbers (I think) drying out in the courtyard

made in PRC... RIP camp chair. ALOHA beach chair...

Molly-wog, back in the YOSE daze... fun times working in the Sierra Nevada