worlds apart

My life is
not of this world.

I wear the dress, the lip stick, the face.
Speak the words, walk the walk, keep the pace.

At times I get lonely.
And at those times I indulge in the role-
so well so
that even I forget what's real-
absorbed in the comforts -
conformity's embrace
her arms like an octopus.

My house is slipping out of order.
Everything around me-losing its place.
Socks in with t-shirts
Pencils in with the lipsticks
Acquaintances in with my friends . . .
Friends in with my people.

My worlds are colliding.

I am dizzied by the imbalance.
I am flattened by the squeeze.
I am flipping the apple cart and watching it all roll away.

My world - her light barely visible from the thickness of this atmosphere.

She calls my name . . . calls me home.

And I alone, hear the call.
And I alone, must answer.

The Nature of Me

I was born in Detroit, Michigan. I was nurtured here. I grew up here. Detroit is my native soil; the perfect balance of minerals, alkalinity, water and sunlight that nurtured my body from infancy into adulthood. This is where my feet first walked the streets. This is where my childhood memories live. This is where, long ago, I buried things in an unmarked grave. This is the sacred place where the Earth mothered me into physical existence. Detroit is my home . . . no matter how far I roam. My roots begin here. And this is where I return when I seek the comfort of familiarity; when I need homemade chicken soup; when my ears long to hear the foghorn of a Lake Michigan lighthouse; when I am missing certain ingredients essential to my growing forward. Detroit in my nurturing force. Detroit is my sure thing.

Greece . . . is my spiritual motherland; the place my soul finds solace, answers and then, more questions. Greece is where the muses dance around me and where my feet also dance. It is here where I first heard my life calling me - in a tongue foreign to my ears yet understood by my heart. This is where my true nature was born; where I originate; where my creativity laughs from the belly. This is the place from where I can see eternity atop a limestone hill; where my ancient umbilica remains connected to the amniotic fluids of the Aegean Sea; and where I have yet to unbury all the mysteries of me. Greece is where I come when my canvas has become muddied from color on color and needs to be alabastered white again; when the world is so loud that I cannot hear my own voice. This is where I come when a solo clarino - clarinet, a glass of Retsina and a cotton dress is all that is needed to have my heart leaping with joy.
When I ventured away from Detroit to find what fates awaited me, it was then that I thought I had found Greece . . . but I found I had never really left Greece. And she never left me.
It was in Greece where my growing pains matured into wisdom and where I began to understand the knowledge I had collected from my experiences and education.
The nature and the nurture of life; we need to respect them both and love them equally if we are to have the ultimate experience and honor of birthing ourSelves.

Pythia is preparing to emerge from her womb after a long, quite, beautiful pregnancy.
Spring is just a few longitudes and latitudes away.

Non-Members Only, Please

The Smoking Redhead Club - I am not a welcome member. Need I be sad? I am a brunette now. I'm sure there's a club for (non-smoking) brunettes out there. Or, I could apply to redhead club, after a trip to the salon or the Clairol aisle of my local drug store. But for what? Comradeship? Sounds too Communistic for me. Respect? No, respect is earned not learned. Acceptance? Friendship? Popularity? Because of the color of my hair? Sounds too conditional and inconsistent for me. Too insincere. Then why? Power in numbers? I own my own power. Protection from the blondes? The only protection I really need is from a group's group mentality. Cool by association? As for coolness - well, much like class, 'coolness' can only be achieved going solo . . . being an individual. Most guys wanted to be like the "Fonz," but the "Fonz" did not want to be like anyone else or belong to anyone but himself. Most women wanted to imitate Audry Hepburn's class and savoir faire, but Ms. Hepburn imitated no one. She was her own woman.

I dislike groups, clubs, cliques (an informal and/or restricted social group formed by people who share common interests or patterns of behavior). I am seriously scared by anything resembling mass mentality, especially when the common denominator is hatred (aka misunderstanding) towards another group or individual, which is the case with most groups (though it it well hidden - i.e. the going to heaven club versus the everyone else is going to hell club - although the fear induced latter of the two is the real glue that binds)

I remember how my children would ban together and help each other clean up as long as they had one angry thing in common: being upset with me. They appeared cooperative, helpful and productive among themselves when they formed the "mom's mean" club. They felt safe within the group - safe from being singled out or held accountable for their individual behavior by being punished or rewarded. But, the group mentality was not as strong when the commonality was based on a positive / good goal such as a trip to the ice cream parlor if they worked together to clean up after themselves. Eventually, two of them would point fingers and blame the third for not doing his or her fair share. A sub-group was formed based on blame and the third was sold out for the 'good' of the group. Goodness and fairness seemed to segment the group while anger made them stronger.

So, it sounds like groups with a common dislike for someone/something is actually a good thing. I guess it is from the view point of society and government and religion. Think about it. As a mother, I admit, I used the mom's mean club to my own advantage. Their bedrooms got cleaned up and no one bothered me, the mean mom, in the meantime. And, I did not need to buy any ice cream.

I suppose there are some groups that will never gain popularity, like Posers Anonymous

Anna's Russia

Ann Politkovskaya was known as "Russia's lost moral conscience."

She was born August 30, 1958. Her life was constantly being threatened. Her family pleaded with her to leave the country for her own safety. She refused to give into threats and be shadowed by a bodyguard. She was poisoned and almost died aboard a plane - on her way to Beslan to report and possibly act as negotiator during the school siege. She lived in constant danger. She was courageous. She was fearless but never reckless. She continued reporting on the plight of the Russian people under the rule of Putin. She continued to expose the human rights abuses in Chechnya of which she accused Russian security forces of the abuse. She felt it was her duty to accept the risks involved as a reporter in order to uncover and report the truth (she compared it to a doctor's duty to aid in the healing of ill patients). She authored two books: "A Dirty War: A Russian Reporter in Chechnya," (2001); "Putin's Russia: Life in a Failing Democracy" (2004) and had just completed her third; "A Russian Diary." Her last article, an investigation into the torture in Chechnya, was never finished. Ann Politkovskaya was murdered by a gunman while leaving her apartment on October 7, 2006. She died at the age of 48, leaving behind her son, Ilya and her daughter, Vera. She became the thirteenth journalist to be murdered in a contract style killing since Vladimir Putin came into power in 2000. She was the third murdered reporter from Moscow's Noveya Gazeta.

Colleagues at the Novaya Gazeta, published a special issue promising that "her killers will not sleep soundly." The paper also offered a one million dollar reward (£534,000) to solve her murder.

Mr Putin called the crime "horribly cruel" and stated that Russian authorities would strive to find and punish the perpetrators.

But he also played down the significance of Ms Politkovskaya's work.

"This journalist was a severe critic of the incumbent authorities in Russia; she was well known among journalists and human rights campaigners and in the West. However, her influence on the country's political life... was minimal."


At a cemetery near Moscow, hundreds of mourners waited for hours in the rain to pass her coffin and say their last goodbyes.

"I think this was meant to show what happens if you speak out against the authorities. Unfortunately, we have very few journalists like her in Russia now." a women in the crowd said.

So much for Putin's theory that Anna's influence on her country's political life was minimal.

Her last article was released unfinished. It dealt with the horrific abuses of human rights, torture and humiliation in Chechnya by the Chechen Prime Minister Ramzan Kadyrov. Much of the footage of two Chechens being tortured was too bloody and distressing to broadcast.

Ten suspects have just recently been arrested in connection with her murder.

An excerpt from her book, "Putin's Russia:" This massacre of the innocents did not raise a storm in Russia. Not one television station broadcast images of the five little Chechens who had been slaughtered. The Minister of Defense did not resign. He is a personal friend of Putin and is even seen as a possible successor in 2008. The Commander-in-Chief himself made no speech of condolence.

"Living streets full of dead eyes."

In one of her interviews Anna warns us: " Putin is very influenced by the Western opinion . . . So, it means that only the West now could change him, could change him from tyranny to democracy."

I sit here, safely behind my computer screen, writing about this and that and THIS. THIS makes me want to do more. THIS makes me wonder what I have done so far? THIS is more than a story to me. THIS makes me see the importance of the written word. What are my responsibilities as a human being to other human beings, to my country, to all life in general and to this planet? What if all of us took a stance for human rights. What if we would not - not ever and under any circumstances - tolerate human rights abuses . . . indignity, suffering, torture, humiliation . . . untreated illnesses, homelessness, hunger, loneliness, despair, hopelessness, sadness, ignorance, illiteracy . . . any unkindness?

Are my glasses hopelessly rose-colored or will there ever come a day?

Anna Politkovskaya was a brave human being.

Frank Zappa was the REAL poncho

"Now is that a real poncho or is that a Sears poncho, heh?" Frank Zappa asks the 'mystery man' in his song, "Cosmic Debris." And he should know - he did know - 'cuz he was the REAL poncho. He was as real as it gets down here.

Friday evening, I went to hear Zappa Plays Zappa (ZPZ) at Meadowbrook Theater . . . that's Dweezil (Frank's son) Zappa's band - his labor of love, blood, sweat and tears to continue the legacy of his father's brilliant music. They were amazing. Dweezil, with still yet a little guidance from above - his father on guitar and vocals for a couple of songs via the big screen in the sky (above the stage, that is) - never missed a beat, which is saying MUCH more for his own talent than a simple "awesome job" compliment with a pat on the back. Because, anyone familiar with the huge, though mostly non-commercial, success of Frank Zappa (he recorded and mostly self-produced over a hundred albums) and The Mother's (actually motherfuckers - since the term also refers to skilled musicians) of Invention, knows that Frank was one of the greatest, most talented guitarists of his time. He was also a composer; a conductor; a musical genius; an intelligent, knowledgeable and outspoken political advocate . . . a prolific mad man. And it is impossible to imitate him and nearly impossible to play his intricate compositions. (Among other serious and acclaimed orchestral works devoted to Zappa's music, the London Symphony Orchestra, in January of 1983, released a double album of Frank's compositions.) Especially difficult is "G-Spot Tornado" from "Jazz From Hell" which was originally executed, by Frank, on a Synclavier. He was skeptical whether humans could actually perform it, but Dweezil and ZPZ did. For three hours they played other favorites like, Dumb all over (a little ugly on the side); Dupree's Paradise; Willie The Pimp; Joe's Garage (wind up working in a gas station); San Ber' dino; Muffin Man; and Yo Mama:

"Maybe you should stay with yo' mama
She could do your laundry 'n cook for you
Maybe you should stay with yo' mama
You're really kinda stupid 'n ugly too"

When I was about seventeen, I went to see Zappa himself, in Detroit. After the concert, my friends and I went around back to the stage door and, as fate would have it, we met Frank. He was a most gracious person and took a few minutes of his time to actually look at us and talk to us. It is a moment in time that I treasure - and even more so now that he is no longer here on this planet making new music (although his unreleased recordings are being newly released to the public).

"I don't give a fuck if they remember me at all."

Notable Zappa Quotes:

"It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice – there are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia."

"Remember there's a big difference between kneeling down and bending over."

"Drop out of school before your mind rots from exposure to our mediocre educational system. Forget about the Senior Prom and go to the library and educate yourself if you've got any guts. Some of you like Pep rallies and plastic robots who tell you what to read. Forget I mentioned it. This song has no message. Rise for the flag salute."

"On a personal level, Freaking Out is a process whereby an individual casts off outmoded and restricting standards of thinking, dress, and social etiquette in order to express creatively his relationship to his immediate environment and the social structure as a whole."

"If you wind up with a boring, miserable life because you listened to your mom, your dad, your teacher, your priest or some guy on TV telling you how to do your shit, then YOU DESERVE IT."

"The most important thing to do in your life is to not interfere with somebody else's life."

"The rock and roll business is pretty absurd, but the world of serious music is much worse."

"Being interviewed is one of the most abnormal things that you can do to somebody else. It's two steps removed from the inquisition."

"Let's not be too rough on our own ignorance, it's what makes America great!"

"May your shit come to life and kiss you on the face."

"The first thing you have to do if you want to raise nice kids, is you have to talk to them like they are people instead of talking to them like they're property."

"The creation and destruction of harmonic and 'statistical' tensions is essential to the maintenance of compositional drama. Any composition (or improvisation) which remains consistent and 'regular' throughout is, for me, equivalent to watching a movie with only 'good guys' in it, or eating cottage cheese."

"There is more stupidity than hydrogen in the universe, and it has a longer shelf life."

"Information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST..."

"Beauty is a pair of shoes that makes you wanna die."
AMEN BROTHER!