BAMboozled » julie

Aimee

julie — Tue, 18 May 2004 01:00:00 +0000

The intoxicating fumes of strongly brewed coffee filled the
small,dimly lit cafe. People sat about in twos or threes chatting and
in the corner sat a slim girl dressed in black writing feverishly in a dark
red, leather bound notebook. She wasn’t paying attention to anyone and
didn’t look up as another girl her age walked into the coffee shop and
ordered a double expresso.

After picking up her drink, the second girl stood in the middle of
the cafe looking about for an empty seat. She spotted the girl in the corner
and walked up to the table and surly and authoritatively. The girl cleared
her throat. The writer looked up, her quiet hazel eyes confused and
inquisitive. For a moment their eyes locked, determined blue and wide hazel
stared at one another. Time stood still as soul mate encountered soul mate.
The memories of the centuries spent together flooding back and disappearing
again. They had been pulled apart by the wild cycle of death and rebirth and
now they were re-encountering each other for the first time.

“Hi, my name is Samantha,” were the first words spoken after a pause
spanning a minute and a millennium. “There weren’t any tables left so I was
wondering if I could sit here,” the bolder girl continued. “I hope I’m not
disturbing your writing,” she said as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Oh … Samantha …” the other girl responded slowly, cautiously seeing
how the name sounded to her ear, feeling how it rolled, smoothly, off of her
tongue. Liking what she heard and felt, she continued. “My name is Aimee.
Don’t worry you’re not disturbing me. I’ve probably been sitting here for
way too long,” she said as she massaged cramped fingers

They sat there intrigued by each other. Tasting the coffee and the memories
in the air. And no one in that coffee shop noticed the historic event that
happened there that day.

Roof

julie — Mon, 11 Feb 2002 01:00:00 +0000

I stand on the edge of my roof
Like a man without principles,
Stout and stocky and uncompromising,
The bull blood of a teenage male.
From my vantage point I can see
What color the neighbor’s trim is painted and
That my mother’s daffodils are coming in.
My whole fucking life laid before me.
I like to come up here every once in a while,
To be a little closer to the sun,
To feel the sea wind.
I pace at the edge of my roof, watching the San Francisco hills roll away…

Haiku for the New Year

julie — Tue, 05 Feb 2002 01:00:00 +0000

let’s face it people
this year was miserable
no need to explain

other daily news:
i am still sorrowful, but
therapy is god

The Ocean

julie — Wed, 02 Jan 2002 01:00:00 +0000

Close to three-fourths of the earth’s surface is covered by oceans, a vastexpanse of blue that has boggled the minds and stirred the imaginations ofhundreds of human beings throughout time. The largest ocean on planet Earthis the Pacific – a word meaning calm and peaceful. There is an old adageabout the Pacific Ocean, they say it has no memory. I would have to agree.I have lived next to the ocean all of my life. I have fond memories ofbathing in the Black Sea in Odessa as a young child and now live severalshort blocks from Ocean Beach. I find that as long as I’’m near an ocean I amsomehow calm and at ease. I cannot spend all of my time, precious as it is,on the beach. Life and my duties constantly call me away, but when the realworld becomes too stressful for me I come to the ocean and I let it erase mymemory.

Going to the Pacific Ocean is a special event for me, and I usually setaside a significant portion of my day whenever I go there. I set out in thelate morning with a bottle of water and a thick sweater, which provideswarmth against the strong ocean winds. Walking west down my street I take aleft and then a right onto prominent Sloat Boulevard. Westward again acrossa bridge that hangs over Sunset Boulevard and the place where a speedingdriver killed my grandmother less than a year ago. At this point in myjourney I usually slow down, my eyes searching for the little bouquet offlowers my mother leaves every Sunday at that spot, the words of theMourner’s Kaddish (the traditional Jewish Prayer said for the dead)automatically enter my head.

I walk on, and as I break free of the line of trees that surrounds SunsetBoulevard the first blast of the ocean’s wind hits my face. Onwards past therows of sun soaked and wind beaten wooden houses with their continuousconcrete front yards that are so typical of the Lower Sunset, I walk downpast the abandoned bus stops of the eighteen and twenty-three, past SloatGarden Supply with its withered greenery, and past the faded head of theever-so-famous Doggie Diner where hot dogs are just $1.25. Then past the newapartment buildings whose garish bright colors clash with the matching greyof the sky and the road.

After the apartment building I am met with the four lanes of the GreatHighway. Walking cautiously across, I don’’t let my eyes stray from the roabeneath my feet, leaving myself with the taste of impatient anticipation. Myeyes remain pointed downward as I plod up the embankment of sand as though Iwere walking towards a great temple or a monument to an awesome god. I watchevery slow painstaking step until I am finally at the crest of the bluff,only then do I let my eyes flick open, only then do I let myself be engulfedby the majesty and grandeur of the Pacific Ocean.

My eyes dilate, their color switching from green, the color ofpensiveness, to blue the color of peace. I scale down the bluff and walkalong the beach, my feet kicking up small mounds of sand. I scout out myfavorite comfortable spot, a good distance from any other people, and sitdown with my back against a sand dune.

I sit mesmerized, in a trance. I look into the waters of the ocean, watchingthe colors tumble over each other. The salt of the brine nips at my lips.The crash of the waves and the rush of the wind fill my ears with the soundheard by thousands around the world, a sound that has been enduring forcenturies and will continue to do so for centuries to come. I look out ontothe leagues of water stretching like blanket as far as the eye can see. Thewaves come in and out, governed by the laws of the moon and imbued with thesame rhythm that has captivated humans for centuries.

The ocean, the source and sustenance of all life, has remained the samesince the beginning of time, its’ might revered since the dawn of humanity.While we humans go about our daily business, while we fight our battles andwar, the Pacific Ocean endures. That is why they say it has no memory. It isa pillar of strength and hope and thousands have looked across its’ endlesswater dreaming of faraway lands and a better life.

For me the Pacific Ocean brings peace and confidence. The ocean pulls me in,takes my memory, takes my worries and washes them away, washes me clean. Theocean renews, calms and reassures me. Coming to the ocean, for me, is likecoming to something that is as intimately familiar as my home or an oldfriend.

Take on me

julie — Sun, 16 Dec 2001 01:00:00 +0000

i feel the pain of the chollo cactus collision. when i was in joshua tree with my 8th grade class i was the first in my homeroom to brush up against one and those things hurt on the way out! but by the end abouthalf the people in our group had had an encounter with the prickly beasts including one girl who just stuck her hand in a cactus to “see how it felt” just thought i’d share

happy not being in school or at work everyone

San Francisco Perspectives

julie — Sun, 16 Sep 2001 01:00:00 +0000

Somewhere on the western edge of North America, covered by a thick moistlayer of insulating fog, lies a city that some would say is unlike anyother. Surrounded by water, on a peninsula, which sometimes feels like theedge of the world, San Francisco is home to about 800,000 individuals. Likemany American cities, San Francisco is alive and vibrant, but unlike therest of the country, it possesses a mentality and population, which iscompletely unique.
My love affair with San Francisco began in December of 1989, when Iimmigrated, with my family, from Odessa. I remember seeing the illuminatedcity skyline through the window of an airplane that had brought me half wayacross the world. I remember being filled with awe, amazement andexcitement. Even then I somehow knew that I was coming to a place that wouldnot only shape me as a person, but also shelter me and protect me from someof the harshness of a typical urban life.
Our first house in San Francisco was in the heart of the Sunset, aneighborhood populated in the 1950′s by mostly middle class white families,but now filled with multitudes of mostly Asian immigrants. My parents,coming from the extremely homogeneous environment of communist Russia,experienced great discomfort at having to share their living space withpeople so utterly different from them. The diversity of the Sunset, and ofSan Francisco as a whole, was quite a shock to them.
For me, at least in the beginning, it was a much smoother transition. ThoughI knew no English, nothing about my multicolored and multi-culturalkindergarten class really frightened me. I was mostly in awe of all that wasgoing on around me. In those early days, San Francisco for me was alandscape of aging, sun-bleached wooden houses, constant fog, and newadventures.
When it came time for me to go to Middle School, my parents opted forprivate school in order to give me a fuller and more developed education. Iwas sent to the rather pompous Katherine Delmar Burke’s School, a smallall-girls school. It was there that for the first time I experienced, notculture shock, but discrimination. Though over the five years that we hadbeen in America my parents had made enough to send me, with financial aid,to a private school, I was one of the poorest kids there. I entered into adifferent world, where my peers owned million dollar homes and ranches inthe Napa Valley, and status was assigned by the value of your clothes andaccessories. Not all the girls succumbed to this elitist attitude; therewere a handful that came from modest means, like me, but in order to bepopular in any way you had to know the right people and wear the right,expensive, things. My years at Burke’s weren’t all bad by any stretch of theimagination, for I received a solid education and I got to experiencethings, like outdoor ed trips to Yosemite and the Southern Californiadesert, that my friends in public school never could. But I learned whatmoney could do to a family and to an individual, and I started to learn whatI did and did not want to become.
The summer after graduating from Burke’s I discovered two moreneighborhoods of San Francisco. Asserting my independence, I boldlyventured into the downtown Financial District. There, wandering through thestreets, dwarfed by the massive high rises, I rediscovered some of the awethat filled me when I was a tiny 5-year-old. Downtown was both appealing andrepulsive. The skyscrapers attested to the power and grandeur of modern man,while the ubiquitous businessmen and homeless people attested to humanity^ñsmonotony and inability to provide for all.
That summer I also discovered the Haight-Ashbury. Once the center of thehippie revolution, this bustling six block stretch was now occupied byvagrants, drug addicts, cheap restaurants, and incredible second handclothing stores. On the weekends, the streets were filled with eccentric andcolorful characters ranging from good-looking women in leather bondagepants, to unwashed young men begging for money in cow costumes. In theHaight, I not only discovered an affinity for those on the fringe, butgained an awesome and cheap new wardrobe as well.
When I began to attend a large public high school, I became awareof two new neighborhoods of San Francisco ^… The Castro and TheMission. In ninth grade with the realization of the fullness of my ownsexuality I began to be fascinated by the Castro ^… the main lesbian and gaydistrict of the city. It was there that I encountered and embraced aflourishing subculture, volunteering at the Lesbian and Gay Film Festival,going to Pride Week events with my girlfriend, and meeting young people atLYRIC (lavender youth recreation and information center). And it was thattime that I developed my undying love for sushi, spending many a happydollar at Osaka Sushi on Castro and Market. That year I found a strangesense of connection and community that drew me to the Castro again andagain. Knowing that at any time day or night, the Castro would be there,opening its arms to me, was a great comfort, and many times I felt more atease in the Castro than I did anywhere else in the city, including my ownhome.
Recently I have also been venturing into the Mission, infamous forits gang activity and yummy Mexican food. There are several reasonsfor my exploration of the mainly Hispanic area. Going to an enormousand diverse public high school has given me the opportunity to meetand befriend Latino kids who live in the neighborhood. My visits totheir homes are always a cultural and culinary adventure. Not heeding myparents advice about dangerous drug deals and gang warfare, my friends and Ioften walk around the Mission at night, reveling in the loud drum and basscoming from the bars and dance clubs, the smells of refried beans from thenondescript tacquerias, and the sight of others like us, wandering around,enjoying all the spectacle of the street.
Another reason for my journeying to The Mission is the various jobsI^ñve had the past few years. The rapid growth of what are commonlyknown as “yuppies” and “dot-comers” has pushed many artists andcompanies out of downtown and into the seedy South of Market/Mission Area.To get to work at The Bay Area Video Coalition, Alternative Design Studios,or the KQED offices I have to take the 33 bus through the heart of theMission, all the while getting a kick out of watching the colorful sceneryas I pass by. My trips to The Mission have taught me that rumors about adangerous area or neighborhood, though not unfounded, are often grosslysensationalized and blown out of proportion, and that underneath the sadlyprevalent poverty that is often found in social enclaves, the Mission is avibrant community, full of life and emotion, that has much to offer not onlyme, but the rest of San Francisco as well.
To say that San Francisco is diverse would be a laughable understatement.San Francisco posses a distinct spirit and individuality that some peopleonly dream of. In the midst of all of this is a widespread tolerance thatamazes me every single day. Whether it’s a meeting of the Boy Scouts, aGreen Party rally, a midnight mass at Grace Cathedral, the Gay Pride Parade,or the International Film Festival, San Francisco has it all, and it^ñs opento everyone.
I also believe that San Francisco has a degree of safety that other citiesjust do not have. There are very few places in the city where I feel unsafe,and none of my close friends nor I have ever been mugged or assaulted. Sadlyin this day and age the presence of fear for one^ñssafety and livelihood in an urban landscape is inevitable, but I think thatliving in San Francisco I’ve been able to avoid some of the harshestrealities of city life.
If I told you that I’ve seen all of San Francisco I’d be lying. There areneighborhoods ^… Bayview/Hunter’s Point, Viscitaion Valley ^… that I have notyet explored, but I still have time to do so. My task for the time that Ihave left to spend in this amazing city is to explore all the nooks andcrannies I have yet to discover, and learn more of the city’s secrets andmysteries, so that I can carry them, like preci
ous pebbles, with me on myjourney to college.

Some Time After Midnight

julie — Tue, 24 Jul 2001 01:00:00 +0000

Somewhere a boy writes black text on black paper.
He’s sure it was easier being 14.
Sometimes you just want to see how long you can go in between breaths, hesays, Its no big deal.
He kissed her and bit her tongue until she choked on her own blood
He shoved his fingers inside of her and opened her up for the all the world tosee, shaking, shiny and wet.
He needed to remember it just to be able to sleep at night
Remember those people who laugh just a little too loudly at parties, heasked, I want to be just like them.

Serenity is gods joke with you.
Its like asking a stripper who her father is.
This is not going to go away.

Wind

julie — Tue, 22 May 2001 01:00:00 +0000

The wind scatters across the pavementmaking me think that there’s someone behind meBut I know it’s just another one of my shadows and I walk on, singing.You know, life is a funny ever-present thing and it’s hard for meto remember that I’m actually living right now.It seems to me that everyone I know is reaching for melike I’m some capricious moth flying straight towards a flameAnd maybe I am, but the truth isI’m just as oblivious as that moth may be, or maybeI’m just imagining things again.

I’ve lost the ability to speak.Yes, my silvery smooth tongue has slipped through my fingers.It ran away while I wasn’t watchingI never imagined myself to be this weakNow, I find solace in flowers,making sure that I capture their delicate beauty on filmjust in case they, too, decide to betray me.I never stop shaking inside anymore.

I’m not looking for pity.I’m not asking you to answer my questions or solve my problemsThe truth is, that you, whoever you are,probably can’t do a damn thing for meI’m just asking you to wait,and sometimes waiting is the hardest thing to doI’m asking you to wait for me with open armsUntil I decide who I am againBut please wait.Until this passes, for,This too shall pass.

Genetic Engineering

julie — Mon, 21 May 2001 01:00:00 +0000

Genetic Engineering: The Final Frontier In February of 1997 Dolly, the first successful mammalian clone, was born in Edinburgh, Scotland. After the extensive news coverage of this momentous event, the study of genetic engineering and recombinant DNA was thrown into the public spotlight.From that day until this, peoples, governments and organizations throughout the world have heatedly discussed the issues surrounding genetic modification and engineering. Over the past several years there has been loud public outcry against such experimental procedures because of the possibility of deadly outcomes. Even though not much is known about genetic engineering in its many forms, this significant discovery has the boundless potential to improve our lives It is true that we are just on the brink of discovering all of the dangers and benefits of genetic engineering and a lot of important information still remains unknown. But instead of seeing the immense potential benefits of this mind-boggling discovery, the American public -fed on science fiction novels, horror stories of environmental disaster, a”growing mistrust of science” (Nelkin 1), and the fear of the unknown automatically reject this god-sent breakthrough. Even though the risks are great, the beneficial possibilities are endless. Genetic engineering should be allowed to progress because of the potential benefits for the human species outweigh the consequences. For example, it will be possible for cows to be genetically engineered to produce pharmaceuticals in their milk. This means that vaccination shots and pills would become obsolete. Babies could be brought up immune to diseases by simply being fed this milk. Imagine the impact on the quality of life for people who live in third world countries like Somalia Whole countries could be made healthy and immune to disease. Malnutrition, a common problem in many third world countries “where impoverished peoples rely on a single crop such as rice for the main staple of their diet” (Whitman 3), could also possibly be cured with genetic engineering. Rice does not provide all of the nutrients that the body needs and in these countries other food is very scarce. If rice or bread, another major staple, are genetically engineered to contain additional necessary vitamins and minerals then we could go a long way towards wiping out malnutrition all over the world. But perhaps the area that stands to benefit the most from genetic engineering is medicine. Organ transplants and cosmetic procedures, like silicone breast implants, that may cause disease would soon cease to exist. Instead of using materials foreign to the body for such procedures, doctors will be able to manufacture bone, fat, connective tissue, or cartilage that match the patient’s tissues exactly, thus ensuring that his/her immune system will not reject the needed tissue. Victims of terrible accidents that deform the face and body would be able to have their features repaired with new, safer technology. Limbs for amputees would be regenerated and anyone would be able to have their appearance altered to their satisfaction without the risk of leaking silicone gel into their bodies, or the other problems that occur with present day plastic surgery. Because genetic engineering will insure acceptance by the body, those in desperate need of organ and other transplants will one day have their prayers answered by cloning. Using one’s own cells to grow whole organs will eliminate the need for organ donors and waiting lists. Skin, brain cells, hearts, lungs, livers, and kidneys may all be produced. Those who suffer from spinal injuries, like Christopher Reeve, might one day be able to get out of their wheelchairs and walk again. Genetic engineering also has the power to cure infertility, which a painful reality that many couples throughout the world face. “The current options for infertile couples are inefficient, painful, expensive, and heartbreaking.”(Human Cloning Foundation 1). Many couples run out of time and money without successfully having children. According to the Human Cloning Foundation,less than 10 percent of the current infertility treatments are successful. Genetic engineering could make it possible for many moreinfertile couples to have children than ever before by boosting success rates through nuclear transfer of sperm from the father into the mother’s egg, thus creating a beautiful unique child. Even with all these miraculous benefits, many people throughout the world feel that genetic engineering is absolutelypreposterous and extremely unethical. Such opinions are understandable,considering that the majority of people are always going to be afraid of the unknown. Genetic engineering is an extremely new aspect of our technological research and should, at all costs, be allowed to develop further. The immense possible benefits from genetic engineering are endless and should not be over looked. Yet, some people still wonder whether there “are some kinds of information leading to some sorts of knowledge that human beings are really better off not having” (Thomas 2).Many arguments offered against genetic engineering have been those such as “we would be playing the role of God” and “it is power that humans cannot handle.” At one time, birth control pills, in-vitro fertilization,and heart transplants were criticized on the same grounds. Throughout time people have always been afraid of new technology and the power it might possess. When the car was first invented some contemporary scientists were convinced that the human body could not survive at speeds as high as twenty miles per hour. Genetic engineering, then, is a tool that humans can use to cure many of their problems. The possibilities are endless if only we do not let ourselves be restricted by those who are afraid of the unknown.
Works Cited Whitman, Deborah B. “Generically Modified Foods: Harmful or Helpful?” April 2000.
http://www.csa.com/hottopics/gmfood/oview.html (25 Oct. 2000).
Human Cloning Foundation. “All the reasons to clone human beings.” January 2000
http://www.humancloning.org/allthe.htm (7 Nov. 2000) Nelkin, Dorothy.
“The Grandiose Claims of Geneticists.” Chronicle of Higher Education March 3, 1993.

Fiction

julie — Thu, 17 May 2001 01:00:00 +0000

It’’s a dangerous thing when you forget how to cry, when you forget howtospeak. Dangerous when the tears are always there, waiting in thebackground.She was like that, you know. When you looked into her eyes you could seeit,that tension waiting behind her contact lenses and her corneas, thepressurethat sat beside her expensive haircut and designer clothes. Her life wasastring of dark scenes that she did not remember and the tensionthreatened tobreak with the graceful rolls of an earthquake, leaving everythingshatteredbehind.

To her he was a god. Like the tortured protagonist of a Kerouac novel, heclimbed into her dreams. His claim that his existence was tortured, hadenoughmelodrama and anxiety in it to be true. They both lived in self-imposedteenangst, except at night he wondered what the back of his head would looklikewith a bullet in it and when no one was looking she bit her lip so hardthatthe blood would flow.

She saw him once a week, on Thursdays. He’’d arrive at her doorstep,clutchinghis aching chest. It was a sort of inside joke he had with himself -runningto her house. He would push himself faster and faster, wanting to reachher sobad, and hoping all the while that his failing lungs would finally burstandlead him to oblivion. He said that all he wanted was to be left alone.Sometimes when he’’d come in, she would ignore him, transferring herangerofthe world to him because she knew he could take it. He would stand therepatiently, never looking at her, never making a sound. Sometimes, if shewaited too long he would fall asleep. Then, she would turn around andbury herface in his neck, which always smelled like chamomile and spice to her.He’’dput his arms around her and without realizing it she’’d begin to shake.Sheshook so hard they both began to move. She cried so hard she left stainsonhis shirts. He was the only person in the world she trusted, her tragicquixotic protagonist, and every week he would leave her broken and tearstreaked on her bedroom floor.

Some nights he would call her up sobbing, his quivering voice barelyaudibleover the static that plagued his phone. She would drop the nausea in herstomach and listen to him with an attention that no one else receivedfromher. She would mother him and baby him, be his sister, his slave, hiswhore,his dumping ground. She would say whatever found its way into her vocalchordsand he said that she always helped.

Sometimes late at night, she would take off all her clothing and clutch apillow to her chest with freezing, white knuckled hands, remembering whatitwas to hold him, wondering what it would be like to lose him. Sometimeslateat night, he would sit at his computer, typing until his fingers bled.Sometimes he would sit in front of a mirror until he was sure that therewerelittle bits of shiny glass embedded in his brain. He would starve himselfandnot even know it.

It was her job to remind him of the importance of food, of love, of humanwarmth and his to make her feel safe enough to finally cry. He dreamt ofmonsters at night, and she only of him. To her he was so beautiful ithurt andshe believed that in each other’ hearts they would live forever.