when you hear my flo,

When you hear my flo, when you hear my flo, you gonna be on the floor, gonna get on the floor. My girl my sumi, my girl the sumi, she get around, she's on the bound,
I was feeling very bitter and anxious all week (and apparantly, I have heard reports of bitterness in the air, so I am not alone)
until my Sumi came. Then all weekend we rhymed words and played ro-sham-bo in cafes and my room and the kitchen. And then we made up a new version of ro-sham-bo which involved a tree and a street and a person. it was deep. And everytime we did a round we would crack up. We could do the same thing over and over again, and each time it would be astounding or hilarous or ridiculous and we would look at each other and bust out. And we made up the new ro-sham-bo somewhat based on her rebounding from her mugging last week, so we took the most violating thing and just played with it all weekend.
my girl my girl
she aint buff,
no she aint rough.
she aint bad, and she aint sad.
but still she won't be stopped.
oh, say!
she won't be gruffed,
she's walking down down the street street.
She's on her feet feet
She'll beat the street, she'll beat the tree.
She makes the blocks.
She cuts the path, yeah, she's ah-yight
and though the way is steep
she's ah-yight.
she keeps.
Amen. Sister.

Deep Thoughts with Sumi the Superest!

Broadcasting live from 327 Market heeerree's the Sumi! Heerrreeee's The Molly!
Sumi has the armor on, fabulous iron chain. She She rocks it out. She is my boom boom-make some noise-in the house-homegirl. She doesn't want to say nuthin. She's out.
I got her back, she got me, from here to the next block.
We slammed! Everybody loved my Pope Slam. Giovanni's Steppin'! The Pope was Dope! He's got the Pope-mobile. He's going around. The bullet-proof Popemobile! The Pope is dope! Watch-out.
Sumi layed it down, her poem went around, it tied it all up. She fed us someting. She got the word in the house. i heard it, I heard it.
S: don't kick that to the curb, its not for the birds its for you, my True.
M: True dat!
S: Just like the slugging Catepillar on the ground, they be flying in the sky, next when they got the butterfly.
M: The Butterfly's gonna get you. Get your own roof.
S: Don't be mean.
M: yah meanies, watch the meanies.
S: mean ain't clean?
M: Why you gotta be mean?
S: You don't gotta be mean, you don't be nice: you gotta be something in-between.
S: errrr-aaaaaa-errrrrr (scratch, scratch), chchchchch.

It's 11:11 my friend is moving to the big city

There is nothing like a friend, and 11:11. MY T-pedal. The one who pushes my pedal and I can go, and an adventure is underway. And such good companionship. One who believes in me. One who will stir things up. I want to go bounding with her and tonight a paper has her to the throat, she is getting at it eye to eye. I say "Vai, Vai the -T-pedal." And i send her strength and mojomind-fillet to cook up her paper/ I have such flutters because she is going onward to San Francisco. All so perfect and i'm enthused, but still these flutters because i wonder what I'm to do with myself. I have the tendency to take myself and my endeavors way way serious. to get very hard on myself and hopeless, I go to this flat land in the palette of my mind. trying to take everything as function. And she comes and is digging on something, she is ready to give it up to the times ahead. And then we go and make some happening or hefty episode that makes you wanna say "Absolutely!" with a dangerous smile. she laughs or rolls her eyes when I strut. and she knows just what's going on. or she lets me get all bothered and she gives me a squeeze but lets me do my bothered thing. I will miss going to her place right here in town and laying it on her. I will miss romping with her and those simple run-ins. caught dead-centered smack in town. I will miss reading our mutual "Cancer" moon sign reports from Brenzky against her desire. I will miss thrilling with her. Man! i know she's only moving to the city, but i love having this stomping ground too meet her and make madness. i hope i hope we keep a constant from city to sc. I think that only we could devise creative ways to nail each other from afar with you! (in my natashan spirit) that just make you tingle. I think she will continue to get my pedal, push my pedal, make me take off in ways I could hardly imagine. I think we help each other conquer.

My Liver

Tonight my Liver hurts.
I'm freaked out about my Liver. Tonight the third person told me they think that somethings going on with my Liver. He said I'm looking yellow. And I don't want to get into the rest. And then I did some work on it and now it is hurting, i mean really hurting. and I was born yellow. It's ironic because just this week some blood work came back for one of our patients. She has elevated liver enzymes which probably means she has Hepatitis B or C. She did n't want to do a Hepatitis panel, and we practically had to made her. But she's going to do it, i'm so glad.
It's quite odd how these symptoms come in floods. *Gden got a bladder infection, which turned into a Kidney infection. And in the last two days, after she came in 6 or 7 patients have called in with bladder infections, and another patient now has a kidney infection. Are patients are all going through the same things at once. And now everyother patient I talk to is getting their period. Even in different towns (Santa Cruz, Monterey, Big Sur). Somehow the association can even spring this downpour of shared stuff. This is showing me that people in circles really do chime together.

Your girl receptionist

Your girl-receptionist loves you. Your receptionist marched right into Stanford Lab and said "Camille was here! Where is the report!" And the woman at the desk, with rolls all along the side of her body that looked liked they were swimming, picked up the requisition form on the fax machine and said "She's right here," And I wanted to say "I knew it!" with my finger pointed up firmly or something but I didn't I just said "oh good." She said it would be done in 2 hours. Then two hours later on the dot the fax machine rang, and I knew it was coming, and I stood there, and then the fax machine said "error. Fax failed." I knew it was Stanford Lab and that they messed-up. The phone rang. I watched the fax machine hoping they would resend it. But they did not. It was 4 o'clock. The woman on the phone was telling me about her period that came midmonth. "What color is it?" I asked. Then Camille comes in the office looking queesy, "is it here?" She had left a message on the machine but all day I was talking to women about their periods. Just about all our patients were bleeding, at mid month or end month. "How is your flo?" I investigate. Camille is standing here now. I tell her "It's on the way!" (go home, I'm thinking, and Let the girl receptionist do her job.) No more impatience! This is a one-girl receptionist job. No more Mrs. Nice girl Receptionist.
Where is that Stat? I'll get that stat!
See girl receptionist work the fax-stanford lab-antiobiotic-kidney-lauden pharmacy- lisence #ND76, the e-coli or not to e-coli traffic jam.
I called them at another hospital in Stanford where Camille's urine had found its way. "Send it again!" I clarified. The report flew in, it was right there, those Squamous cells. Haho, and twentyfive minutes later the antiobiotics were ordered (500 mg 2x day.
As girl-receptionist, let me testify! I am emboldened by the brave things we girls must do to keep our body parts in check, (the burning, the cramping and all the world up there!)
My dear Whoa-mans sing "The Uterus, the Cervix, the Urethra, Oh My!).
The days we count--we get to 28 and we have to start over, or the things we have to stick-up there to clean house, or the times we have to pee in a cup (my dear Camille), and sometimes we have to smell our panties to check our Myrrh.

Revised post, come back dear reader.

Last night I led a poetry workshop at VFC called "Expressing God in Just Your Way," in preparation for the Poetry Slam at the end of the month. Showing how you can speak of God in fresh ways that are your very own. A small group came, I had first them journal on some questions, thinking about where they're at right now in their everyday, in their routine, in what they're digging about in their life. It was such madness organizing the worksheets, I had six different papers and packets of examples and worksheets and everything got mixed up. but i finally made all their packets and had them finish reflecting. The best part of the workshop was the main activity--a fill-in-the-blank poem--in other words, I gave them the form, and they used their own substance. But giving them some form allowed for a new kind of scope in how they bring out their stuff. For instance, one sentence was "I come to you with faith and _____."
The first adjective is a more serious and over-reigning kind of adjective. I had them pick a second adjective that was a more everyday word, quite possibly a word to describe our humanness, like worry ordistress. So this showed them a good trick, how if you pair two adjectives, and use one that is more lighthearded and another that is more heavy. . . . Their juxtaposition is where things get dynamic. It creates a tension.
So the six students (from ages 17 to fifty-somethings) worked on this sheet for 10 mintues. I could see that I probably had too many blanks, to many parts of this. But then I was floored when they read. Their poems were amazing! And I was really surprised, because they were all filled with sorrow, these plea-ing, distressed hearts, (and with the way I sort of prompted their form) saying Here I am God, will you take me? They completely took the prompt for the direct addresses to God, asking God " Can I _______ (verb) you?" The voices in their poems were so real and so raw. devastating. with sigh. all i can say is i'm so honored to see these glimpses of struggle and worry, that we all have this. and how vivid and that much more real to pray or write to God with these pleas. how vulnerable!
i know now i must teach another. these were some of the best little poems i've heard, truly, and i usually get so bored at open mics or workshops and i just can't swallow cliches. but none of this was like that. it was all very sincere. yes. sincere. that is what I liked about it.

This rots,
I seem to feed off those b*ys that shrug me off. so unwilling. Good grief! Sometimes I wish I were more like Sally from the Snoopy comics. She just charges in, and throws Linus to the side and makes this wreck, and completely doesn't bother with how she has rubbed anyone else.
Even better, I wish I were more like Miss Piggy, who is so in love with Kermit and unashamed, and although he is neutral about her, though all she makes him do is gulp, she still loves the Frog! She still tries to smooch him, and then becomes so mad she tosses him way up in the air. Yes. Both Sally and Miss Piggy tossed the frustrating b*ys. She rushes to him, then flings him away, and sings terrible loud songs about them later while gazing at the mirror. OK, I've got the rushing to them thing nailed. Next for me is to toss them way up over behind a bush or something. *sigh. I get so inflammed over these mens who are hardly provoking or enticing.
Why do I try to correlate myself with these mens, so rock-like, so fascinating, so so, I can't think of the word, . . . I'm flossing.. . so hardy. but not hearty. man* with no lift, no gust, no shine, no brightness (as in energy, not smarts). no wonder. I think I'd like a man with some wonder. I'm leading a poetry workshop this weekend and the best thing about it is this 3 page list of Transitive verbs. Enticing. Tyrannize. Cajole. Warn. Defy. curse. stun. Enlist. Someone tell me a better transitive verb I should employ! Good grief.*

This May 11

I am covered. This is a very good thing.