Going to jail. I feel very inadequate tackling this subject. But I'm doing it anyway. And however it comes out, it comes out. I don't feel like I know what I'm doing. And that's probably a good reason for trying to do this. I'm going to brainstorm or cluster about jail and use what comes up. Maybe as subheadings.
Maybe include some prison films I've seen - or haven't seen.

I have some feelings about Lil Kim going to jail. I have feelings about being in jail period.

In the 1970’s I had a girlfriend who was a filmmaker. When I met her she was a film editor. She was married and they had a little girl.
Then they had a little boy. Her husband had stopped making films and took a test to be a stockbroker, which he passed and began trading in commodities. I had become very good friends with them and in fact, I was made the godmother of her son. One day my friend told me that her husband had been arrested. It was true. He was arrested and he subsequently went to jail. He had participated in this fraud, but it was hard to think of this person I knew as a criminal. I didn't go to see him in jail (I think he requested for me not to) but I did write him. I'm not sure of his sentence, so I'll guess that it was 1 year to a year and a half. Maybe he didn't do his whole time. Basically he was like me. We were the same ilk and I certainly wasn't going to jail. It was horrible to even think of him in jail. And I think his picture (his prison picture) even appeared on the front page of The New York Times, accompanying the article about his crime.

My 2nd close affiliation with prison had to do with my sister. It wasn't her but it was her boyfriend. She wasn't involved, so it wasn't as if she was hanging out with the wrong crowd and engaging in dubious behavior. Her boyfriend was Puerto Rican. I don't think I even knew anyone Puerto Rican when I was growing up. My sister is 13 years younger than myself and times had changed. Even tho she went to a religious high school and I went to Music & Art. Also, my sister partied when she was growing up and she hung out with lots of different kinds of people. I didn't have her temperament and was also not allowed to party. My mother's rules. But interestlingly enough, she did allow me to take little sojourns to Staten Island with these group of teenagers, older than myself, one of whom became my boyfriend. I was 14 at the time. And at the same time that she was being lenient she had it in her head that I was fooling around sexually and was always yelling at me and giving me lectures about being a "nice girl", or something to that effect, which felt like I was being smacked around.

My sister's boyfriend's name was Poncho. I don't think I'd ever met him until after he was out of jail. I think he was very possessive and they were always arguing. My sister at this time had left college (after a year or 2), and was pursuing her singing career. She had performed in Disneyland and at the other theme park in the same area as The Grand Ol Oprey. Poncho was not in her league intellectually, artistically, or any kind of way. And I think he was jealous of her striking out on her own (which meant she would probbaly be meeting other guys), as well as her talent (which took her away from him). I also think he tried to involve her in his little dabblings or else he would want her to bail him out of his letiile escapades, before something really serious happened. Ultimately, he was putting her in danger and that was probably a bone of contention between them as well. Poncho stayed out of jail for awhile but then inevitably he did something silly or irresponsible and ended up back in jail. Poncho wasn't really a criminal either. My sister finally ended their relationship. But probably not before he borrowed a large sum of money from her and didn't have the means to pay it back.

My 3rd experience with jail is more hands on. I went to visit someone in prison. How did this happen? I was working at a law firm as a full-time employee and became friendly with one of the attorneys. This was soon after I had become a Buddhist. During one particular time when we were sharing stories it came to the fore that he himself was actually a Buddhist, of the same kind as myself, even tho he wasn't really practifing and had sponsored a woman (she was his shakubuku) and she had done something and was in jail. If I remember correctly, it had something to do with money. She may have been involved with Columbia University. A teacher, maybe. And I don't think she was American. As a practicing Buddhist, members of my Han were frequently visiting othere members; either at their home, to chant with them, or visiting them in the hospital. So even tho I didn't know her, I decided that as she was a Buddhist, I would go visit her and chant with her. If it was agreeable with her. And my friend, the attorney, spoke with her and found out that it would be okay for me to visit. I must say that I had become quite taken with this attorney and may not have been so eager to do this had it just been anybody. But I was also a very strong and eager Buddhist in those days, so it might have been possible. At any rate, she and I, by way of the attorney, agreed on a date and I went to see her in prison. She was in Bedford.

Bedford is in the town of Bedford. It's little and quaint and then there's this prison. It's only for women. I think I took a train and then took a bus or a cab to the prison. Approaching it you see lots of barbed wire. I remember that visual impacting me. We had to check our belongings and I'm not sure whether we were searched or frisked. Rather than going inside the prison itself, visiting was done in its own building, so there were no bars or gates to go through and no feeling of being imprisoned. You could see outside. There were 2 large rooms. The main waiting area, where ahead there was an officer on a raised platform, and to the right of that was a door where the prisoners came through. There was anopther toom farhter away where prisoners and visitors met and where children stayed or met with their parents. The woman I was there to see only knew me by name and I only knew her by name. No pictures had been exchanged. And not only did I not know her, but I didn't know how involved she was with Buddhism. I had come on a mission to chant with her, but I knew it was possible that she might not want to chant. I was nervous. By my making the trip tho, I was making a cause, for her and for myself. No matter what the outcome, I had taken the action to go see her and strengthen her Buddhist practice and she had taken the action to see me.

While waiting I thought about the type of crimes that had been committed; what it was like to actually be in jail. I saw the children with their mothers and thought about what if my mother had been in jail when I was a little girl. Or suppose my father had commited a crime and had gone to jail.

I think the guard must have had my name and called my name after she stepped through the door. We said hi and then moved into the other larger room that I had been looking at.

So what do I want to say about jail

Monday, September 19.

A friend of mine has a birthday today. He's 64 years young. A Virgo. I've got a few Virgo birthdays in my family. My sister is/was September 9th and a cousin on my father's side is also September 9th. My mother's is September 10th, however, she's deceased. My maternal grandmother's I think was September 5th. My very first piano teacher had a birthday in September; a chiropractor who I saw for almost 12 years exclusively up until maybe a year ago, has a birthday in September; an attorney here at my job has a birthday in September and my most recent cat sitter's birthday was September 15th. I think I've put down all the September ones but Virgo actually begins in August - on August 23, so there are 2 more. My aunt, who recently had a stroke and is recovering, had a birthday on August 24th and my father's birthday is August 28th. He's also deceased. And then there's another one. A cellist I knew. I accompanied him in the seventies. Maybe 1974 or 1975. I don't really remember how we met. But I remember taking food or money to him up in the Bronx when he had either Hepatitis or a bad case of Mononucleosis. I held whatever it was out to him, he opened the door a crack and then I left. It was after he recovered that he had asked me to be his accompanist. I didn;t become his girlfriend but I did sleep with him occasionally. I think he had a real thing for me but the feeling wasn't mutual. Consequently, we ended up in quite a few arguments. Even when we were in Detroit for his concert we ended up haveing a huge tiff. The concert was reviewed and I think it was more than favorable, considering how much we were at odds. I'll call him Earl. And I think the fact that I wasn't smitten with him upset him and he used to be nasty to me as a result. It was never real physical abuse but it could have gone into that territory. He would try to physically control me though. We'd be walking and he'd put his hand on the back of my neck - tight. Or put his arm around me - tight. He would always get me in a vise. And I was always bucking against this. I know we did have sex but I don't think it was a regular thing. It could have only been once or twice. And that was also probably the reason for his wanting to control me. He was tall, thin but solid, very smart, witty, wore glasses, dressed very well, was neat and well groomed and loved bean pie. And yes, he was a good musician. At the time he was more prominent in musical circles than I and was probably up and coming as a young black cellist. He had studied with Pablo Casals as well as Mstislav Rostropovich. In fact, I remember attended a Rostropovich concert at Lincoln Center with him. I think our relationship ended after the Detroit concert and my only link with him was a fellow composer, conductor who lived in my neighborhood. I would see him in passing over the years and he would ask if I'd seen "Earl" and/or tell me what Earl was doing. It came to pass the Earl may have had a nervous breakdown. At any rate, he left New York and went home, to a nearby Eastern city. I've never seen him to this day, however, I believe he's recovered and is teaching music at a biblical university. I often wonder if he married and whether he had any children. It appears that Earl also played with Duke Ellington, Miles Davis and the New York Philharmonic orchestra.

I don't know where this came from or why.

The United Nations had a conference this week. All week and it just so happened I had to be in midtown. I went to 46th and Vanderbilt to the Fed Ex Kinko's to get the visuals done for my CD. Yesterday I went and took the C train downtown to 50th Street and 8th Avenue. Tried to get a cab crosstown, because I thought it would be faster but couldn't get a cab. The bus came so of course I got on. Got off at 50th Street and 5th Avenue. By Saks 5th. I just remembered this. Well 2 things. I went to sit down in the 2-seaters on my left as I'm facing the back of the bus. I was going to sit down behind a black guy and his daughter - I would guess she was his daughter. Why not. Just as I was about to sit down they both got up and surprise, surprise. I don't know what you would call him. I don't think he was a dwarf. But maybe he was. He had a normal torso and then these very short legs. He almost looked like those people you see on "carts"? that have no legs. But he had legs. He was probably as short, or tall, as his daughter.

So I have a block or 2 to go before I get off. I'm thinking to get off at 5th Avenue because I miscalculate where Vanderbilt is. It's after Madison not before. Anyway. There's a man 2 seats in front of me, on my left, in the one-seaters. And I see his wallet on the floor by him. I yelled out to him about his wallet and he woke up. I think he had fallen asleep. He picked up his wallet, thanked me, sort of looked through it but kept it in his hands. And I could see that in another few minutes he would be falling asleep again and his wallet would be on the floor again. So I called out to him to put his wallet in his pocket, or to put it away. He realized and said, oph yeah, and put it in his pocket, which he did with some difficulty. There were already some things in the pocket. The pocket being on the side of his pants. After putting his wallet away he got up and sat on the front seat, on the same side as myself. I kind of felt sorry for him. I looked to see if he had a ring on. Maybe he had been married at one time and was now alone. But I didn't see a ring. Then it was time for me to get off. He got up to get off also, only he got out the front door and I got out the back.
I should have name this Freaky Thursday, cause I've been writing about yesterday, not today.

Almost midnight. I've just returned to writing on a daily basis (as of Monday evening) and I'm trying this out to see where it leads me. Somehow I'm stalling. I read an article by Annie Dillard on Monday evening entitled Write Till You Drop, which is what I'd like to be my motto.

So I'm at work. I work at a law firm and I get paid as a word processor. Because I work at night and just coincidentally, I don't
really have my own workstation. I work in a Center where ther are 6 stations, plus one for the night supervisor. The people that work in the day, if they're on staff, do; and there are a couple of people at night who for some reason do. There is a computer I gravitate towards and usually sit at but it's not mine and I can be bumped at a moment's notice. Pack up your stuff and move. It's quite frustrating. And that's what happened this evening. I walked in and a new hire, who does a different kind of work, in the room behind mine was sitting at the computer where I usually sit. And ironically, I'm not allowed to sit in the room behind me. It's a long story but I wanted to mention this here because I couldn't really mention it at work. I was fried for quite some time. I had "new input" to do but I jut wanted to keep looking behind me and glare at this person. it's a little petty but I have no control here and I get jerked around a lot.

I bought a book over the weekend, "A WHOLE LIFE'S WORK" by Lewis Richmond. He's a Buddhist. Actually I'm a Buddhist also. I chant Nam-yo-ho-renge-kyo. Only chanting nam-yo-ho-renge-kyo is called daimoku. And the practice requires one to say morning and evening prayers, which includes chanting daimoku. This is called Gongyo. And honestly I usually don't do Gongyo twice a day. Sometimes I go for days without even doing Gongyo at all. But yesterday I did morning and evening gongyo and today before work I did morning gongyo. I leave work early in the morning and when I get home I just want to plop. Yesterday I did evening gongyo before I went to work. Anyway, writing every day, doing morning and evening gongyo, taking vitamins regularly - especially so I can have more energy. These are regimens I need to be doing regularly. Like clockwork.

One of my dreams is to be published. Or even to really finish a creative endeavor - like writing. But I didn't finish about WORK. I'm at this work not because I love what I do. I'm earning a living. Getting a paycheck. Getting health insurance. Being invested. But I'm trying to look at "working" here from a spiritual and positive way. I want to be out of here earning my living - working, if you will - doing one of my creative things. Or as a voiceover artist. But I'm still here. Spiritually, where I am is where I'm supposed to be. Wherever. I live in New York, not LA or Brazil and I live in an apartment, not a house; and I don't have a lover or a love life. [That was a little difficult to write]. I don't know why. It's not as if I don't know that or ...........
Anyway, I'm trying to discover why I'm still doing word processing. What is it I need to learn or do while I'm here. And then once I do it, hopefully I can move on. One of the last things I read on the train to work was (paraphrasing), "regardless of computers, etc. and our great technology, as a human, we're on a timeless journey." It's slow. It takes time to discover who we really are. So, yes, I'm trying to discover who I really am and why I'm here.

For many years I went through a depression and now I'm whole. Since January, 2004. I even took myself off of my medication. About 5 or 6 months now. But recently, it's been difficult getting up in the morning. Like pulling hen's teeth. Now that's an interesting phrase. Pulling Hen's Teeth. Could even be a title. And I have things going on that I was excited about and suddenly...........
Where's the excitement. Why don't I want to get up and do stuff. It was very scary. So while I was out on Sunday evening, early, I went to B&N. Up the escalator to the religion, spirituality, new age area. I was just being led I think, and I got 3 books. One on Meditating, a book on the Four Noble Truths by the Dalai Llama with beautiful pictures, and this book on Work. Which is about more than work.

12:53. My supervisor just played me some music. A Hasidic Rabbi that does Reggae. I'll have to find the site and put it here. He's really quite good. And besides "writing til you drop" - I like to use til with only one "L" - Annie Dillard suggested writing about what you love. And your own astonishment. About winter in summer. I've started this for me, yet I feel as tho I'm writing as if someone is reading it. As if I'm writing TO someone. I guess that's a good thing. Annie also suggested writing as if we were writing for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients.

SNOW.
It falls from the sky.
It's white, it's wet.
It can be solid yet it dissolves
It's cold.
It has infinite patterns

My own astonishment. Pulling Hen's Teeth

On Monday I was writing about one of my loves. goodlooking men. Snow. I thought about writing a spiritual essay on snow. How do I do that. There's this theory that whatever you think you can do or want to do. You can. So right now I want to end this and go find an essay that someone else did, because I don't feel capable of writing an essay on snow. Like Ian McEwen or Auden. Or Blake or Frost. And that's crazy.

Lola never used to hate summer. But now, especially this summer, snow couldn't come fast enough. Doesn't sound very spiritual. See my critic is out big time. I wrote something sort of funny today about my critic. Anytime winter. That's nice. Anytime Winter. It astonishes me, but "Summer is a perfect time to be thinking about winter" doesn't really. My critic. I started thinking about being in a room with my critic. What kind of room? There was a desk in the corner. Maybe more like a table. I was writing there. No, I wasn't there, but near the table was my critic in a chair. I had my critic bound up with thick rope in this chair. Mouth duct-taped. But the eyes could see. The eyes could see that I was writing and really enjoying myself. And my critic was furious. And then I began reading to my critic what I had written.

About 3 months ago I was going home on the subway, the A train at 2:30 AM, and shortly after I sat down a man a little far away from me got up and came over to me, sat down right across from me and began talking. I think I might have been absorbed in music from my Walkman. He waasn't that well groomed but