Emily low... so am I

Don't know where for sure I am today.. tonight. Images of places zip through my mind like a web browser caught in an endless loop.

Key West, New Mexico.. on the road somewhere... can't catch it. Somewhere, but not here and not where I should be. Like somewhere someone is thinking of me and I am not there but in their thoughts and their thoughts are heavy and disturbing to my sense of peace, tranquility evades me.

Listening to Pancho & Lefty from the Essential Willie CD. I have it on a loop, over and over...til I get totally sick of it and then I am going to put on the other "The Great Divide." Maybe add in some Los Lonely Boys and end with Bill Miller "Ghostdance"

all the federerlas say...we could have had him any day, we only let him slip away, out of kindness I suppose..

that line sticks in my mind, all day while on the reference desk

poets tell how pancho felt..

haunting song, haunts me and i don't know why
probably connects to some moment or space in time when we lived in California

all the federales say, we could have had him any day
only let him go so long, out of suppose...

Rolling Hills
My ex-husband had a store there..on the top of the hill in this old little shopping center that had a western look. 1981??82?? 81... how bout that 1981, or earlier like 1980. Wait I can do this... son went to camp he was 3, went to camp in Torrance, nearby..down the hill while some Friedman brothe drove him up to the store after camp. 3.. born 1978.. 1981.. he was so little..


died down in the deserts down in mexico, no body heard his dying word

all the federales say. they could have had him any day.. they only let him slip away, out of kindness i suppose

ended up in lefty's house..the day they

okay... so all makes sense to someone.. not me
someone with a stupid little vegetable garden on the roadside in torrance
i suppose

let me slip away
out of kindness i suppose

and a carousel spinning around and around

poets tell how pancho fell
and met him end in a cheap motel

so... how does this connect to Emily


he only did what he had to do.. and now he's growing old

emily may survive her scrub with South America
out of kindness i suppose

maybe she will pick her self up and keep going with a smile
like most girls do who are survivors

The Late Great Muse of Henry Miller said:

(wait wait im looking) (found it)

pancho was a bandit boy

lol no thats not it

Here...
"There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, and conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiousity, enthusiasm, interest..."


Yes... that's a muse. Because the curiousity and passion keeps her going when others would stop or not see the connections. Not see someone watching by the carousel or though the window, down the block. Were you watching when I bought the damn card I wonder? No... what people don't understand is that Anais used Henry more than he ever used her and she loved every moment of it. Watching him grow. Otherwise he'd have been stuck in France, dysfunctionally caught in the balls by his ex-wife June and he didn't even know her name for sure.. full of artistic creativity mixed up with a scatological need to shock the world and force things.. she saw the gem that others saw as trash.

All the federales say.. they could have had him any day
they only let him slip away
out of kindness I suppose

There are two people in the muse.
The soul of the artist inside the muse and the soul of the artist that is working with the muse... creating, bonding, kinetically... karmically...

Great piece of work by Phillip Roth who I don't really like about a muse ... think it was Phillip Roth.. one of those European Post Holocaust Jewish Writers full of angst (like Henry Miller in an odd Jew Obsessed way like some artists are) and yet it was the best thing I read in ages.

Only let him go so long, out of kindness I suppose.

So.. here I am.. talking on IM to the 1981 baby girl who is at a symphony concert in Central Park talking to her mommy on her cellphone. What great linkage...

We are survivors. We go on, even when they only let us slip away so they can go on and compose and write instead of staring in my eyes and seeing the depths of my soul for fear that when they look deep down... deep.. maybe in my soul they won't see what and who they want to see.

Yaffah wasn't afraid.. she took the cherries and the tambourine and will smile til I die and if on my death bed I am smiling... it will be thinking of us doing a Conga line with those women at the all womens melave malka. Big Smile! Til I die.

Pancho needs your prayers... he only did what he had to do... and now he's growing old.

Never danced the Conga with Bobbi. And...............MORE!!!! lol

Oh................you could have had me any day... you only let me go..out of kindness I suppose.

My talent is mine. Your talent is yours. Together they do esoteric dances in the deepest darkest part of our hearts... all anyone really gets left is the cryptic crumbs of which comedy is based upon. You do know comedy comes from sadness.. someone told someone told someone... in an interview and they told it to me. I don't think I want to remember.

They are right. Write on.

As for me... I'm going to do what I have to do...listen to what I want to listen to and watch Emily pull herself up like Evita did..from the depths of the ghetto, the city... the crap and crud that she was raised in...sort of a bastard's child never really getting any respect until she took fate into her own hands and danced her way into the bed of the greatest of men.

And, trust me... when a man watches you dance... really dance... really, really dance he never forgets..

Come on Emily... do a dance... a tango dance, a flamenco dance, a Piameta dance... a gypsy dance. Do any dance you can... just do what you got to do..

:)

Bobbi, in total agreement with Anais... "There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, and conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiousity, enthusiasm, interest..."

Anais and "Yaffah" my heroes :)

Bobbi~