the love artist dot org

jet lag 2

still in bed

maybe tomorrow . . .

oh & btw

you'll be happy to know the dopamine is flowing . .

like wild fire

lucky me

absence makes the heart grow fonder

fortunately





Attraction is marked by high levels of the neurotransmitter

dopamine (also activated by cocaine and nicotine)

(adrenaline)

the heart-pumping hormone

used to respond to emergencies, and low levels of serotonin, another major neurotransmitter.

dopamine

has many functions in the brain. Most importantly, dopamine is central to

the reward system.

Dopamine neurons in the primate brain are found in Substantia nigra and Ventral tegmental area (VTA). The phasic responses of dopamine neurons are observed when

an unexpected reward is presented

These responses transfer to the onset of a conditioned stimulus after repeated pairings with

the reward

. . . .

elle's reprise

oh, one more thing I (sort of) remembered --

on the last day, elle & i did that communication exercise, the one I have been practicing (like the one i did w/ pdaddy promising to take a vacation from processing ~ which I must admit I have been pretty impeccable . .) making sure my word is clear & strong & tho i left the contract of my communication w/ her, I think i can get it straight here:

(you have to imagine I am kneeling in front of her, touching her knee & looking her in the eye)

i am struck by your strength & serenity & I think it is extraordinary

shit . . there's a little part I'm missing . .



*****************************


are you really on line?

hope you don't mind the schmaltzy posts . .

actually what I really want to post is the communication exercise we did together.

would that be the over the top part?

let me know. I can't remember the whole thing . . I'm missing that little part that you remembered at the last minute.

send it to me if you can bear it.

love, me



*******************************



you said

"even though you don't see it."

XXXXXX

********************************

don't go back to sleep / I'm coming

the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
don't go back to sleep.
you must ask for what you really want.
don't go back to sleep.
people are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
the door is round and open.
don't go back to sleep.

rumi

XXXXXX

ptown

I'm in Provincetown & it feels like I'm dreaming.  I know I am like a child but it's hard for me to understand how you can get in a car (at 5 in the morning) & drive in seclusion for 5 hours or so, breathing & humming & then you get to a landscape that truly exists in the real world but feels like you traveled somewhere in your mind.

I used to live here. My daughter jules says,

i grew up in the ocean

I love that.  My kids grew up all tangly at the beach and in the dunes, digging around, getting lost, laying on their back in icy march water cause it was the first warm day, burning their faces pressed up into bonfires . .

the first time I knew I would live in ptown I was 17 & I had rode here on my bike from boston with my sister & some other kids.  there was a hurricane & we were staying in the youth hostel out by ballston beach in truro.  it was raw & alive.  the day after the storm we rode into town for breakfast. it was raw & alive.

the second time I knew I would live in ptown I was 6 months pregnant with jules & draggin 2 year old mara around.  I snagged a gayboy babysitter & went out dancing & all the girls were hitting on me.  two summers later I was back for the whole summer & read astrological charts for a living.  I remember staying up all night secretly meeting some girl & then wandering down Pearl Street in that quasi lovesick sex haze to an early morning reading & I saw the boats twinkle the way they really do framed at the end of the corridor of the tiny fishing village streets, especially in the east end, in the harbor.  that was the first time I spoke the words in my head,

this is home

which was crazy cause it was so far from home at that point . . the life I led there was outlaw for a surburban child bride like me (yes it's true)

but then it became

real

the picture above is of me & david way later, many lifetimes after child bride-dom, after my reinvention as a teenager/baby dyke embarrassingly at age 36, way out, on an after hours boat cruise, around long point, where the humpback whales breach & feed & where you can play the music LOUD.  I'm sure I was telling him how much I loved him & how special he was.  that was the old-fashioned early days pre -True Love Project, fueled by ecstacy & stars hanging heavy til dawn & jungle drum & bass . . I was always somewhere in the corner, grinding my hips into someone while I whispered, (ok, completely chemically altered but feeling expansive & crystal clear)

i see you

finding yourself in love

these are my kids when they were little growing up in the ocean



fierce mara the lover with the twins in the japanese tub



jules the mystic



nola the superstar (with the brilliant writer & lobster lover ali liebgott)

down down down love

a few years ago I sat in a therapist's chair. she was an emdr (eye movement desensitization & reprocessing) practictioner, working with me on post traumatic stress by keeping me present & engaged, entering memories by recounting present triggering situations while following movement from right to left with my eyes, or rocking, or listening to music on headphones that rolled back & forth (seemingly) through my brain, again from right to left, or feeling pulses through sensors in my hands, of course, from right to left . .

it was helpful, very helpful, surrendering . . but in one session, it was this time of year, I followed my thoughts to one day, the day before nola was born & jamie & marek, who were then only my neighbors, barely friends, living just a few houses down the beach, came knocking on my back door.

I didn't know it was the morning before nola would be born.

jules was with me. mara was with her dad. I accepted their invitation to go out with them in their little zodiac. we ended up on a desert island in the middle of the bay that only reveals itself at low tide.

it was immaculate & silent.

jules dug me a hole in the sand so I could lay on my stomach.

jamie & marek were naked. I hardly knew them.

they brought tons of watermelon. on the way home we saw a seal. in august. we followed it.

it would go down, down, down & be gone, seemingly forever. then on the horizon, one of us would just make out it's nose & we would follow it again.

there was all the time in the world.

when I came home it was past dinner & w & I walked to the deli & bought ridiculous amount of food, heavy, exotic, spicy & the girl behind the counter said

the baby will be dancing tonight

by that time the next day, nola was born

*8:17:90*

this day in therapy I told this story & I cried & cried & cried like I was carving out my heart with a jagged spoon. my therapist said that

often

trauma is revealed through happy memories

she also noted:

I have never seen someone cry so much for a town before

iamlove / example 3

elegy

it's odd that, for all the blue & expanse & wind, the town is like a cat in heat, a fire that won't leave you alone til you're burned scraped clean, in whatever kind of burn, whatever kind of clean that may be

the clean could be soul scrubbed clean like antiseptic, like supernatural, like cured forever, like vulnerary . . like metal through the fire that becomes perfect

or it would be clean like nothing left but the bones, picked clean by carrion

there is a quickening agent

I think the perversity there is the chrysalis syndrome

gestating all that you are into a froth that unfortunately turns quickly into countless obsessive addictions if one cannot ride it

the spirit here is that strong & that is why they call it spirits

ptown was my lover & we had to break up

it was inevitable, we grew separately & it was too hot for too long for the tragedy of this separation to mend neatly

heartbreaking really

still

we have a hard time looking each other in the eye now, ptown & I

but we move towards each other looking for the crack

the brush

of the back of a hand against the secret place

some kind of invisible boundary we try so hard to ignore

in my youth

I took him/her of it all inside of me & rode the transmogrification through the beautiful to the ugly places

swan/whale/moan/beast

of myself

I did not flinch but went into it gripped hard with the inside of my thighs & ripped up my knees through every blood red sunrise & eye of the storm

making mistakes & swearing not to do it again

it was just love & mothering & being alone & trying to remember the difference between lust & loneliness

now when I come back, I step gingerly onto commercial street in the night air & looking both ways

it was blustery last night with the smell of the cure & the mournful fog horn

warning

the underbelly of love

or maybe it was just the broken hearts of the fisherman dry docked with a whole ocean & nowhere to fish

I want to be brave

combustion

THE NEW BREEDS

of fireworks colors operate by the same principles as fireworks colors in general. Certainly, one would never suspect that dazzling colors can spew forth when the dull gray pellets of mixtures are set aflame.

So what is that stuff, anyway. . .

The orangish hues of ancient fireworks are largely produced by black- or gray-body radiation--

the glow of very hot solid particles.

By contrast, the striking greens and reds in modern fireworks are the spectral emissions of excited gas-phase molecules. A few metal chlorides, which fluoresce strongly in the visible wavelengths, are the basis for almost all the colors in modern fireworks.

Barium chloride produces green; strontium chloride produces red; copper chloride produces blue.

The problem is, these compounds are so hygroscopic that they render any mixture damp, unburnable, and even unstable.

The solution to this problem has been to bring metal and chlorine together in a vapor during the burning process, where the energy from the burning can then excite the molecules' electrons, producing the colorful emissions.



A typical fireworks color burning mixture consists of, in addition to the requisite fuel and oxidizer, a compound containing one of the metals and a chlorine-donating compound. The mixture is wetted down to bind it together, then cut into flammable chunks known as stars--the colored dots that burst from a fireworks shell into the sky.

Old books on pyrotechnics are chock-full of recipes for stars, formulas that enthusiasts have been continually refining over the decades. In fact, Conkling says, little professional research is devoted to fireworks:

Most developments in fireworks formulas stem from experiments by amateurs.

time & love

sitting here with the window open, there is a thunderstorm outside & fat raindrops & I am managing a nervous breakdown, in one of those situations where it is hard to figure out whether to

let go & be or press on

back to reality, back to my life & realizing how negotiable it all is, what is time & what is my work

i am the love artist & i have a vision of what that is, what that means to the world, how I can make that work in a reasonable fashion, feeding me & flowing with all that is in the world

today & that is all I can be with now

i am fitting in my daily practice, my relationship, my emotions around my past (& with that my children & their independent realities) & all of you who I feel

inextricably bound to

no bound is the total wrong word here . . .

today I meditated on being in

a sea of living energy

like the sprouting green energy soup that makes me feel so integral & alive when I eat it & the breath that feels so nourishing when I commit to being outside & active & in my various meditative practices but

how to find the time

to do it all

if I truly believe in that sea of live energy & that the porous communication of love that it is, that each

breath in & breath out

& each

act of love & focus

is indeed

coming in as it is coming out

then

isn't there enough time & love for everything & certainly for me?

but where does the time go to: make art, make money to feed myself, to practice,

to be relaxed with nothing

(so essential)

make a new picture, the clock with out arms, the continuity

it is all my time

breathing now

do just one thing

when that is finished do another

love me by being generous with yourselves & to yourselves

today

thank you

fessing up

the flip side to all the poetics & solipsism (& the true underbelly of the unquenchable love artist):

what really happened today looked like this:

I drove like a maniac last night to get home to watch the sopranos (half out of total obsession & half out of the inability to get my head around shock of the coitus interruptus of that last gasp . . brilliant & devious but so cold  . . & what was I expecting anyway . .) only to find out that it had played an hour earlier due to the new episode of Big Love -- NOT what this itchy italian chick was itching for AT ALL . . & then was unable to unwind, despite pdaddy's best efforts at seduction & pampering . .

& then knocked out cold in the bath & whimpered through inconsequential sex dreams all night long, waking at 6 in the morning & neurotically launching into my day only to convince myself to sleep it off some more (ok it was pdaddy's idea but i obviously was not determined enough . . )

then woke up at 8 & still couldn't make up my mind between lying in the bright inviting sun & drinking coffee & lapping up some more love or going to pilates (I kid you not)

I did lay in the sun & DID lap up some more love & then quite late, decided to do my KUNDALINI practice & canceled some phone appointments & still . .

I must admit I surrendered to the practice & was feeling quite clear & strong at 11:30 or so when I finished

but when pdaddy was crazy enough (I mean doesn't he know who he is dealing with by now) to propose to me that maybe we should re-prioritize our mornings to include MORE spontaneity (I am paraphrasing here, I am sure his reality of this is quite different)

i lost it & continued to lose it all day

cause i thought i was being spontaneous but obviously NOT

it was just a day, after all

just a little gentle animal of a day

oh, that must have been the voice on top of the dune in ptown that said

stay

so now after all the feedback you & the universe have given me, I am truly taking tomorrow off, all time, no plan, no fear


just listening

see you later

be good

sisters

beautiful

clarification

1. this

sea of energy

that I keep referring to . . . it came to me again this morning & it felt like this:

some kind of amniotic fluid, graceful, buoyant, could carry me, hold me & that by being carried I was fed, the tiniest cellular nutritional information flowing in & out , my pores tidal windows & this can be effortless

& this is going on all the time, it is the air touching every part of us, as love, we just need to remember . .  when something feels like not enough or we feel absence

2. those of you that care about these kinds of things, who might be checking up on me (& you know who you are):

this is doing nothing because

it is fueled by joy

not frustration

(i continue to be an enthusiastic excitable girl, yrs)


3. it is true, that when the root is happy, everybody is happy . . .

this is because i love you absolut beauty

complicated

 

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

In simplicity there is purity and truth. There was a great 18th century kabbalist who said, even with all his studies of kabbalistic prayers and their great meditations, it was only as he reached the end of his life that he prayed with the simplicity of a five year old child. All too often we allow complexity to "obscure" our view of the truth.

What about your life are you overcomplicating? Find the simplicity in it, and if need be, use a piece of paper and pencil to map out a simpler way.


This email was sent by: Kabbalah Centre International

in defense of intoxication

those of you who know me well, know I am not a fan of (compulsive)(the desire not to be awake)(avoiding reality) intoxication . . this may be misinterpreted as sort of prudish, which is far from the truth . . actually I am a huge fan of intoxication (particularly the old-fashioned spell weaving hallucinatory kind) & of wild abandon & the loss of self/merge into the beyond self . . . it's the state leading up to what should be such an inspired & inspiring, transformative condition that troubles me . .

(& I do include love in the list of the possible irresponsibly used intoxicants btw)

. .

enough about that for now

in any case, the natural world gives us so many intoxicants that when used ceremoniously can build on the glorious inner resources that we have been born with . . spiritual inquiry, the primal need for connection,to become one with each other & everything around us . . . & there are gorgeous traditions around such natural inspiration

one of the few things alcoholic that crosses my lips ever, ever, ever anymore is

chartreuse VEP & it's something so special . .

i respect it's love medicine

chartreuse is an herbal liqueur made by the carthusian monks near grenoble, france. according to the tale, the formula for chartruese was invented by a 16th century alchemist as an attempt to create aqua vitae (the waters of life.)

aqua vitae was believed to restore youth to the aged, endow animation to the dead, and be a key ingredient in the creation of the philosophers stone. though this attempt at its creation seems to fall somewhat short of the legendary effects, it was promoted as a heal-all tonic by the descendant of the alchemist, and was bequeathed to the Carthusian Order upon his death.

only two monks have been entrusted by the Order with the secret of producing the liqueurs. only these two know the ingredients. only these two know how these ingredients are prepared for incorporation into the base of wine alcohol. what little is known is that some 130 herbs, plants, roots, leaves, and other natural bits of vegetation are soaked in alcohol for an unknown length of time, then distilled and mixed with distilled honey and sugar syrup before being put into large oaken casks and placed into the world's longest liqueur cellar for maturation.

a small portion of the liqueur is selected for special treatment. this bit of liqueur is aged for an extra length of time and, after the chief distiller declares it ready for bottling, it is packaged and marketed as V.E.P. Chartreuse ("Viellissement Exceptionnellement Prolongé").  this special liqueur is packaged in 50 cl and 1 liter bottles which are reproductions of the bottles used in 1840. each bottle of V.E.P. is individually numbered, is sealed with wax and is presented in its own carefully-fitted wooden box.

*************

take it from the love artist, i bow my head low before these two monks, the divine love commandos that they are

this is my current favorite lovesexmagick formula (drink/smoke up cause now i'm gonna have to kill you) :

a snifter of VEP chartreuse, a double espresso & the slightest toke of pot (hash if you can get it)

maybe sheer thriftiness will help you give this contemplative liqueur it's due . . one bottle costs minimum $125 . . usually more like $160

and anything that comes out this kind of gorgeous love of god deserves your heart's dearest promise:

fluidity meditation

(p)daddy day

this is not just another love testimonial & I'm not ignoring my dad, who i spoke to this afternoon & sent a really nice card:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --

I took the one less travelled by,

and that has made all the difference

i shit you not . . this was the card & it perfectly referred to my relationship with my dad . . )

but this is about something else

of course I am usually on the side of the mom's, always, that goes without saying, women DO hold up the world & are the ultimate guides of unconditional service & love, but today i am really working my heart muscle around fathers & particularly those of the straighter variety . . . they of course are so privileged, particularly the white ones, but they are at such a profound disadvantage, a kind of over breeding due to such privilege, that part of their minds just does not work up to their true potential (& I say this with

the ultimate compassion

. . this is of course not our responsibility, us not of the straight white male mindset . . but it is a really, really uphill battle, a marathon of sorts with all sorts of major learning curves & huge inclines that (I can only surmise) seem insurmountable, particularly if a major part of the world supports you just staying the same . .

I'm sure a lot of you have all sorts to say about this

but the reason I bring it up (aside from the fact that I love a straight white guy daddy, i thought that would never happen again . . & the fact that it IS father's day . . ) is cause I am the love artist & I have a natural inclination to make myself, force myself, to love someone/something if I am harboring a resentment.

part of that is selfish, cause the resentment just makes me toxic & part of it is even simpler,

if someone is bugging me they are usually unhappy in some way

& hating them only makes them worse,

so why not love them

so today I am loving dads in a global sense & all those all american & even semi american dads I grew up with/live around

i am loving them in a very focused disciplined way & I have to say

it feels kinda good, kinda relaxing actually, to just love

it reminds me of this time I was lecturing about the True Love Project & someone asked if I could love (hold onto your seats) Dick Cheney & George Bush Jr. & I replied, well hating them only hurts me, they would never know probably

& loving them helps the world

the asshole preogative

"prerogative" is frequently both mispronounced and misspelled as "perogative." It may help to remember that the word is associated with PRivileges of PRecedence.

i left this out of the (p)daddy day post, partly out of respect & partly cause it is just too good to dilute . .

& I don't mean to shock by stepping out of my perpetually encourage-the-high-road MO, cause I'm not really, hear me out.

I remember way back in the day, when almost everybody, male & female, that I set my sights on, that rocked my world, was way in the what was i thinking category (one of my all time favorite categories I must say, why are they just that cute)

and there was one boy, who actually is no longer with us -- I bow to you, Mr. Damon Frost, who i just couldn't get enough of, a portuguese boy who I had watched grow into manhood while maintaining only the slightest veil of propriety, who worked at Spiritus in ptown & couldn't have been more tortured in the most delicious ways . . . after just 4 or 5 weeks of passionate cooing & promising & everything else HOT that goes along with that, after a little romantic weekend, I dropped my man/boy off at his home & kissed him goodbye & then . . I never saw him again . . I mean, dropped off the face of the earth & we are talking a town of 3,000, the desire for absence from life can be that powerful  . . & my kids and I were driving in the car & we started a lottery, making bets on what day he would resurface . . jules thought it would be on my birthday, nola on my opening . . I, not wanting to fuel early female abandonment syndrome, kept my mouth shut, cause I knew inside the best bet was NEVER . .

but it was then that I developed my

asshole preogative theory:

that in any situation in life, we all have some sequence of multiple choice responses, the first (a) usually being the right thing, the second (b) being the thing we want to do, and then any number of variables in between, like what would make the other person happy or something completely inappropriate that will distract from the issue at hand, etc . .

my theory is that men have this option that women don't have which is the ubiquitous clause the asshole preogative:

the whole world is ready to assume we are assholes, so even if most of the time (and I am being generous here ;) . .)

I prefer not to be an asshole, just this once . .

why not just use my get out of jail free card . . they - the world - will get over it, they - the world - already expect it . .

or something like that

women just can't do this, they get so much shit everytime they make the littlest mistake, everyone hanging on their flaws

oh & tho it may not sound like it, this is said with

love, love, love . .

& compassion, cause it is a curse really, this get out of jail free card

cause it is never never free

everybody pays

(oh and lastly, my gender specialists out there, help me out . . I am not only speaking of the aforementioned straight white male, I have had the same experience with my butch, transgender flirtling, ex-girlfriends . . i think it is something that comes along with an inheritance of masculinity, bastardized by the american tradition of individuality & unconscious & conscious paranoia around the power of the pussy (can I say that here) . .  am I on dangerous territory? back me up or correct me, please, i am up for instruction, always)

amma's coming / so beautiful

i'm such a brat i have to turn down the volume on this one

but i love her so

let me know if you want to come with -- here are the dates


love you

damon frost RIP

ok, i know how revealing this picture is that i took of damon,  my inspiration for yesterday's popular & controversial asshole preogative (i don't know why i couldn't get any of you to go public w/ yr responses :). .xxox) . . . but even more revealing is it is the only photo I could find of him at all in my Crush Museum . .

the horrible conclusion of this story is that Damon was tragically ill with lymphoma, tho he never shared this with me, & his disappearance was connected with his trips to Boston for chemo (& his heavy drinking there & back & continuing) . . none of this I was aware of . . ok, some of the drinking but nowhere near the heart-rending degree that was his daily reality . . our times together were tempestuous but sweet, sweet, sweet . . so this secret life, this secret life . . what can i say? he was young, beautiful, had a young son . . his choice of the asshole preogative came from his inability to cope, but i never got a chance to find that out . .  he died with his drinking buddies, so I heard, many years later, after I had left town.

I have a habit of praying with my dead people, praying for specific things that I think they can help me with: I pray to my mother to watch over my kids, I pray to pat hearn & colin deland to watch over & guide my art career, I also ask pat to help me figure out how to both budget my cash & help me find the level of income that I (& my work) deserve (without guilt or self-sabotage), I pray to damienne to keep my temper in line & stay compassionate, I pray to ted  spagna to keep me juicy & know when to

rev it up

&

how to just be me

for a long time I prayed for/with damon to just find some peace . . even though he disappeared on me & broke my heart, the split left me so akimbo, that little jagged broken piece of heart never quite healed, some scent of his struggle stayed behind with me

but then I started praying:

damn you, damon, bring me some love

or after a while it got more specific

damn you damon, bring me a man, you owe me one

and now I got him, mr pdaddy, & I have to admit, he arrived under very mysterious circumstances . . .

dear love artist / balance is really tough

dear love artist,

i resent it when there is not enough (time), and (with one person in particular) i can't seem to wrap my head around being practical (ie: seeing him just once a week because lets face it: there is work and life and responsibilities and all of reality) vs. letting myself (ourselves) be the crazy 16 year old kids we want to be where time does not exist and we can lay in bed for days and let go with pure and total abandon.

i can't seem to tell myself that it IS okay to be patient. i feel too demanding most days, on myself, on him, yet i think no matter how much i try to change and be less so, i then resent myself for not saying what it is i want. A catch 22.

part of me (the fairytale-loving-dreamy-life-happens-only-once-part of me) wants to go wild and dive in and be that spontaneous reckless lover. then the other part of me (the I've-been-down-this-road-before-must-concentrate-get-work-done-part of me) want to agree and be practical and say yes to one day a week dates and be polite and patient.

balance is really tough for me.

i also notice, i can't bring myself to say i love you. i feel it. really I do. i think more about being practical. i want to match him. then i resent myself for being practical.


love, rope dancer





darling rope dancer,

my first response is that there appears to be too much thinking going on here, too much calculation on your part, too much second guessing. the more you think usually the less things make sense.

i'm all for intution. usually the first impression has a lot of truth to it. i like to go with my gut.

although i do think it a good idea to not enmesh completely at any point in a relationship, and certainly not in the very beginning -- & i think it is always a good idea to have at least a slender thread attaching you to a private separate life at all times – i also completely believe in mad, radical, rhapsodic love in large & unrealistic quantities.

the first bloom of love is a rare delicacy & time should be put aside to enjoy its' exquisite nature. why are the two of you only seeing each other once a week? Unless there is a great distance or one of you has a passel of kids, if you are both experiencing the same headiness, that seems like an unreasonable ration. once a week yes, but for something like three days, with one whole day in bed, a long weekend, at least every other week . . .

i would just break the rules.

you say you want to match him. that is curious. it seems like you are short-changing yourself. it is one thing to be patient & it is another to hold back. if this is love, you should feel the fullness of yourself in all it's beauty & a fluidity of that beauty's expression, not without consideration but without fear of reprisal or abandonment. when is it that you would start to be & say all you feel inside?

then again you might be projecting your fear & anxiety onto your beloved. why don't you give him a chance to match you. (remember your slender thread but . . ) go ahead. be yourself. say it. i love you.

xxx tla

i regret nothing because my life begins with you

in the present

it used to be that i had so much sadness over people i had lost, whether to tragedy or the tiny implications of daily life, that when i experienced joy, it had the veil of sadness of those with whom i had not been able to elevate to my experience of the present. i had so much sadness over that.

now when i experience joy or freedom in the moment, i feel a correctness inside, a rootedness, coming to rest.

it is me i am feeling. it is me & everything, everyone comes along with me. in me.

i am no longer scraping my insides for companionship. this is worth the trials of honesty.

dear love artist / doesn't everyone want their love to be successful

dear love artist,

do you feel that, with some love patrons of yours, that your love "performances" cannot reach them/do enough for them? you say 'when i worry about showing up or satisfying my patrons, I know I am horribly, horribly astray', but you must want your love to be successful in some way?  doesn't everyone want their love to be successful – i.e. requited & received & transformative in some way?

does the fact that you are treating your love as art, and with the necessary limit to a day/an hour for some of it, make you feel like its profundity is lessened? or the extent of what you can feel/they can feel is limited?

fan plus friend







dearest fan (plus friend)

it's one of those things I am afraid I have made very complicated, but sometimes that is the way artists are.  I could have just loved the way I was loving, often & layered & far too elaborately tangled, and just be done with it & hope someone else was taking notes for my memoir . .

I only call it art out of a need for efficiency: I can love more & have less guilt about making less art.

the desire for someone to like you or like your art is one that is always troublesome, as self consciousness -- although currently an art medium of its own -- most assuredly kills true creativity.  creativity, like love, is something we are only a vessel for . . . we are so very very lucky to have the pleasure of being it's temporary host or hostess . . . when it leaves, there is a film, a vapor everywhere that is something like the loaves & fishes, feeding the armies of our hungry souls endlessly, and all we have to do is move out of the way.

all this is very poetic, but I am attempting to answer your question.  the simple response is this: no, I do not worry about pleasing my patrons.  I make myself as blank as possible (as much as my curvy latin vessel will allow) & try & settle my patron & myself down so the little boat we occupy can get it's rudder straight & then we hold hands & then we both know when the ride is over (for now) & it is the depth of the rudder not the length of the ride that makes it love, for if the rudder is deep, then the vessel of our love is a simultaneous one, holding past, present & future.

love can really be like that.

your love artist

tar beach

the cream crisis revisited

of course it is not about about the cream

so not about the cream

actually there is no cream to be had

the cream, it appears, is all in my mind

isn't everything all in your mind? and, even as the love artist, it makes me so fucking mad



last night I dreamt of murder again, this is a recurring theme of mine:

in my dreams someone I love has committed a murder that I have witnessed or that I am somehow implicated . . . the murder almost always seems justified & the fear of getting caught & punished & my life taken in return, looms large . . one cannot hide, it is only a matter of moments before the trail of circumstantial evidence leads to us, there is no protection

this probably has nothing to do with the cream crisis

but then everything has to do with the cream crisis



for those of you who don't remember – when I first moved into The Temple, which originally belonged solely to pdaddy, there was a stand-off on the lack of cream for the morning coffee . . whereas before, when I was a romantic conquest, drifting in late for midnight blue couplings, there was always cream in the refrigerator . . but as soon as I lived in the Temple, surely just a change in semantics but not, suddenly there was no cream & in the early mornings, it was inferred that I should go out & get the cream myself . .

(sorry to bore you with this, but it does bear repeating)

(I also have to report that there have been many many early morning cream & coffee def con missions by pdaddy as of late, coming without warning & without pouting on my part)

but it is all in my mind

this cream

what I am talking about is the place where you feel immovable is usually the place where the other feels immovable

resistance against resistance

isn't this the

origin of war

I like to believe that I am a hard working girl & a mother to boot & that there is

no obstacle

for me to love more & make more space in the relationship but it is just not true

my ego is just that big

last night I pouted & fussed & caused the hugest ruckus til the wee hours for like

the third time this week

over an issue that I am sure will only change when pdaddy is good & ready to change

not

cause I want him to

not

cause I need him to

it's not worth even the most pithy details what the hell I was pouting about but the point is that it was the same frozen issue I had been pouting about all week

& since the beginning of time

which pretty much boils down to

i feel abandoned

&

i want things my way

(& by the way it's the right way - of course  ;) . .)

& pdaddy, poor thing, had no choice but to say

no

two temper tantrums ago, I stood in the middle of the room literally with my hands on my hips (really) in the dark, while pdaddy lay in the bed, & I asked him to soothe me & he said he had a natural instinct not to do what was demanded & I was being demanding & he said it was just the way he was wired . . . 

I said I am out of control & it is the way I am wired & I need your help to be reasonable & he closed his eyes as if to sleep & I said

"if I was in the middle of the road & a truck was headed right for me, would you try to save me, even if you were wired to be afraid or angry at the truck"

& pdaddy said

"now you are being really unreasonable"

I could go on & on

THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO END TO THIS CONVERSATION

but

someone has to go first

when you grow closer to the light

TUESDAY, JUNE 26

When you get closer to the Light, you are more susceptible to short-circuiting.

As you grow spiritually, you expand your vessel and that makes you want more. It's good to want more, to want more success, to want more achievement. But when you increase your vessel and capacity, negative things you once got away with are not acceptable to you anymore.

Think of it this way – when you're three years old, it's not a big deal to take your clothes off in the middle of a crowded room. But you can't do it when you're 20, can you? The same goes for spirituality – there are things you once did that you just can't do anymore because it will leave you feeling empty.

What old behaviors are you dipping into – to your detriment?




This email was sent by: Kabbalah Centre International
1062 S. Robertson Blvd. Los Angeles, CA, 90035, USA

(thank you robert cohen for your devoted service keeping me in the kabbalah loop)

dear love artist / global warming

dear love artist,

I don't know if this qualifies as a Dear Love Artist question but I am a regular reader of your column & I really appreciate your wisdom . . .

I am having a hard time keeping my heart open these days, with my girlfriend, with my job, with my friends, with my computer (!!!!?!), with the guy on the street who makes some kind of weird remark about my tits when it's so freaking hot out . . . I'm not getting my period . . . I am going to kill someone today . .

I know there's a full moon rising end of the week & global warming is something we all should stop BUT is there any little thing I can do that will stop the build of my wrath?  I need a break (& so does everyone else, I am afraid).


the pot that has already boiled over (several times)





oh my sweet pot (I hear you -- ask pdaddy -- no don't),


1. one of the first things to do, which seems completely contraindicated is to fess up to either yourself, a pillow, a rushing river or a very very trusted friend (who is not in your line of target), how mad you really are – this is a really sweet thing to do for yourself – don't judge the anger, let it rip, let it be ok . .  I bet you are exponentially increasing your anger by thinking it's not ok . . either you are embarrassed, think the issue should be in your past, are holding out for the proper vent, whatever –

2. get wet  even if it is in your shower. as cold as you can take it, then colder.

3.  I have recently been given a series of yoga poses to combat everyday emotions & I put them to work immediately to excellent results.  try this:

to move anger:

--  bending the knees slightly, bring your palms flat on the floor about shoulder's distance apart.

--  place the knees on the back of the upper arms.

--  start to come forward, lifting the head as you go.

--  take one foot and then the other off the floor so you come to balance with both feet up.

--  don't forget to breathe.  in & out.  over & over.  through your nose whenever possible. 



beginners: try lifting one foot up at a time to get a feel for how far forward you need to bring yourself. do not let your head drop! this will cause you to tip forward and lose balance. put a blanket in front of you so you won't be afraid of hitting your head if you fall. everyone falls when learning this pose. 

advanced: once you come up into the pose, do not let your elbows splay out to either side. Work on straightening your arms. tuck the heels in close to your butt and jump back to Chaturanga. (if you are advanced you will know what this means)

ttay with it for a couple of minutes. even if you keep falling, go back and try it again  at the very least, sit in a chair, with your feet flat on the floor, head below the heart & breathe.

this is the Crow Pose.  it releases your root chakra and moves anger into compassion (no mean feat, worth a try, believe me)

4.  get wet again.

(and I know you want to do this least of all, but part of my job is to make you do what you don't want to do, your personal love trainer)

5.  be sweet to yourself

6.  be sweet to yourself

7.  be sweet to yourself


love xxxx tla

little church i am

iamlove / example 4

find home

Man's pride and satisfaction in what he knows limits the scope of his vision.

Bowl of Saki -- Hazrat Inayat Khan


ok first i wanna admit how how often i check for your comments & compliments.

a lot.

it's making me a little bit nauseous how much i love this pretty little page & how hard i work on it. 

is it a crime i want you to love it too?

& i would be so lying if I didn't tell you that sometimes the more love I find there, the lonelier I am, cause it's the hunt that is so tiring

i wish i could just let it sneak up on me

that said, I do take my job seriously & my job is worth nothing if I don't tell you the truth, the 4 last lonely days of the love artist life, licking my living/loving bruises & my delicate belly-side-up have been secretly miraculous:

3 visitations

i am staying at jack's in the middle of nowhere in vermont, no phone, no cable & everybody goes to sleep real early & i am tiptoeing around in the semi-darkness, pulling a tattered pink quilt around me.  in the living room, the wall is lit up by fireflies.  it's so beautiful, i hardly sleep.




nancy & i walk across the dunes in the early morning with the dog.  it's cool but the open surface makes it any time, any universe, any eyes. we get to the ocean & stare long enough that 4 seals appear close to shore & look us in the eye & i am not imagining.  we walk down the beach & they're gone.  we turn to leave & they're right there, eye to eye.



morning again. me & nola lost in the dunes, we find a path & it disappears.  we find a path & it disappears.  we find a path & it disappears.  we find a path & it disappears. we find home.

mo betta love

over the last 5 years I have loved over 1000 people through the True Love Project -- some for 24 hours, some for an afternoon, morning or evening, many for just a hour -- in locations all over the world.  In the last year, I have meditating on where to go next with this incredible gift to love, through tiny openings & often at great distance . . .

starting tomorrow I will be posting love portraits daily of people that cross my path & inspire love in me (& also those I work to open my heart to, those I meet in conflict, those hard to love) . . .

I am imagining that many of these will be surprises, fleeting moments . . but who knows, i am excited to share them here

you can find some more pictorial history here & the rest to come

in addition i am beginning to make public my

love intuitive appointments:

using the healing counsel that has chosen me as it's vessel to share with you in whatever capacity your heart may need--

romantic love questions, grief & separation, just how to be you more & more, parenting, the questions are endless -- you surely do not need to be in crisis to heal & grow in your ability to love . .

up until now these appointments have been available only to my prior love patrons, but I am now beginning to offer them in studios in NYC & Hudson & worldwide via phone & i-sight -- my computer to yours . . appointments are one hour long, although retreats of one day or more will be available soon in Hudson.

you can think of them as love lessons & me as your personal love trainer, though love intuitive appointments operate on many deeper, more subtle levels

i open my heart to you & I believe we all have so much to learn  . . . please write for instructions on how to make an appointment.

"this is the idea, that we - on the food of this love –
even though we don't really know each other –
can build this world together . . .
love, intimacy, instead of paint stone or wood . . . 
running on a certain kind of intensity or connection, like fuel . . . 
i like to find the crack in the completely smooth wall
& i know how to let it come to me  . . . "

the love artist

something good

it figures as soon as you make a big promise, your life is gonna get complicated . . i hate to break my word, but there's something big & yummy coming. be patient. it's cooking . . .

bread & water

i am coming out of something

I hope I am free

today

on saturday i got to be the Laughter Hostess for linda montano in her

lighten up

performance at the old ulster county jail
it was part of the kingston biennial that's happening all summer up here

i am performing my new piece

the green heart

the last weekend, labor day

more about that later

but on saturday, i was the laughter hostess, inviting people into what seemed like (for most people) the somber interior of a somewhat scary place, cell 3 in the women's quarters of the jail
i offered people bread & water & an opportunity to sit w/ linda & laugh away their karma & personal tragedies as well as the intense tragedy of the lives & karma of those who had passed thru all the cells in the past (there was the option of celebration as well, tho that seemed like a stretch, but then not everyone was vocal in their intent to laugh)





i was supposed to be chuckling & laughing the whole time, in my hostess gig, but i am afraid i am a lousy actress, or at least not good at being false, for all my discipline

i was able to smile & be gracious & touchy-feely & all that goes along with that

the whole thing was awkward in the most gorgeous human way

the walls were sad with love in the jail



& there is something about sadness that brings the solemnity of innocence

i felt innocent & i saw linda innocent too.  that was beautiful



(i have been following you)
(you are gave me freedom to do what i do)
(loving the world one person at a time)
(as art)
(it seems funny & a litte sensational now but you did it when it was new)
(i stood next to you & served you lunch at the ear inn)(it was many lives ago)
(much freedom & incarceration ago)(i was 24)
(the rope was on the floor)
(tethered)(you & me)

(thank you)

*****************************

LINDA  M MONTANO'S : LIGHTEN UP,   A  7 HOUR ART/LIFE COUNSELLING PERFORMANCE AT  THE EX-ULSTER COUNTY  JAIL, ACCOMPANIED BY LAUGHTER HOSTESS,  KATHE  IZZO.

ON  7/7/07...............LINDA   M  MONTANO WILL SIT IN CELL 3 OF THE  EX AND EMPTY ULSTER COUNTY JAIL AND MEET OTHERS WILLING TO  BE LOCKED INTO THE JAIL CELL WITH MONTANO  TO  LAUGH OFF,BOTH OF  THEIR CURRENT  LIFE-ART ISSUES.

KATHE IZZO  WILL PERFORM "LAUGHTER HOSTESS", GIVING BREAD/WATER AND INITIATE  THOSE OUTDSIDE THE JAIL CELL INTO THE  ATTITUDE OF " LAUGHING WITH" NOT AT  EVERYTHING, AS THEY PREPARE TO ENTER CELL 3 FOR THEIR  ART/LIFE COUNSELLING.

MONTANO'S INTENTION IS TO FIND CREATIVE/AESTHETIC WAYS TO RESPOND TO  A WHOLE BUNCH OF NOT SO FUNNY WORLD AND PERSONAL EVENTS THAT SEEM NEVER TO STOP!

GRATITUDE TO BETH WILSON FOR AN INVITATION TO THE KINGSTON SCULPTURE ANNUAL AND FOR HER IDEA THAT THE JAIL WOULD  BE A FINE PLACE TO SHOW/MAKE ART.

SOME THOUGHTS: FOR THE LAUGHTER HOSTESS

pre memo from linda m:

1. Be  extremely elegant  and  always  smiling-laughing.

2. Be extrememly helpful and  hands  on and inviting people to:

Would you like to  visit  with  Linda for  a short visit and  LIGHTEN UP? Just  tell her  something  you need to LIGHTEN UP about and the  wo of you can LIGHTEN UP and LAUGH  about it.

While they are in there  you continue to smile, laugh etc....

3. When they come out  give them a certificate.

4. Bread and  water can be given before or after, with smiles and chuckles  of course.

5. If they dont want  to come in or do  a session, then tell them to  LAUGH OUT LOUD SOMETIME  TODAY.

THOUGHTS:

Bring  cleaning stuff for  the  dirty table out front.
Bring something nice to smell.
Bring newspaper for the table top.

***oh and one other thing Linda told me on the phone -- when I worried if I would be too sexy to be the laughter hostess, she told me it was ok but as long as i was sexy in an

italian-woman-from-rome-on-her-way-to-see-the-pope kind of way

daisy

(it's weird how you are getting on the plane in the middle of the night at JFK & it's jet blue & it's total chaos & you are on your way somewhere that you have never been before)
(& you are watching someone almost as if you are in a trance)
(your eyes fall on them & then you are really staring & you're not even thinking about anything & you forget the time)
(that was the first time I saw you)
(& then we are picked up by the same van)(together 5 in the morning in puerto rico)
(how)(why)
(& the whole trip is so green & surreal)
(we cannot help revealing ourselves)
(someone asks you if you are our daughter)
(& it could have been a dream except now you are here again)
(one more dream)
(now you are gone)
(love you)
(thank you)

my mother marguerite

(1934 - 2001)


i spent most of my life thinking i was not very close to my mother

but when the going gets tough, i turn into such a good little catholic girl & get on my knees & pray to her

the other day I posted comments to jesus & joan of arc on myspace:

send me a sign today

last night I was sitting in my scruffy yard with the dog & started weeding in the dark, between the cracks in the stone.  I could smell the dirt underneath & I remembered my mother planting flowers meticulously in the patches of dirt that broke through our chaotic patio.  Then I went inside & from the pantry I could hear the tiny sound of cheap wind chimes next door in the house that i never usually hear anything good come out of, just a lot of pain & fear & loud tv, kids crying, people yelling.  I went out into the yard & looked to see if I could find the chimes but it was too dark.

tough love

green on the outside (pd & tla redux)

the beginning of the week

this is the portrait of the work it takes to have a soft heart

it's not fucking easy to love when your heart is a walnut

green on the outside

ancient walled city on the inside

love triumphs in the strangest way

not the way we were thinking at all

any of us, not just me

i got the faith

that i am smiling is a surprise to me however

the end


believe me I am not trying to be cerebral or oblique

sometimes we do not know who we are til much later

i got some wicked banged up knees

wide open

(we found each other in the park)

(thank god)

(thank you)

love love

What is beautiful to us one day is ordinary the next. Be present with life, be with it, be in it! If we experience love with a friend and the friend goes another way, we do not let love go with the friend. Rather, we stay in the experience of the love we felt with the friend. The friend is the messenger, that one who reveals the love inside of us. BEING is what is important. Forms come and go and change colors. Break through your attachments. Make love important. Make love your concern. Learn to be with yourself in love, rather than to react to others with attachment which results in jealousy, pride, irritation.

the truth about love/rudi kadre

waiting for a miracle

hot fuss

woke up growly today. . . my personal life is epic at the moment, me & pdaddy in the kind of sordid tangle the angels love & I'm just sick to tears of giving love advice (for now)  . . there's something about love in crisis & critical honesty that gets me so sexed up, i gotta be blunt & after days of tears a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do . . don't want to give in without a fight but there is power in the position of no position & there is knowledge in coming together . .

i could worry about propriety but there's nothing I'm going to spill here that the neighbors don't know already (in all probability)

yikes, i'm all black & blue . .  they don't call me the love artist for nothing, I work hard, I am committed to the lab & I have learned my chops

i haven't given much of a background check for the mysterious pdaddy but without alerting the authorities let's just say he's an old pirate with a heart of gold (sometimes) & he makes no apology about it . . he's charming & thoroughly transparent

i already spilt the joan of arc hearing voices story about becoming the Love Artist but those voices came after being paid for sex in a totally unplanned, random encounter that resulted in an extraordinary reaction of broken heart healing . . .

without the presence of anything more mind-altering than my heart & pussy I saw this static-y sparkler transmission emanating from my body, mouth & fingertips & a radical softening in my patron, shall we call her (yes, it was a her . . .  a cigar smoking chicana with a roll of cash & a big smile & an offer I couldn't refuse) . . i did not think there was love there, i just did as i was told, but with the absence of romance my heart was actually all the brighter

a cerbral angel was watching over me in the mysterious guise of some latent moral judgment & i didn't take the sex for hire route professionally at that time but instead offered to fall passionately in love with strangers on demand for free (economics were never my strong suit – but that is about to change, I got my sweet oshun on it right now. . . my money maker on fire & it's tied to my heart finally. . ) . . 

but back to pdaddy, he's been a very bad boy & he pulls (& pulls) on the outlaw in me & hardly ever ever cuts me some slack . . . we spent all weekend doing hard time in the ring processing & then major timeouts working out the tension against the wall & floor & on every surface we could find . .

i'm just giving you the headlines for starters & i give my solemn word I'll be back with the details, don't you worry

there is love in them thar hills & a trajectory that is full of lessons & learning, tho I'm not completely there yet

& yes, there is a moral to the story

OK I'm going back in & leaving a trail of crumbs, check back please

& then the letting go

i know i promised the juicy details first but this morning i am pure & still like a virgin, as per the instructions of ms ford dallaire west . . . pdaddy & have instilled the 150 mile radius rule for the time being so i have some time to be still my heart & do the right thing

you can be in love & still let go

it's tricky what that looks like:

to not know everything
to believe in the goodness of someone's heart
to let them go down a path that you can not
to believe in the core truth that we really are each other & that we carry the beloved within

this may all sound like platitudes but it is the only thing that works

i have this prayer in me & when i am struggling with someone the way I let them go is I turn them over to a deity

in my mind this is usually a giantess, a very very black woman many stories tall

& she takes the one I am relinquishing

usually cause I love them so damn much & they're just too slippery to handle

& I give them to her . . first I wrap them a suitable cloth . . pdaddy I wrap in a tattered cloth & thin paper all laced with threads of gold, swaddle him up tight up to his neck, his arms wrapped into him like a baby & turn him over & say

here, give him everything he needs

i am doing that now


the other night after wrestling, fucking, crying, lying then telling the truth, lying then telling the truth, I was falling asleep & he said to me:

"i am not abandoning you, I am still your boyfriend, we are just creatively reconfiguring"
& I replied in my sleep
"i am turning you over & it feels like I am throwing myself into the blender"

i got to let the man take his path to the limit even if it is terrfiying & somehow this is love

some kind of molecular recombination, this blender of true love & maybe it is not violent inside, maybe & then

if you're gonna make it global

mix it all up, push it & forget about the borders let them all be & keep the heart growing through pain, through fear, through disappointment, through control

we have all the cellular information for love inside ourselves

pdaddy is just some kind of painfully delicious obstreperous dessert

go figure

After Great Pain

After great pain, a formal feeling comes--
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round--
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment

, like a stone--

This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow--
First--Chill--then Stupor--then

the letting go--

emily dickinson

how do you mend a broken heart

last night i took a love break to go on a road trip w/ giorgio, mark & jonathan.  we went to see amma & we stayed up all night cause you have to stay up all night if you want to get a hug

she's a rock star

i was getting a little weepy about not going w/ pdaddy cause it felt like amma married us last year when she pressed us to her rose scented bosom & murmured "daughter daughter daughter" or whatever it is she says

it doesn't matter cause it feels so good. the shaktipat, the real thing, right to the heart & she held us there for a long time & laughed in pdaddy's ear while another devotee crouched beneath rubbing her feet

we drove to the ocean, got there at dawn, tiptoed out to a little shack and oh you know

(i miss him)

(it's just structural reintegration)



a girl's gotta do what a girls gotta do &  i believe in free will & the man certainly has his own car . . . but it turns out pdaddy had to fly to miami cause his mom fell & was rushed to the hospital & even a pirate loves his mom & he is a really really good pirate

& the boys had been circling to massage my breaking heart anyway so we all got in the car & started tripping, not the acid kind but the kind that happens when you put yourself in line with god & you really really love your friends

it was about 2 am when it's time to queue up for amma

at that point we were silent & sitting & vibrating & rocking to the endless chanting in the middle of the crowded blue rug, eyes closed like it was never gonna happen

i





they didn't let us take any pictures inside but we stepped out under the streetlights & looked at each other in the afterglow

g & m had never been & their awe made me so happy

super love def con

take no shit & take no prisoners

til we meet again

godzilla love

i know i am either a saint or delusional when i feel like i'm coming when i take a bite of a godzilla roll

i am hoping i am a saint & developing a deep level of sexual autonomy because there is something about grief & longing that makes my libido soar

a cruel trick of nature

things are very unclear at the moment which i have to just accept as a gift from god . . . an exceptionally hard assignment just cause, well

i am the love artist

gonna love extra fierce today into the fear into the surrendering

& i'm taking notes

love you

love me