My Favorite Pictures EVER

So now that I'm fancy and I've really actually finished The River's Blue, I'm all a flutter looking for art that matches the idea. I even took underwater pictures at a friend's pool (Thanks Elvia and Rick!). I haven't even developed them yet, but I'm pretty sure they pale in comparison to Tom Chambers beautifully haunting pieces. I love these two, and when the time comes, I'm going to gently nudge them into being covers for my books:

http://www.tomchambersphoto.com/galleries/06/Roses-and-Gown.jpg

http://www.tomchambersphoto.com/galleries/07/Foggy-River.jpg

I found them on Jennifer Sky Band's MySpace!

Princess Elizabeth

Warning: this one may be disturbing, because it is based on actual events. I wrote it after story of the man who kept his daughter and the children she bore him trapped under his own house for YEARS. I used all their names, which were published in newspapers and stuff. You've been warned.


Princess Elisabeth



I will tell you a story.
In the North. In the land of black forests. Snow in the winter and rolling summer hills. Where the Rhine empties into the North Sea and the swans’ Danube into the Black Sea.
There.
A king and queen had a daughter. Elisabeth. They had other children, of course- seven others. But this little girl, elfin and bright- she was the apple of her parent’s eye. The king and queen doted on the princess, and as she grew up, their only sorrow was that their little girl must some day leave their side, as all her brothers and sisters had done.
Imagine poor old Queen Rosemarie and King Josef, alone in the hollow castle. The king, who loved his little girl so, oh how he loved her- he could not let this happen. He thought of ways to preserve her this way, his darling girl, a maiden forever.
(Except that she wasn’t, anymore.)
When she was eleven years old, the king went into his daughter’s chamber and he laid himself on top of her and he quieted her crying, he said to her that this was right and beautiful.
I Made You. You Belong To Me.
Finders Keepers
And things like that.
And then he said
If You Were Ever Unhappy, Your Mother’s Heart Would Break.
Could You Watch That? Your Mother’s Heart Breaking?

King Josef studied all of the ways this had been done before. He could lock her in the tallest tower with no doors or stairs. He could encase her in a coffin of glass and jewels. What about poisoning her into a coma and keeping her behind a wall of thorny briars? No, no, no. These had all been done, and alas, these other girls had always walked away someone’s bride.
But not Elisabeth.
The king set about building a network of tunnels beneath the floors of the castle, a labyrinth, a dungeon, a place invisible to the living world. And finally in the autumn of Elisabeth’s twenty-fourth year, the king took her. He lured her in part way. But then it got ugly.
She Will Not Understand, And Will Struggle,
he thought, so he bound her hands.
She Will Be Scared, he thought, so he drugged her.
(But probably, the truth is that after more than ten years of the king in her bed, the princess would look at the floor and just go.)
He took her down into the underworld, right under the floorboards of his home, under the queen’s own bed and all the places where she walked. They say she didn’t know.
(But I’ll tell you what my friend said when I told her. She gave me the strangest look and said
I think she knew)
If Elisabeth’s mother had been Demeter, she would have gone on strike. The world would choke on Winter until her daughter was returned to her. But she was not a goddess. She was only a queen. She was only a wife.
The king said a letter came from Elisabeth, declaring that she was running away. And the queen cried. But she said Okay. And right under her feet, Persephone slept. Talia the Briar Rose slept. Repunzel slept. And no prince would come for her. But someone came. And it was the king. He came again and again and again.
My Lovely Girl, he said
You See How Much I Love You?
You See What You Made Me Do?
I Had To Take You Away, Just To Make Sure You Were Safe.
The first few months were difficult for the king. The princess did not understand his love for her. He had to leave her tied to a pole. He made her a leash- she could reach the lavatory. And then he made more rooms for her, her own home, her own kingdom. And every third day he came to her, the way that kings come to queens.
Twenty-four years passed this way.

Let me tell you about the blooming of spring in the ether of winter. The earth was sleeping, rigid, frozen. But the sun came to warm her body, and Spring bore fruit.
Seven times. The Princess bore her brothers and sisters, fathered by the king. Three boys and three girls. When they were still seven babies, one of them, a twin, died of neglect.
Why would a mother let a baby she made with her own body die?
But it is so easy.
You just don’t go to them. You just don’t put them to your breast. You leave them uncovered in the cold.
It’s easy.
And, luckily, the king had built an incinerator. So the little twin, the one who the princess pushed away, was incinerated. No trace left. Nothing. And all this time, the queen never knew. Never smelled any flesh burning- how could she, he was so tiny. And she didn’t hear the pitter patter beneath her, the offspring of her husband and her own daughter, the princess. The babies were named Kerstin, Stefan, Felix, Lisa, Monika, Alexander. Six pomegranate seeds to anchor her to this place.

The king took three more of the children.
(I don’t know why he did that.)
He put them on the front door of his own castle so that the queen could find them. And a note from the long-lost princess.
Mother, it said.
Please Take Care Of My Baby.
It Is Your Grandchild.
I cannot. I have others to care for.
Always Your Daughter,
Elisabeth.
And the Queen was so grateful that here was a little piece of her disappeared daughter. Somewhere out there, she thought, my princess is alive.
The king and queen raised these babies, Lisa, Monika, Alexander, inside the castle, as their own. But under the house, in the dungeon labyrinth were three more, were Kerstin, Stefan and Felix. Sun and Moon, Dawn and Day. Buried children, in the deep gut of the earth. The princess taught them words, talking. But the children taught each other to animal-talk. They cooed and grunted at each other, a secret language of bear cubs and wolf pups.
They had never seen the sun, or the moon, or felt wind or rain. They had never smelled the salt of the ocean, or the felt the grit of dirt between their fingers. And the three girls, above ground, under ground, did they also feel the weight of the king on their beds? And did they call him Father?
(One wonders.)

And then one day.
One day, Kerstin was dying. Maybe her heart was breaking from never having breathed real air. (Who knows.) But she was so sick that the king had to bring her up to a world that she had never seen.
But how?
How to explain this to the queen?
Well, the king was clever, and the queen so trusting.
(My friend, she gave me the strangest look; I think she knew).

Nineteen years old, a teenaged beauty, Kerstin was put on the doorstop, with a note.
But Kerstin was so sick, so sick that the doctors made an appeal- they made an appeal for the mother to appear, and yes, the king brought Elisabeth to the world, so that she could help the doctors help Kerstin. The Princess Elizabeth, now forty-two years old, stood at her mother’s doorstep. She said
Mama
I’ve Come To Help Kerstin.
What must the queen have said to see her tired, shriveled daughter, gray-skinned and shame-gazed? She never knew about the underground kingdom, she never thought that the thief of her only daughter could be her own husband.
But,
A long time before, the king had been imprisoned himself, in a neighboring kingdom for sneaking into the tower of another princess. He raped her. That other princess.
And throughout his marriage to this queen, Rosemarie, he added rooms and amenities to the labyrinth. He was so clever, and she, so trusting. Maybe.
(I think she knew.)

But finally, because of Dying Kerstin, the children of darkness were freed, brought up from the dungeon. No prince ever came. Instead, Kerstin rescued her own mother. Her organs revolted inside her body, she must have known (that she was doing this for her mother).
In a tower with nurses and beeping machines, washed in gentle colors, Kerstin is in a coma.
Demeter is free.
Now, Persephone sleeps.

Innocence Vs. Experience

For this one, we drew slips of paper with two opposite terms written on them. Here's mine:



Innocence Vs Experience



“Are you experienced?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Cause we don’t want no last minute fuck ups out there.”
“No, it’s cool.”
“Look this is where you get to walk away from this. Once you in this, you in this. Get me?”
“What do I look like, some kind of pussy. Cause I could walk. You asked me to do this, remember?”
He put up his hands,”Sorry. Sheesh- got some chispa, ey.”
I took the pistol from him.

“That’s why they call me spark.”

All the way to the spot I let my hand fly out the passenger window. The wind in the gaps between each finger were like water. We slowed down as we entered a residential neighborhood. All the houses looked the same, spongey stuccoed exterior with hollow walls. The same __ palm tree in every yard.

“Had a be a rich kid,” I muttered.
“Sorry?” said the drivers.
“Nothing.”

A rich kid. Not even from our neighborhood. Some preppy who got my homegirl fucked up at a house party just so he could do her. That’s my homegirl. You don’t do that shit and not have karma coming at you from the barrel of a gun.
We passed the houses, but I knew we were getting close. Parking was getting shittier and you could here a deejay.
The sound of a synthesizer imitating a trumpet and a repetitive crashing beat got louder.

“Fucking paisa shit,” said the driver.
“Yeah,” I said quickly and then turned away. Dude and I got nothing to do with each other. But he had wanted to get this kid for a while too for cheating him out of some dope cash or some stupid shit, so we’re setting two wrongs right with one stone. Or bullet. Whatever.

He kept the car running. It was like I was just going to pick somebody up, so whatever. Through the driveway and into the backyard. Groups of people standing around talking to each other, not even seeing me. It was so easy. Don’t ever let nobody tell you it’s hard. It’s real easy.
And I spotted the asshole right away too, by the speaker. Nobody would even hear the pop.

“You angel?”
He checked me out. “Yeah?”
“This is for my homegirl, Mari.”

And I did it so fast, so fast that I can’t even believe it happened. I pulled the small pistol out of my hoodie, put it in his stomach and fired. Nobody even heard. I ran out of there and didn’t look back.

I yelled Go Go Go Go to the car, but shit. It wasn’t there anymore. Fuck. I’d been duped.

I kept running, I kept running, I kept running.

And they found me, huddled in the orange groves. Big flashlight eyes peering down at me.
“I’m innocent,” I screamed, “I’m innocent.”

AlegriaDolores

For this one, you choose two opposing aspects of your personalities and make them separate characters. (Violet and Claire, anyone?). Give them gender, age, name. I made them into a mother and daughter, reminiscent of my own mom and me.



Dolores. Middle aged. Main character. My mom.


I am Dolores.
I am Diabetic.
I am Fat.
I am Tired.
Nobody loves me.
I give I give I give
And for what?
Look at my daughter,
She throws her life
Away. She
Doesn’t listen to my
Advice.
Once I saw a picture of the Virgin Mary
With Seven Swords piercing her heart.
Mother of Sorrows, it was called.
That’s me,
Madre Dolorosa.



Alegria


Daughter in her thirties. Impact character. Me.


I am Alegria. Joy.
I am young and strong.
My lungs were born weak
But I have learned to make them work.
I think my mother used to be happy.
She gave that name to me
And I am that thing,
A glow in the dark,
A low hum in the silence.
She also gave me thick veins
That strangle my legs
But I make my legs run.
I love I love I love
And look,
There she is, despite her best efforts
To stay angry,
A lip curling into a smile.

Lady Day Shocked

For this one, I had a picture of a surprised looking victorian kitten who looks exactly like my Lady Day. So I wrote this:



The Fairies



Lady Day is nearly two years old. Her favorite expression is “shocked”. She is surprised and delighted by everything: a stray thread on the Mamas’ garment, a bottle cap o the linoleum floor. Her way of talking is in chirps and purrs and she loves to roll about on the floor. Her favorite pastime is making muffins. Since she is inside all day long she doesn’t get to play in the grass or the flowers, she is always in trouble for eating the flowers that the blue mama brings home because that makes her tummy hurt and she makes a mess from her throat which her brother eats.
When the mamas make the prayer magic, lady always sits like a little hen o her leopard-print stool, paws tucked under. The red mama is shaking her finger at Lady.
“They won’t come because the little Lady will hunt them.”
Lady is a very good hunter. She likes to hunt dust freckles in the rays of lights that come through the window, and her brothers tail. The red mama sounded sad.
“Oh well, I guess they won’t come to this house.”
As they extinguished the lights of the room, Lady curled in tighter.
She thought “Yes, it’s better this way.”

Lady woke with a start. She looked over at her brother sprawled out on the rug, fat blob of tiger fur rising up and falling with congested breath. And then the tiny lights came, far from her and then next to her, glowing dust freckles that got bigger and bigger until they sprouted little limbs and wings.
Lady, for one, was Shocked.

The Francesca Lia Block Writings: The Watch Maker

So, since January, I've been so blessed to attend my idol FLB's workshops (IN HER HOUSE!!!) Big deal for the kind of person I am. I mean, I believe in mermaids and shit. Anyway, we do all kinds of awesome writing exercises. This one is very simple and can be replicated anywhere, by anyone: We just picked out a picture from the pile. Mine was that artist that paints all the Christina Ricci looking dolls in macabre settings. For this one, a surreal Madonna and Child, I wrote a creation myth:


Inception
At the beginning of the world were the stars. And the stones, which used to be stars. The maker of things came into view, she sprouted from the black a huge fleshy pod that became inverted. There she was, holding in the folds of her skirts the seas and oceans. It was the first thing she brought us. She had a lumbering step because of this weight. When she dropped her skirts, the water crashed down and swallowed the planet. The maker gave a loud bellow then, and dropped too a daughter, who would be the mother of all people, and put on her tongue the thing called language, and in her breast the thing called fear, and in her gut the thing called hope. And then the maker opened her throat and SONG came out, which made the soil pregnant. The earth sprouted children then, tall and green; and walking on legs; and swimming in the waters.
The maker brought forth from her own bowels a clock of a yellow kind of metal, sinewy with things called BLOOD and TISSUE. She wound it and it began it’s own sort of song. The maker, who was bleeding now, took in the thing called AIR. She was dying. The daughter that she made she put down and immediately a thousand tiny beings swarmed her, clicking and humming. The maker became a bright sort of thing now, her body wavering in a color called WHITE. And then she was gone. She was a star, with the stars.

Sunset Junction's ridiculous ticket prices

This has to be about the third year that they actually charge to get into sunset junction- it's up to 20 at the door this year! I got in free the year before last and hustled a performer's pass last year (I was a belly dancer, thank you very much), but having no prospects for either this year, things is lookin grim. If the whole idea beging S.J. was to bridge the gap between the working class raza, the gay white folks and all the broke ass artists in between, mission aborted, people. Can you really see a little brown couple with two teenagers and a baby being able to afford this family outing? I mean some of these people shop at the 99 cent store for groceries. Way to turn your back on us, sunset junction. If this keeps up next year, I'm going to call for a Latino boycott of attendees and acts (that means you, Very Be Careful), so they can get a glimpse of what it'll be like without any of us there.

-he dicho.

Read This:

http://www.laobserved.com/letters/2006/08/sunset_junction_festival.php