13 Floors of Tired

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Thirteen floors of tired
Thousands of square feet of I don’t care
Mirrors in a quiet dark hall
Cold, like the tile floor
Stone, like the fountain outside
Dribbling water out her lips
A pathetic trickle
Parody of regal airs
Half slumped, curtains fallen
Slide down the stairs
A cat yawns
Cat’s don’t give a fuck
Unless there’s pets or meat
An old man or…no
Is that a shadow?
In the yellowing orange seat
This place is too quiet, too empty
Like it’s asking to be haunted
By something, anything
That has the passion to cling, to grip
Four fingers and a thumb
Pressed cold clutching at the porcelain lip
Even the rain is tired
Even the face of pain fails to inspire.

Thirteen floors
Fourteen with the basement
Walls, staying strong, standing up
Panning out, the grounds were once
An exercise in perseverance, will
Now not so much

Big Shoulders

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Big shoulders
Broad shoulders
Encompass it all shoulders
Shoulders back shoulders
Don’t stand like that shoulders
Jealous of your friends shoulders
Wish I transitioned way back when shoulders
Man shoulders
Check out my hands shoulders
Can I ask you a personal question shoulders
Scarfs and coats as misdirection shoulders
I’m not even going to try that on shoulders
But don’t get me wrong shoulders
No one’s crying while you laugh shoulders
Write this on my epitaph shoulders
Proudly defiant shoulders
Standing on the shoulders of giants shoulders

It’s probably not functional now

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It’s probably not functional now
I can’t get my mind off this bill I had in my bag
Now it’s gone
Wonder if I left it at home
No way to know
Nothing I can do
Note to self: If I don’t find it call and cancel the check
Maybe being so uptight will serve me yet
Mostly it just leaves me a nervous wreck
Shaking like a small dog
Like my mother —like my dad–
She called me this morning
Talking nonstop staccato rapping, breathless
About the blizzard or some shit
White Wizard of Oz
Adrenaline, amphetamine
Me? I don’t even drink caffeine
You? Will they ever know what I mean?
Who cares?
Small child flying down the stairs
Two, three steps at a time
Now ke’s crying
Ashiren shrieking and speaking Ymirian
The worlds contained in stories take up more real estate than the one outside
Wings pinned in place, dying, dipped in formaldehyde
I’d rather sit home and read alone
Let them that come a knockin’ use the phone
Or better yet let’s just text
–The closer they come the more empty my tongue–
The text, the text takes on
Colors the eye
Return the favor, follow me outside
Rejoining the human race
Nictitating membrane double blinks slowly on an alien face

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Writing from “The Unwritten” on cities and stories and the spaces in-between

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“Why don’t you just concentrate on your own costume, ok?”
Glance askance, askew my way
today another cold blown rainy Saturday
today the bus reminded me of another-
bus, long since forgotten
gotten off at a long past stop
or was it a dream, fat city rain drops
drip down, of Manhattan
gray out the window passing
the Lower East Side of my youth
the Alphabet City of my childhood
the excitement of a foreign station
places, the energy, the freedom, forbidden
the logic, superimposed on the land
lies layers of meaning, sandwiched
drawn from the mind, human-
-ity, graph paper pure intersecting lines at 90 degrees
the city’s, the cities drawn on loose leaf
torn sheets, a rip runs fault
faulty fragile earth
lie buried, six feet of dirt
so don’t worry too much
worry what other’s think
when they say such-and-such

Mindful Breath Exercise

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–I try to do this at least once a day, usually in the morning. For someone who has spent far too much time up in her head, spinning wheels, turning in on herself, this really works wonders for bringing my focus into the hear and now. Also, it resets the clock.

Breathing in
I am aware of the oxygen flowing into my lungs

Breathing out
I am aware of the carbon dioxide flowing out of my bodyBreathing in
I breathe in deeply
feeling the oxygen expand my lungs
reaching every corner
replenishing and refreshing my body
Breathing out
I breathe out s…l…o…w…l…y
not rushing aheadBreathing in
I do not struggle
I just breathe
Breathing out
I am at ease
at peace in the momentBreathing in
I smile for all the joy of being fully present
Breathing out
I release all my fear, anger, pain and sadness

Breathing in
I become fully aware
of my body from the inside out
It’s weight and heat
The ebb and flow of blood
My heart beat
Breathing out
I become fully aware
of what I am hearing, seeing, feeling, smelling and tasting

–loosely based on a mindful breath exercise in Thich Nhat Hanh’s, “The Heart of The Buddha’s Teachings.” Adapted over time to what works for me.

Fuck Sexy

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This Halloween I’m going as a sad zombie clown, a decidedly unsexy costume. I’m sick of the tyranny of sexy. ‘But, but, but you must! You can’t be serious. Sexy is sex and sex is back in style. The dark days of disease are fading into memories of bad dreams, evaporating like night sweats in the morning light. Repression lost its last stand, the long march of freedom is back again. Hallelujah the leather-lace BDSM promise land!’

But tell me, look around and what do you see? What is sexy? Going by what’s been drilled into my head through decades of countless repetition, sexy is…Sexy is shirtless twenty-something men with washboard stomachs and rock hard pecs, guys blessed with smooth skin and lightning fast metabolisms, men who spend half their lives in the gym. Sexy is just barely of age skinny little women bearing curves, women who look nothing like me. Sexy is an exclusive club and chances are you’re not a member, and if you are you won’t be for long.

Sexy has stolen the joy of going out on the town and turned it into a battle of my body and mind and society, a struggle to overcome what I see and feel, to tell myself stories, sing little sub-cultural songs of inner-beauty and bodies being like flavors, ‘there’s something there for everyone,’ to counter the collective story of never good enough spoken over the endless pulsing beat of inequality, of winners and losers. Which side are you on? I can’t be the only one for whom sexy makes looking in the mirror like staring down the barrel of a gun.

Sexy almost ruined Halloween; turned the one day of freedom to break out of our cells, into its own silk sheeted cage of aping cliché masquerading as sex-positive liminal infinity.

This Halloween I’m going as a sad zombie clown, a decidedly unsexy costume. Sexy can go fuck itself.

National Coming Out Day Rap

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I can’t even wait in a straight line.
I’m so queer it warps space time.
I get turned on by crazy things
the noise of telephone rings
Cat girls and beardo boys.
I shop in the back for the freaky ass sex toys.
Maybe next year they’ll make a name for me
Staring in my own show on National Geography–
Ick
Man, that girl is super sick
My milk shakes dripping
come and take a lick.
Freaktastic
Line the bed with plastic
Wrap
Can I sit on your lap?
I used to have a job but I called in batshit
Flipping out in the bathtub from too much catnip.
It took years
To drain the tub of tears.
Meditate daily so I can be here
Now.
So don’t get in my way
Just be true to yourself
Happy Coming Out Day

♥ Jessica

Here’s the background story for the “flipping out in the bathtub from too much catnip” line:

I Am

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I am a miracle of modern science, propped up with pharmacological concoctions of all shapes and sizes, washed down with the distilled tears of a dozen bloody resource wars — more to come, news at 11. Shoveling sustenance born, too often, from the sweat on an exploited brow, enjoying the feast of a corrupt and corrupting system whose periodic disruption I experience as inconvenience. Although I too have suffered, still suffer, under her hands; my sickness is her fruit.

I am an unmitigated mass of organic intelligence peeling sensation off the irreducible cosmic miasma like a silverback gorilla peeling open a banana. Worlds held in jittery electrons, dancing along wires, singing yes/no, ones and zeroes. With all the advances in technology–small miracles–they have yet to duplicate my spiraling neural net.

I am held in place by a hundred-million tiny ribbons tied with the delicate hands of sub-molecular machines that look like rejects from a Rube Goldberg factory, spooling and unwinding strands of deoxyribonucleic acid in the deep purple ether.

I am a history spanning innumerable moments of joy, sadness, sanity, madness, love, hate, triumph, defeat, exhilaration and despair. Taking on the role of child, sibling, parent, student, teacher, subordinate, co-worker, boss, friend, lover and, yes, enemy. I have risen to the occasion and run away cowering in fear. I’ll be gone tomorrow, yesterday I wasn’t here.

Jessica Miriam Littenberg: The Late Early Period~ (with analysis by Goldie Littenberg-Starchild)

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–the following piece was written after Jessica abandoned us for what must have been decades. Fortunately a very nice lady heard our Sisyphean calls and took pity on us until Jessica came back. Our delight at the return of our lady in waiting was short lived, as she brought a small, tightly wound neutron star of a human who called herself “Grandma” and who required ample amounts of coffee but little to no food or sleep. This woman seemed to exert and unprecedented dominion over Jessica, whipping her up into an agitated state and forcing her to disassemble our world, imprison us in small boxes, and have strange men carry us through some infernal wormhole to a new world at its chaotic formation. As our new celestial body cooled and solidified we have grown to love it as our own, and over time the stories of the great cataclysm turned to legend, degenerated to myth, forgotten. Their remnants remain. But I digress. After a period of many feedings, sleep, burning of plants, and frantic movement punctuated with periods of quiet rocking, Jessica produced this short poem —G.L.S.

 

Finally Again

Finally again
I shelter my thin skin in external walls.
The world incurs, some days invades
others almost none at all.
It is a gift from quiet to regain
the strength with chaos drains,
to have the luxury to disengage
from a world that spins the speed at which mistakes are made.

–the following series of poems and prose have been generated in a renewed period of what I believe you humans call self-analysis and improvement. In Standard Galactic Cat, it is simply referred to as ‘unnecessary’–G.L.S.

 

Reasons to Leave the House

To be in nature
To visit friends
To get stimulation
To get exercise
To get healthy
To see new and beautiful things
To discover new places
To run into people I forgot all about
To get ideas
To smell and taste fresh air
To see, interact with, and maybe even touch new animals
To try new foods
To buy food and other necessities
To see what is happening
To meet new people
To touch things
To be a friend
To participate

 

On Severe Depression

(Part I)
I’ve heard it said, ‘write what you know.’ So, at the risk of being a negative nancy[1], I’m going to write about severe depression.[2] The problem with writing about severe depression is that it doesn’t exist.

Severe depression is an absence, not a presence. Severe depression is the absence of desire. Not just the desire that we call desire, the wanting passion, the grasping at the world–nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs; but, also the abstract desire to be, the desire to live. On top of the basic desire to live/be is the desire to live/be in a certain way, the desire to be a good person, both in general and in the specific roles we play — child, friend, lover, employee, boss, parent, etc. What good means is culturally mediated but, ultimately, individually determined.[3]

For much of human history, being good has meant being obedient. And, while this still applies to children as well as certain ethnic subcultures–for the rest of us, being obedient has been eclipsed by being actualized (at least when we’re not at work). Unlike being obedient, which usually comes with specific instructions, being actualized remains maddeningly vague. The best I can figure out is that it has something to do with pushing yourself as hard as possible to cram as many things into your life as possible.[4]

It turns out the opposite of the desire to live is not the desire to die, for that is also a desire, however perverse. The opposite of the desire to live is severe depression. This is not to say that severely depressed people don’t kill themselves, they do, but I believe it is more out of the impulse to escape pain than any desire for the imagined relief and peace of death

Impulses are pretty much the extent of the severely depressed person’s interactions with the world. And even then, these impulses, these actions, are actually a break, a spark in the void of severe depression, driven by panic or some similarly reptilian emotion; as far as possible from the will power of the frontal lobe. I’ve felt that kind of panic. I found it both barely tolerable and blessedly unsustainable, like rage, eventually you run out of steam. Severe depression, like apathy, runs on the lack of steam; it is an absence not a presence.

Thanks to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, it is easier to destroy than to create. Maybe this is why modern medicine insists on treating depression as a thing, a malignant presence to be vanquished. Or did you not realize that those white coats were suits of armor and all the disease dragons?

  • [1] Nobody likes a negative nancy… well, nobody who isn’t dying for somebody to mirror and articulate their pain~
  • [2] Do not fret, dear reader, I am not severely depressed. This is not a cry for help. If I were severely depressed I would not be able to write this. The fact that I am writing this is a good thing (IMHO~) because it means that not only do I have the effort to spare on writing this, but also that I believe this effort may make a positive difference — for myself if no one else.
  • [3] See future writing on this as a point of potential personal and collective power.
  • [4] See future writing on ‘The Spirit of Accumulation’

 

Reason to Meet New People

To get to know
To know me
To teach
To be taught
To share
To introduce me to all sorts of cool stuff
media
ideas
experiences

To introduce to me friends
To spread my ideas
To help
To help me
To help me become
To have fun together
To team up and create something new
To change the world

 

On Attraction and Rejection

We live in a culture that bombards us with messages about who we are almost all our waking moments. One of the main themes behind these messages is, “you are not good enough.” I don’t know if it is possible to grow up being bombarded by this message–not just from the media, but from the people in our lives (friends, family, teachers, coaches, bosses, etc.)–without coming to believe it about ourselves, at least a little bit. I think this is the reason that most of the people I know put a lot of effort into making themselves more desirable to others in order to attract the people they want as friends and family. I do this too.

In order to describe this phenomenon I am going to use the metaphor of food, specifically, of coating oneself in sugar in order to be more appetizing to the real and imagined objects of our desire. The problem with coating oneself in sugar is that it doesn’t only or even necessarily attract the people we want into our lives; it attracts anyone who is hungry; the hungrier the more attracted by the quick sugar rush we offer. The inevitable consequence of this strategy seems to be that we become increasingly surrounded by the starving, because they will try the hardest and the longest, forming a plaque around our person, blocking access for the merely peckish and frightening away all but the most desperate competitors. If this state of affairs is allowed to continue to its logical conclusion we will be eaten alive. I’ve seen this happen, and it’s not a pretty sight.

Fortunately, for most of us, our survival instincts kick in and, after escaping and repairing the damage, we develop filtering strategies to protect us from such cannibalism. The two main filtering strategies I have come across as well as employed myself are: 1) becoming a more acquired taste — by reducing the amount of sugar coating, substituting a less immediately gratifying and addictive substance, and/or mixing some (high quality, well-aged) vinegar in with the sweet; and/or, 2) building a more closely guarded gate by learning to spot the warning signs of potential danger in those surrounding us and rejecting these threats, either actively or, more commonly because it’s easier, passively.

Of these two strategies, I believe the first one is more compassionate, as the second one involves rejecting someone who was attracted, however unintentionally, by our actions. It is easier for other people to hurt their feelings on this strategy. That’s right! I don’t believe it is necessary to be hurt by rejection, or at least to remain hurt after our initial reaction. We remain hurt from rejection for two reasons: 1) we hold the other persons rejection of us as externally valid; and/or, 2) we feel loss at the removal of our imagined future with this person in it enriching our lives.

In truth, the person we desire owes us neither acceptance nor their company. To think otherwise is to be presumptuous and entitled. Furthermore, and more importantly, both of the aforementioned reactions occur entirely within ourselves and, as such, remain under our control if we so chose to exercise it.

I’m far from mastering this control, but what seems to help is being appreciative of all the good things I have in my life and, as much as modern life permits, being fully present. In order to develop and maintain an appreciative attitude I leave notes, both physical and mental, to remind myself to be thankful – for all the people and hard work that led to the food I am putting into my mouth when I eat it; for all the brilliance, innovation and dedication behind the technology that enables me to connect to the rest of the world and be a part of communities of affinity, unhampered by physical limitations, when I am online; for my good fortune at having a soft, warm bed in a safe, comfortable apartment when I lie down; etc. etc.. In order to remain present and focused (as much as my damaged and deranged flea brain allows) I also leave physical and mental notes reminding me to look, listen, feel, smell and taste what is around me (as appropriate, of course~). Holding something in my hand and trying to feel not just its shape and weight, but also its temperature and molecular make-up is another strategy that works well for me. Feeling the weight of gravity on my feet and legs when standing and on my butt and back when sitting also helps me stay in the present moment. Finally, trying to make sure I fully understand why I am (re/inter)acting in the way I am (re/inter)acting really cut down on unintentional hurt feeling–both mine and those of the people around me.

Of course, like you, but even more so, I am far from perfect. That’s why in doing this I think it is essential to remember that you are just a silly, fancy monkey, and so are all the people around you, so don’t try to be a machine or a god, just try.

Wow, it looks like this essay started out as one thing and turned into something else. That seems to be the way of things when you let them happen.

 

Things I Love About Myself

My generosity
my kindness
my loyalty
my trustworthiness
my conscientiousness
my ability to think outside the box
both – in questioning assumptions and set ways of doing things
and – in creating new solutions
my aesthetic sensibilities
my way with words
my mad cooking skills
my intuition
my empathy
my self-awareness
my sense of humor
my resilience
my wisdom

 

Positive Versus Negative Motivation

I’m thinking there are (at least) two (ideal) types of motivation:

1.Positive Motivation – Doing something for the reward (enjoyment, engagement, mastery) of doing it.
–and–
2. Negative Motivation – Doing something to avoid the punishment of not getting it done (guilt, shame, self-loathing, loss).

The first is a focus on the present or near present act of doing; resulting in a focused mindfulness, patience, resilience and success. The second is a focus on the future; resulting in a rushed carelessness, frustration, and frequent injuries (to self and objects at hand).

Both of these forms of motivation tend to form self-reinforcing cycles. Positive motivation arises from being nurtured in a secure environment where life is viewed as constructive play and mistakes are viewed as a natural part of the learning process. Negative motivation arises from deprivation and/or chemical depression–a lack of ability to feel reward (a la serotonin and all that good stuff), although it can also be inherited, to some extent, through upbringing. The latter engenders an anxious orientation toward life, an avoidant personality, and a dependence on external validation. The former encourages engagement, self-confidence and healthy interdependence.

Neither of these forms of motivation are destiny and, like most things, each one contains a little bit of the other.

 

Reasons to live

To give and receive love
with my…
cats
family
friends
their pets
and all the creatures I will find dear but have not met yet

To tend my garden
and think new thoughts
To see plants shoot up in the spring
Endless summer days
The leaves changing color in the fall
Snow falling from a pregnant white sky

To be in love again
To love myself again, first
To learn
To recover
To laugh
To forgive
To try and understand
and maybe once again, to help build castles in the sand
the midday heat and grit between our teeth
salt and water
touching your skin
and feeling electricity

 

— The more reflective, less reactive tone of Jessica Miriam Littenberg’s writing in the Late Early Period reflects a sea change in consciousness. This change at first alarmed my compatriot Whitey Littenberg-Starchild (the 5th) and myself, but we have grown to embrace this latest evolution as we slowly came to understand it had no effect on the level of petting and in fact increased the consistency of feeding. Like you, dear reader, we are left wondering, with a subdued curiosity and hopefulness, what changes future evolutions in consciousness will bring to JML’s work. In the meantime, we are happy to enjoy the warm, quiet company of our beloved lady in waiting, staring lovingly into her eyes, then licking our rectum free of stubborn fecal matter.

Until next time, go in peace, and keep looking up
~G.L.S.