“Jenny said when she was just five years old
There was nothing happening at all
Every time she puts on a radio
There was a nothin’ goin’ down at all, not at all
Then one fine mornin’ she puts on a New York station
You know, she couldn’t believe what she heard at all
She started shakin’ to that fine fine music
You know her life was saved by rock ‘n’ roll
Despite all the amputations
You know you could just go out
And dance to a rock ‘n’ roll station
It was alright (it was alright)
Hey baby, you know it was alright (it was alright)”
– Lou Reed
photo of the Lofi Sofias playing as The Velvet Underground by Paul Perreault
I drift between wakefulness and sleep from around 3 to 4 am until about 5:30 – I fall back to sleep until 6, when my alarm goes off. It’s better when I surrender – maybe take a cool shower and then, drift in and out of sleep, thinking of dreams,
and noticing.
We moved to a small room in an annex to the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church. Nada Gordon was teaching – I think we were free-writing, getting warmed up.
My marriage was a disaster and I did’t necessarily feel like feeling anything – so I focused on the room and the sounds and the imagery and the energy of nervous writers filling the space. I put a lot of pressure on writing to take the place of music.
It was a time when I was alone, not ready to be with anyone. Scorched by the last love affair, nerves still scarred over. It was a Monday night. My friend Leslie texted me, the model for her life drawing class didn’t show up – would I want to model? I said sure, I can be there in 20 minutes. I grabbed a bath robe, drove through the snow, and before I had a chance to think, I was naked in a circle of artists. Next day, I wrote this . . .
Tangent pulled from the middle of this free-write: Brunettes. I love dark boys, the dark hair, the dark skin, the pale eyes. I never thought I had a type, but looking back I see I have a thing for Mediterranean men. Darker men. I love curly hair and almond-shaped eyes. Light brown eyes, green eyes, blue eyes. Oh, but dark hair and lovely sharp features.
I am moving house. Well, apartment to house. Still renting, but I am spreading out, sort of.
Whenever I move I find stuff – lots of writing especially. I write a lot, but it doesn’t mean I type it, or file it properly, or share it.
The discipline is in the order, not the action for me. I don’t know when I wrote this, I suspect right before moving to Arizona, 2006/2007, while I was leaving my husband and living in a basement in Brooklyn.
