emchy: (Default)
dark and drizzly day that i bringing back memories of college and wandering across green lawns looking for something - looking for poets, for queers, for lust, for something to make the drizzly romantic day spark. i found it in alexis goble. she rode down the cracked cement paths on one of those old bicycles with handlebars that curved up and baskets on the back for all manner of important books and literature. her hair was classic pageboy swept back in a semi androgynous, semi new wave sort of way. she wore tweed jackets and the sort of comfortable worn in academic uniform that has me certain that she spoke volumes of poetry whenever she opened her mouth. we frequented the same cafe, and shared looks across the room. i was infactuated by the conversations we could've had.

i wrote her a love poem once. left it in her bicycle basket in a plastic envelope so the constant rain wouldn't hurt it. she called me and while water streamed down my window and i gazed out onto trees hinting at green, and mud inviting winter back, i could hear my fate, but it wasn't with her. i was charmed and afraid. the day we had a date at the cafe, I arrived early and saw her kissing her androgynous boyfriend. they were both so beautifully themselves, and i was still on a journey.

days like today, when the clouds are low enough that it almost feels night in the morning, remind me of the first time i saw her on her bike. the first time lust and want slammed me in the chest and i knew that queer was something more than drunken playtime, something more than crushes on teachers, something more than anything i had ever felt for a boy. i was relishing rain that wasn't ice falling on my face, smoking a camel light on grand river avenue. walking towards cafe venezia, preparing to window show the chanel display that was always in the jacobson's window, the makeup and perfume reminding me of chicago and my rich friend clare who i always did acid with.

i was walking into memories and thoughts of my next paper when she rode by. full of fall colors and textures and i couldn't take my eyes off of her. important, beautiful gentleman girl riding down the busy street in a bike from 1924 as if she owned the place and wanted to invite me in for a cup of coffee and some poetry.

hmmmm - days like this make me dream and want to walk across calm green lawns where anything is possible. there are other dreams this brings too, macondo, coffee all day, people's cafe, writing writing writing.

last night i wrote four poems. today, i can feel them waiting for me. my children like this rain.

by request

May. 17th, 2005 10:05 pm
emchy: (Default)
from childhood i have only a few distinct memories of my dad. he worked so much and such long hours, plus did an entire host of community things, like bowling, the elks club (he was even exalted ruler once) that he wasn't home a lot. some of my friends thought my parents were divorced he was away so much and i never talked about him. but there are some good memories there.

one of the most interesting things for me is that I get my creativity, my poetry, my lust for life and art from his side of the family. I did not know that until I was in my twenties, but it was there waiting for me to know it. My grandmother on his side was a published poet, though no one has been able to find what books the few poems she published were in. She was the sort of lady that when she was in her 60's living in Florida, she wore fushia hot pants and roller skated down the street. I wish I had known her.

But hearing stories about her from my mom, I started to see (and be directly told) how much like my dad's mom I am. and how that drove us away from each other.

It is incredibly important to him to be accepted socially. To be a part of a community and even set an example therein. From a fraternity to theElks to setting up scholarships for poorer kids to go to college from our town, he always wanted to lead by example. I found out from my mom some of the core reasons for this. When dad was a kid, they lived in a super small farm town near the Michigan / Ohio border. Everyone knew everyone and even now when they have high school reunions, everyone is invited, from all the graduating classes. That sort of place. So my uncle, a few years older than dad, fell in love when he was 13. He fell in love with an 11 year old. She got pregnant and they got married and found an apartment in the town. Scandal of immense proportions ensued, and while some may have handled it differently, my dad reacted by proving that he wasn't like 'that'. He has spent the rest of his life proving that he isn't that, he is an upstanding guy. He is good people by the most conservative and family focused definitions.

It probably didn't help that he had a liberal poet mom, an artsy aunt who liked to gather large parties and do sing a longs on the piano to bawdy songs, or that his own twin sister was a lesbian. Also didn't help that when his father died, his mom married his fathers best friend within months (with her husbands blessing).

Recently when I was home I asked him about my grandfather. All he said was that "well he was a lot like me I guess. worked a lot." My dad tends to talk in as few syllables as possible. Most of what I know about him I know from my mom. A couple of years ago I got back in touch with his sister, my lesbian Aunt Judy. She told me how she loved to visit with my dad. How they just laughed and laughed. My father side of the family holds all the passion (my mothers holds the temper) but with us, his kids and his wife, my dad's humor never came out. he was always tense and terse and like he didn't have a lot of time. I remember running into his elks friends when sometimes dad would take me around town for a ride in his corvette (he always loved fixing up old corvettes, even when he was the most poor and in the army with a new wife and baby) and he would talk to these old local guys, and I would be so proud. my dad would have them laughing and smiling and charmed. When he would get back in the car, he seemed happy, but quiet again.

To see that part of him, I would sometimes be intentionally late for school. So late that my school teacher mom couldn't drop me off, so he would have to. This always meant a sit down big breakfast meal at mcdonalds with him. somehow we would run into he work friends there. I got to see dad in action, charming and social, and so proud to introduce me.

When I was in college, he didn't trust my desire to major in english, so i had to prepare a presentation for him about "what i could do with an english degree" I made charts and graphs, photocopied articles, and wrote out a thesis on what path i wanted to take. i just remember wishing so hard for that approval.

i am always so tied in to how much like my mother i am, but as i write this, i am seeing something else. how i shut down like him. how this week i have been friendly and charming, making people laugh and have been cold and terse at home.

so much to learn. to much to remember. more memories later. per redshrike. :)
oh - he loves the beach boys.
emchy: (Default)
Hey Y'all, crayonbeam put me up to this
correct me if i am wrong

10 things I've done that I suspect my LJ friends have not.

1. gotten drunk with james st. james (party monster fame) while dancing on the castro marquee
2. driven from mid michigan to new orleans in 17 hours flat
3. talked my mother out of taking me to therapy after an attempted suicide
4. lit off very large illegal fireworks across the frozen surface of lake superior
5. jumped over a bonfire that had a packet of saturn missles thrown into it to make it more exciting (missles go boom!)
6. explored a crypt at midnight - it wasn't breaking and entering, i had the keys...*
7. was a cheerleader during my freshman year in high school
8. made leaf angels and climbed public sculptures in downtown detroit while on acid
9. drove through at least four blizzards (on closed roads)
10. have hit three deer

so many of the best stories i know you all have too...
so these will have to do.

just in case #6 is not unique a replacement:
crashed a calss reunion / reception thing at jack london square while pretending to be part of the mafia, me and the three punk rockers lasted 10 minutes

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