Who Am I, Dr. Phil?

I took this Dr. Phil, Human Relations Department, personality test twice. Many questions offered two answers that seemed to both be appropriate to my habits. Therefore, I took the test twice, just to see what the differences would be.

The first time I got a 53

The score description goes on to state: Others see you as an exciting, highly volatile, rather impulsive personality; a natural leader, one who's quick to make decisions, though not always the right ones. They see you as bold and adventuresome, someone who will try anything once; someone who takes chances and enjoys an adventure. They enjoy being in your company because of the excitement you radiate.

The second time I got a 43

This time, the score description states: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.

Hmmm... that appears to be pretty different.

So... who am I now?

How do you see me?

education

“The worst thing is that they control our memories... Especially when they have done something terrible, they hide history or force people to forget... That is why we must educate people, step by step, about the truth.”

-L S X

holy spirit

clothe me with the warm, tingling comfort of a freshly wrapped, newborn daughter in her grandmother’s quilt, laid down for an afternoon nap on a bed of freshly cut flowers

baptize with the anger of overthrown kings and unjustly deposed princes, suffocated and crushed at the foot of their rugged and idealistic wooden thrones by their despot advisors

empower feeble, sensitive, childish hands to carry wounded sparrows to their nests, lift up the drowning from their puddles of shame, and cripple the machines that grind our bones

fill these cups with ancient wines, spring picked tea leaves, and uncommonly strong coffees, served between our daily meals to lighten the heart and make bold the spirit.

pour out the goodness of pure and perfect rains into the leaky buckets and jars we keep to water our daily worries, crowded lives, and distant dreams of beauty and love

damn liberals...

"The Communist is accustomed to a party line and to obedience and to the idea of public confession. Unless he is a pure fanatic, he doesn't find it overwhelmingly difficult to change his line from Communism to anti-Communism; and having recanted, having faced the mild ordeal of television in which he will play the hero as much as the villain, like a backward boy, previously despaired of, who has suddenly passed all the examinations, then often he will serve his new masters well. But the liberal, the man who believes in truth and justice, or in fairness and decency, he cannot be trusted. He is the enemy of all doctrine... His politics were shifty to begin with and they will continue to be so. He sees good in practically everything, he sees bad in practically everything; he grants you your point, and then expects you to grant him a point in return. He cannot be relied on, he is undisciplined, unrealistic, ungrateful, and he pampers his little private conscience. Prison is his proper place."

-D.J. Enright, Memoirs of a Mendicant Professor

afternoon in a Chinese coffeehouse

i let my americano go lukewarm
before I decide to begin sipping
because I am still in denial
i don’t really like coffee that much
bitterness is supposed to bring our senses to life
so struggle to enjoy it, smile cause its hip
i love it most when accompanied by sweets too strong for my teeth
only then does it remind me of the old, dirty alleys I once roamed
i wish they came with little shortbread cookies
like they did in glamourous hong kong
or chocolate, like in utopian europe
or so i’ve heard

the man sitting behind me is starting to snore

Chinese wines taste like rotten, watered down, grape juice
new wines try to make up for their insecurities with fiercer bites
older ones are shown off for sport
consumed with jealousy
cabernet saugvon goes well with stir-fried black fungus, bamboo shoots
or maybe its shirazz, or one of those other mixes
the chardonnay i left in the bottle for a week is giving up on life
i know nothing about wines, and they nothing about me
i pretend they are dangerously moody teas mixed with flowers and fruit
so they make me pay when i don’t eat enough
lighting my head and arms on fire
keeping me from sleep

i hear the other man’s lighter clicking followed by dry, lonely odors

i’m still drinking old green teas
dragons stuck at the bottom of the well
looking up with nostalgic tears, slithering in circles
wild leaves from the yellow mountains
picked a little under a year ago on a misty morning
packaged along the long river in a nervous storefront
handed to me by China’s new modern sages
seeking to enlighten a jaded, selfish youth
he is waiting for the spring shipments near tomb sweeping day
the subtle rush of bitter grasses or fresh peeled nuts
followed by the sweetness of melons
as am i, as Am I

the espresso machine is churning, bubbling, sputtering, throwing up, and then quiet

chamaedorea elegans,

my little green plant
is my daily companion
he reaches up to greet me each morning
eager, skinny stalks tipped with youthful, frisky leaves
tender with innocence
he has never known curses or tears
and so I love him with a shallow love
he slouches to the right, or left, depending on the angle
he wonders about the clouds
he is confused about the temperature
he enjoys a little cinnamon with his tea
a little bit taller each day, I imagine
a few shades darker each week, I hope
perhaps one day,
he’ll trust me enough
to bare me a flower
though I know not whether he can
I don’t even know his name

2.23.9

she is stronger than i
a warrior who can overtake legions
stand against the weight of mountains
carry on amongst the roar of winds and waves
conquer the deepest of chasms
thrive on the challenge of the moments
fighting in care of the oppressed
her will of diamond
her heart of gold
her eyes of fire
wisdom
beauty
inspiration
and i...
with the tip of my tongue
an ignorant slide of hand
a thoughtless gesture
can pierce her heart
pillage her home
shame her conscience
and bring us both to tears