PS Evan is ok, his phone doesn't work in Puerto Escondido. He called his mom from Ross's phone last night. He's sunburnt and bug-eaten.



I am exhausted. But things are getting accomplished.

CHAPBOOK OUT NOW!

OUT NOW on Longshore Press



praise for Dawn in the Kaatskills:



Alleyne's attention to craft-- the way she interrogates beauty and gender and refigures loss as transformative, the way she uses the sonnet form itself to suggest both containment and possibility-- is truly impressive.



In Dawn in the Kaatskills, she renders Dame Van Winkle's incantatory calling in a voice both enraged and irresistible. I am ignited."



"
--Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon






"In these tightly written poems, Lauren K. Alleyne offers a window into the underbelly of the tale of Rip Van Winkle, told from the perspective of Van Winkle's wife, a sugar-tongued woman for whom marriage was not "happily ever after.



" In the tradition of Ann Sexton's Transformations, Alleyne's poems...reimagine and give voice to women whose strength and power are often twisted in traditional folk or fairy tales. This is a powerful addition to the canon of revisionary fairy tales. Bravo!"


--Sheryl St. Germain






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Harbingers

There was a robin at Evan's family Easter brunch. It was alive and could not fly. Had no external injuries. Was not scared of me. I picked it up and it didn't bite me, let me pet it's head, open its wings. I put it in a box while we waited for the Wildlife Center to call back with advise and info on whether they'd let us take it in. Paul suggested giving it some bread with honey, and we put the box up high so it would get a lot of sun and not be bothered by anything. When the Wildlife Center returned my call, I went out to check on it, and it was dead.



I hope Soupie's ok. I haven't heard from him since he got on the bus in Acapulco, and his phone is dead. I am assuming he just hasn't had a chance to charge it or find an internet cafe, being in such a new and exciting place, so I am not letting myself worry for a few more days. But it won't stop me from obsessively checking my various email addresses to see if he's sent anything or signed onto anything lately (he hasn't). I know he found Ross, and they got on a bus out of Acapulco. And I know Puerto Escondido is a hippy town that is pretty touristy , and yesterday was Easter which is a huge holiday there. So a few more days. I'm not worrying yet. Promise.

But if any of you out there in cyberspace talk to him, tell him to call me because a robin died in his front yard and it makes me worry.



In other news, I am going to be published in Ms. Guided, a women's travel journal. Two poems. I have a few travel essays I feel are pretty polished and ready to be sent out, but I also feel they are pretty strong pieces and with a good query letter I could get them published in something bigger, something paying, so I'm holding off until I an figure out how to write a good query letter.

Also, my publishing teacher stopped me after class and told me I am doing very well in class and it's a pleasure to have me there. I hope I don't disappoint. Lauren's chapbook looks really great, I think, and it's so well done that I want people to really know about it and want it and buy it. If anyone would like to pre-order a copy, let me know and I'll tell you where you can send the check. It's only $8, that's less than a lunch at most places.

gone baby gone

Everything is suddenly without appetite, my eyes burn. Evan says it's nice that I cry that he's leaving, or is gone. It shows that I miss him, care, love. Every noise outside reminds me of him, my ears perk like he might walk through that door, but he won't.

Last Action Hero

The other night I dreamt that The Government had taken away all the guns. I am not sure whether it was just the US gov't or the world gov't, and if they took away all the guns of The World, or just of the US. I am pretty sure the US had taken over the world government, and then took away all the guns of the world. The place had gotten too violent and this was another dumb solution. Of course it fucked up power and status because people had no legit way of protecting their property. So The Church (Catholic, I assume, given my upbringing), knowing power, status, and regime better than any other organization in the world, gave everyone knives. This backfired, since basically all of the world could use more cash, and only a few people have sufficient funds to get by in life. Tons were killed.


Where my dream actually starts is a prison bus getting let out into the streets. there's classic bad girl movie star babe wearing a tank top and ripped with muscles etc., a bit dirty in the face, steps off followed by a few others. She announces that they are prisoners and they don't mean any harm, they are unarmed, and wish no violence to befall them and so are making their position known. Of course they all get beaten and stabbed to death. In retrospect I believe they may have been some rich people who were made prisoners for their own protection.


Anyway I go inside this big building and Evan is there with me. He sort of fills me in on what is going on, since I had apparently been traveling in some remote place and wasn't privy to any of this. There is an announcement by a woman regarding some sort of contest. A race of sorts. There have to be 600,000 people at a certain place in 24 hours or something like that, and there is a huge cash reward. People start going nuts, and Evan tells me to watch myself because it was about to get violent. He had no knife on him, and I didn't either for some reason, maybe because I'd flown? But anyway, we are in a small hallway waiting for an elevator, which has a big rugged platform in front of it, and a guy comes up and asks to get on the elevator with us and says he promises not to stab us, and Evan says no way, and then the elevator comes and the guys jumps in front of us and gets on. Then we are waiting for the next one and this guy comes up and sees Evan's sweatshirt and says, "hey is that a Void pin?" and I get up in front of the elevator so we can get on this one this time and Evan tells the guy that even though he can read punk logos doesn't mean he's trustworthy, and the elevator comes and the guy pushes Evan and gets on with me just as the door closes, and then holds up a knife to my breast plate and just as he is about to really dig it in, the doors open and there's this incredible light and the guy says something to me I couldn't understand or else just don't remember, and leaves. I get our and try to adjust my eyes and realize I am outside at an other plane of existence and hope that Evan is ok and hasn't been killed and wonder how long I should wait for him before running to my protection. That's when I woke up.


When I fell back to sleep someone gave me a knife, and then the dog jumped on me and I woke up again. There were a few more moments of this dream carrying further but I don't know what happened.

dating games

Lat night I dreamt that I was real sick and staying at Steve's my uncle through Patty. Amanda was living with him but she was younger, not married or in the army or with a kid or anything like that. The house was huge, with a floor each for Amanda, Patty, and Steve; Trish wasn't in the dream because she had moved out, and Patty wasn't in the dream because she's passed away. Anyway I was sick and trying to make food and Steve kept telling me to make omelets and eggs and stuff like that because it would make me happy and feel better. Then he said I should take a shower and brought me to Patty's shower. Everything was really new and fancy, not really their style. I got frustrated and left and had Major Tom with me, and we were in Boston, and suddenly there was casting for a dating show sort of along the lines of Singled Out but not, and a bunch of friends were there and i remembered that this was something that went on every year in Boston and I always loved it, and Major Tom and I went into this warehouse place and they separated the girls from the boys, and there was this other boy there who had a dog and we were both trying to hide our dogs. I got mad because he was standing with the girls, right next to me, and Iknew Major Tom was going to freak out and cause a scene and we'd get kicked out, but he just nipped a little and the boy smiled and I woke up. He had a pug with blue healer type markings.

AHOY

Submarine
, for Laura Nelson





I hope it was a hard splash. A cold one—

even for New England docks. I hope it felt like rain

on stage at an outside amphitheatre,

like a worthy opponent.



I hope it felt like flight, vertigo, snow in June,

that you saw some god upside-down and vulnerable

right before you hit the sea. I hope you jumped

sideways, shouting obscenities like, "man overboard!"

to the gulls, and I hope they flocked to your wave.



I want to think it felt like sinking

into wood, absorption into a redwood tree.

I hope you could hear the crack.

Tell me about the voices you heard

going down, if all those other friends came

to life to see you plummet. It is miserable

thinking it was on purpose but still

I hope it was no accident—



That the summer bridge, the train tracks

were all planned, the oversized booze

and your favorite red shirt, all planned

and marked on some calendar tucked

in the breast pocket. I want to think it stung



but didn't hurt, that it was all crash,

splash, bullseye on the moon's path,

falling, never hitting bottom.

day at the museum

Last night I dreamt that Harrison, Carmen, and I were at a museum. I remember we were goofing off a lot, and I did something weird but I don't remember what, something with the security guard. I went over to see my friends and they had stolen this huge gem out of a vault and we all had to run away. We hid for a while behind a car in the parking lot, and the security guard caught Carmen, but instead of arresting her or using her as collateral to get Harrison and I, he said he had made a poor WANTED poster for her and that he needed more accurate information. As we had run off, it wasn't proper procedure to capture us himself, but someone else must now, and then bring us through the investigation process. Harrison explained to me from behind the car that the security at this museum was sub par and they will probably be fired, there'd been talks already. It wasn't necessarily the guards themselves, but the regulated level of security they are asked to provide. Their tier, so to speak. Anyway, Carmen was let free and we all ran away.



Strange.

This is what it's sometimes like to bump into people from highschool, college, etc.  You're either holding the gallon of PCP or you're working at "Blinko's." 

I submitted two essays to a literary journal yesterday, and three poems to a contest today.  By Thursday I must submit another essay to another journal.  Hopefully something will get picked up.  Friday I have an appointment with Sheryl to discuss Oaxaca and possible credits.  I feel on top of my game.  Lauren's chapbook is done and edited and everything, I'm just waiting for Sheryl's blurb and Lauren's photograph.  I got an A on my midterm project.  I've realized I want to be the best at everything.  Not to be better than my peers, I want them to be the best too.  But I want people to look at what I do and think, "Holy crap, rattail girl did that?"  International fame.  Historic recognition.  Cultural peace through my art and actions.  Is that too much to ask?

Shakes is in town.  Last weekend was a rare occasion of actually socializing with friends (not Shakes, though I did come home from work to hear him scratching my records in the living room, which was a wonderful noise because I knew he was in town and that it was likely him breaking everything) and baking pies and sitting in my room with everyone trying not to seem as lame and crotchety as I am nodding off on my bed while they chat away at a normal pace for the time of night.  It is so good to have such great people in my life as Evan, Leanne, Emily, Shakes, and my roommates.  All of them make my world so much easier and much more pleasant to wake up to, especially on days when it is grey and snowy outside and I have to ride my bike to work.  At least I can wake up and know there are such cool people sleeping in their own (or someone else's) beds somewhere nearby.

Yesterday was Evan's Gramma Dee's birthday (77th and maybe she'll kill me for posting that, maybe she won't, I think it's pretty rad and anyway not all that old, Nana Ollie is 86, almost 87 now right?  and still chasing old men up trees).  So I went to work with Soupie and the dog.  Major Tom made a new friend, which brings his friend tally up to what, eight?  He's not very popular.  But he is great once that initial introduction is over with when he tries to bite the other dog in the neck.  Anyway we left Major Tom at Evan's mom's house and caravanned over to Dee's.  Details aside, she liked the pie I made her, or pretended to anyway, and filled Jodie's car up with more crap than you'd like to believe, the whole trunk and most of the back seat was completely full.  We of course had to take some home, so if anyone would like some fudge brownie-flavored coffee (right, coffee that's flavored like fudge brownie, not the other way around) or 100-calorie granola bars or microwave cheese dip or "cereal cookies" or salsa or mustard just let me know.  If you want silk poinsettas or "lava cake" or almond syrup or french toast flavored coffee (yeah you read that right) or play-dough or hawaiian food glaze that takes like vomit, just let Soupie know and he'll arrange with his mother, I'm sure she'd be pleased.

Senegalese Dreams

I don't have much time to write, but I feel like this has been period of my life where I've actually been doing things. I just realized it the other day, that I have for once been thoroughly productive and on top of my game. Lauren's chapbook is ready to go to print once Sheryl sends me her blurb and Lauren's photographer sends me a photo. I've filed my taxes. I have been working on applying for a Fulbright Grant to study religion as boundary in Senegal and the surrounding nations. I have been touching up on my Spanish in preparation for Oaxaca, and in fact am studying soon with Neil, every Tuesday at 6:30 He will teach my Spanish and I will cook him dinner. I have a few packages to send out to writing contests. Things are good.



This morning, with a bang-over from last night's show, charging like a bull into bullet belts and walls of people that were surprisingly thin and very close to concrete walls, I rode my bike to campus to meet with Drs. Sene and Ayuninjam to discuss my project proposal, what to expect, where to get started, etc. While I do not know quite enough to have questions formulated just yet, they have presented themselves as excellent and willing resources to help me in my nagivation through information to create a polished proposal concept. They've lent me books (some of them in French and out of print, which is quite an honor and also horrifying) and printed me out some information left over from classes they'd taught, and most importantly (or at least as importantly) they wished me "bon courage" and have faith that this is a worthy topic of research that will be welcome in the region in which I am studying.



This also helps with my nonfiction class, which for spring break presented the assignment of reading a book that expanded our viewpoint. I have been reading the Moon tourbook on Oaxaca, but I feel these classics on Senegalese culture and history will be a fine addition. Here are the titles, I'll link what I can:

L'Islam et les Pratiques Cultuelles, by Muohamadou Makhtar Thiam

L'Exil Au Gabon, periode coloniale 1895-1902, 'sue les Traces de Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, by Cheikh Abdoulaye Dieye

Que Saise-je? Le Senegal et la Gambie, by Hubert Deschamps

Conversations with Ogotemmeli, and Introduction to Dogon Religoius Ideas, by Marcel Greaule. Here is a link to a briefing on Dogons.

African Leaders: State of Africa Report 2005, by Boston University African Presidential Archives and Research Center



Just looking at some of these getting my brain thinking in French again. Which is confusing when I've been trying to think in Spanish for quite some time now, to no success. I am excited and happy, and feel like my life is just on a constant uplift, dispite the downswings that occasionally take place. And for the most part, those don't even happen to me, just to people I love. I wrote a poem last night, a eulogy for Laura. It felt good to finally say something.



Wednesday was Evan and my one year anniversary. Truthfully it isn't but it was the day of the punk show he helped me set up, and as had a sort of date, even though we hung out regularly with mutual interest before that. This is at least something with a date attached to it. We have out wedding anniversary coming up at the end of April, which Evan says he considers more our anniversary (weirdo) but he will be in Mexico then so maybe we will celebrate on May 2nd when I arrive in Acapulco. Anniversaries are weird, anyway. I think they are great, just as I think birthdays are great, but that doesn't keep me from remembering dates, holidays, special occasions. I'm a horrible personal journalist.



my armpits are itchy. I think it's time to shave them. Drink more coffee. Eat yer cereal with a knife.