Truth or Fiction

“An autobiography can distort, facts can be realigned.
But fiction never lies; it reveals the writer totally.”
VS Naipaul

St. Patrick's Cathedral, NY, August 2006

Boundaries

NF asked,
Boundaries....do you have any?
*******************************

Dancing under the moon light
In a farmer’s field
Feeling the pulse of the band in the barn
I let go
And decide
No

Soundclick & Myspace Update

Kudos to soundclick.com. This space has removed all the fraud that was posted under my name: images, music, everything. They read my email and acted.

Re: myspace.com: despite many emails in the past two weeks I have yet to hear from them regarding stolen images and the illegal posting and sale of my music; Even worse, someone claiming to be me is saying things as if she/he is me, making me sound like a bitter castrating victim of outer space.

Billy's Funeral Today

funerals make me sad
funerals make me cry
this feeling is so overwhelming
it feels like it will never die

Dad, Belle River

Dad

My 83 year old dad plays tennis six days a week
I’ve been helping him around the cottage
hammering, painting, climbing ten foot ladders
walking on roof tops

Today we took a canoe trip on Lake St. Claire
on the way we were in total sync in the stillness
the lake like glass
coming back we paddled in circles
and laughed our bums off

He says when he looks in the mirror
he can’t believe it
how did he get here? How did he get old?
He wants to see New Zealand but doesn’t know

He’s reading Wuthering Heights
he can’t believe it he says
how beautiful the story is
and how many stories must be lost
because they were written by women
so long ago

Go to Alberta Dad says
you’ll get rich teaching yoga
they need you there...
they are all working too hard
discovering the oil

august 24, 2006

Update Disclaimer Soundclick

Soundclick.com got back to me immediately and deleted the fraudulent pages. I have created my own web pages to prevent any future theft of my names again: The Dangerous Diane Band and Dangerous Diane. Still waiting to hear from myspace.

Dangerous Diane & Dangerous Diane Band DISCLAIMER

There are two sites (Myspace and soundclick) with unauthorized pages with my name, music, image and chats putting words in my mouth that make me sound like an idot: Dangerous Diane and the Dangerous Diane Band.

It is flattering that someone wants to be me but it is quite alarming to have someone say things in my name that are not true. Therefore, while this is pending, if there are any inquiries about me, please contact me at this blog while this matter is being settled.

Sunset for Billy

Lake St. Claire, Belle River, Ontario, Canada

Billy in the Light

My cousin Billy died today
for years he would call me
in New York from Canada
when he was drunk
Then
the next night when he got drunk
he would call me again
to apologize for calling me when
he was drunk.
(I had to laugh.)

Then he made it.
For one whole year he called me sober
We talked a lot about when we were kids
Swimming in Lake St. Claire in Belle River
where I am at this moment writing
this, remembering him.

Billy struggled with his addictions
He called me the night he went out
And since then he did things
some people find unforgivable
Now the living are reliving their pain
on this day, the day of Billy’s death.

Today I went to church with Dad
we tried to light a candle
(they’re electric now at St. Jude Church)
but the green and blue plastic candles
refused my touch

Here is a photo of a sunset on the
lake we played in as kids
I’m putting Billy in the setting sun
in the memory of light

There is a lot of wind outside my window
and a rattling that is shaking me to the bone
I wish for Billy to be able to move on
find his way
and for the living to find forgiveness
in their hearts.

August 19, 2006

My Heart My Hair

In New Zealand
I arrived as a blonde
but my Kiwi lover hated blondes
said his ex was a blonde and he
swore he would never go for a blonde again
so I dyed my hair red and my Kiwi
lover still curled his body away from me
in our bed

In New York
new headshots by Guler Ugur
shot on the streets of the Lower East Side
shooting in front of a white
handball court
while young people graciously
gave up their game
New York can be that way

Then off to Essex Street
where I changed my shirt
at the top of the stairs
in a dark corner
where a man below watched
while pretending not to

I am grateful for Guler’s talent
and her love and friendship.
The giggles we shared
after not seeing each other
for a year was worth the trip
back to New York

But now in Canada my family says
ewwwwwuuuuuuu hate the red
go back to being a blonde
who will I listen to?
my photographer?
my Kiwi Lover?
my heart?
Oh heart how I have turned
my back on you before

Judge

Judge

If I will not judge someone who steals food
why
would I judge someone who steals a guitar

if I cannot understand my own sister’s pain
why am I surprised there is war

august 14, 2006
Photo: Seward Park, East Broadway, New York City

Drunk Dentist

the day was hot
the dentist was drunk
the work was gone
the friends came by

I had the opportunity
but not the desire
gave up again
better than
giving in
either way
it’s okay

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Dawn Bonny Bindi & Me.

White sheer curtains
blowing and singing
first track
Sex Pistols
second track
Krishna das

sharing berries and pie
laughing all the while
girls just wanna have fun
in the heat in the city

New York in the summer
house-sitting for Bonny
in the west village
grateful for good company
and air conditioning
from the gods


Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Carmine Street Guitars

My friend Norman who is a great musician said to take my guitar to Kelly at Carmine Street Guitars in the West Village. Kelly made the adjustments that make this guitar beautiful and he did it all for an amazing price. I am very pleased and grateful to Kelly for his work. Carmine Guitars is at 42 Carmine Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenue. The building was built in 1826. Kelly says what makes it distinctive as landmark building is the peak on top.


The back room used to be a speakeasy during prohibition in the early part of the 20th century. Here Kelly makes, repairs and does everything else you can think of with guitars. Kelly builds unique solid body guitars, crafted by hand, selecting the wood himself. The wood is aged at least 80 years. According to Kelly, “This vintage wood gives the guitar its musical soul.”


He also sells strings at the best price I have ever seen in a music store in this town. Check out, Carmine Street Guitars. http://www.KellyGuitars.com

My guitar has a new home, thanks to Kelly.

Norman and the Buddha, with my guitar.

War Is Over

My friend Merry Fortune was giving away her guitar so she gave it to me. She said it was a beat up guitar with awful action that didn’t like the heat. I don’t have a picture of Merry but everyone on the poetry scene thinks she’s me and I’m here. We don’t get it. But she is a great activist. Here’s a photo of a banner erected by http://www.joinutopia.com. Merry would approve. And I love her name.

Susan Hayward and Salvation Army Shoes

1953 Susan Hayward plays a drunken starlet in the real life story, "I'll Cry Tomorrow". Considering the date the movie treated Alcoholics Anonymous with some dignity. Susan's drunk acting though clearly showed she was working from the outside in. A few belts might have helped. Or maybe, she had a few belts and that made her go nuts. I DON'T WANT A DRINK. I HAVE TO HAVE A DRINK. GIVE ME A DRINK. Thrash trash thrash, fall to the floor. Pretty cool seeing New York in the 50's in black and white. Shoes from Salvation Army, $7.50, that's $12.0115 in Kiwi Dollars. Shoes satin, not leather. Latter info provided to friends who are trying to catch me consuming animals. Love Animals, Don't Eat Them, Don’t Wear Them.

100 degrees today

The temperature hit 100 degrees F today. That's 37.7777 C. Dripping in sweat. Photo by Guler Ugur.

Tribes Gallery more photos

More photos at Tribes. John Farris, poet and artist extraordinaire with Bonny Finberg in background. Hat message: TALK TO DA BOMB. Photo of me and John by Bonny Finberg, siren writer.

Dinner with Dana

Dinner with Daughter

A Mediterranean feast including green olives imported from Israel, and fragrant spices from Lebanon, bought at a nearby Jewish store on the LES. They go well together, compliment in each other on the table, in our mouths. This is New York, culturally diverse, everything at our fingertips to enjoy. New York is easy to love. The USA, how easy it is to love her and want to leave her.

All through dinner we listened to Leonard Cohen, first time for Dana. What a thrill to introduce my daughter to this man and enjoy the same music together. We have been away from each other for the past year and missed our meetings for food, talk and laughs.

Laughing self-portrait

Self Portrait Smiley Pants

Self Portrait Smiley Under Pants

Yesterday I bought five pairs of panties from a store that said: “No Return of Underwear.” Not one fit.

Today I bought three pairs of panties form a store with a sign that said: “No Return of Underwear. No Arguments.” They don’t fit, but one has a nice message.

Today I looked at myself naked.

There are long, hair-thin red lines across my body: arms, breasts, belly. They are slightly raised like a fresh tattoo. Where have they come from? I’ve been touched by something so light I didn’t feel its arrival. In my bed? In the store? At the dentists’? Or is it here on Canal Street penetrating through windows tightly closed to keep out the heat of the city. In this air conditioned home, am I living in a haunted apartment? Or did Ma B the curious ghost in Pukerua Bay follow me to New York from New Zealand? The air conditioner is old. Is it the same one that sat in the window prior to 9/11? If so, then I am living with many ghosts trapped in this city where the living won’t let them go.

Steve Cannon, Tribes Gallery, NY

Saturday, July 30, 2006
Getting some sugar from Steve

Installation at Tribes Gallery, LES, NY

Hanging out by the black pool in the garden at Tribes Gallery, on East Third Street on the LES, there for the annual art auction and exhibition. Great time chatting with Steve Cannon, owner of Tribes. The auction raises money for the space and for Steve to continue his fabulous work for artists, writers and the community. The black pool is part of an installation in his garden. Tribes Gallery, the only visual arts gallery in the world curated by a blind man.

Photo for FFF.

Om Shanthi 8th Avenue & 14th St. NYC

kiwis

with marge and barry, red dog cafe, wellington, june, 2006

Canal Street

Dancing in the streets
in New York City
where the Lower East Side meets
Chinatown

I hear Leonard Cohen
calling to me
‘Don’t cha know’
and I cry for him
that he never had me
for just one night

July 28, 2006
Photo by Guler Ugur

Swami Satchidananda, Yogaville, Virginia

The Meditator: My eyes were closed but I knew it was her when she left the room, a few minutes later she came back, her presence announced by the rattle of the door knob, then a sudden slam and the door closed behind her with a dull click. I felt her pass me with a carefree air as if she was entering a shopping mall, her scent momentarily distracting my own space. She walked back back to her mat as if she was the only one, the only one in the room. She had a distinctive walk: a drag and a shuffle, her back foot would drag behind her as her front foot shuffled ahead, shoulders drooping toward her belly, head moving forward past her shoulders, eyes fixed, chin jutting. I opened one eye and stole a peek in time for me to see her plop down on her mat, cross her legs and look around the room like a three year old waiting for something to happen and then like a three year old she suddenly noticed that everyone was still meditating in the exact same positions as when she left. She shrugged her shoulders, moved her head from side to side, as if remembering, ‘oh yes we are meditating’ and closed her eyes, her smile intact in the moment, in the present, oblivious and yet there.

drunk monologue fire

TimesSquare Flag ImagineNot Central Pk Boots

New York City. Just Like I Remembered It.

New York City. July. Summer. Hot.

I’m still walking on the left, crossing wrong, horns honking, people moving as one and a sea of bodies, grid lock, body lock, couldn’t move, waited for the flow to move me away, away from them, walking walking, walking, familiar sites, Empire State Building, Broadway, (The Color Purple is now a musical), Madison Square, Times Square, heat so heavy and hot you can see it, vapor rises and is stuck above my head, pushing on my shoulders. I craved something in nature. I made my way to Central Park, walked over thirty blocks in my cowboy boots, feet throbbing, I hit the grass, laid down on my back, head on backpack and inhaled deeply, nothing more sweet then grass when you haven’t touched it in a week.

The day I arrived in New York, TV broadcast the 'Sex and the City' episode I was in, so friends say, ‘hey, I just saw you in.... I was thinking of you because I saw you in... ‘ It’s such a small part I’m flattered people knew it was me so with confidence I headed off to an agent who called me, ‘Come in so we can get a look at ya.’ He gave me a full minute of his time, but I may be exaggerating by ten seconds; he sized me up in three seconds and said, ‘you’re a redhead, your resume says blonde, you should change it.’ I thanked him profusely while he eyed his lunch waiting for me to split. Back on the street I bought a cotton dress for $10. This is the New York I remember, street vendors including those selling hot dogs in a vat of boiling water with a smell like old sox on every other corner. I miss Thelma and Louise, my two islands from my sea view who appeared with the tide out my window in NZ. And no fantails in New York City follow me, eyeing me with curiosity. But we do have birds here. I heard them in the park.

I went to a party and saw friends I haven't seen in so long, they didn't even know I was gone. This summer there is Hamlet in the Parking Lot, a Lower East Side annual summer event. A theatrical group performs Shakespeare every summer. If you are lucky you might see a local drunk who will walk right onto the pavement, into the performance space, stop and watch, then the audience begins to laugh, he (or she) will look at the audience, smile and continue watching, sometimes walk away, oblivious, sometimes not.

I'm staying in Olivia's apartment on Canal Street in Chinatown, part of the new Lower East Side. New and improved. Average rent two to three thousand a month. There are two bars below me, both with enthusiastic patrons. The building shakes from the subway, not unlike the soft earthquakes I felt in my cottage in Plimmerton. The sounds of helicopters are now part of my sound landscape along with the garbage trucks that arrive promptly at 4 a.m. at the moment when I’m about to fall asleep. Jet lag is a drag.