Dedication: Today’s issue is dedicated to Maggie! She’s my bff and source of unending immoral laughter! She loves animals and growing things, people… not so much. She has a healthy addiction to overalls and she loves cold weather like I do. She’s introverted and would rather stay home in most circumstances. She loves making lists and learning. She makes bangin’ pintos and cornbread. She loves to can and put up food for the Winter. We agree and disagree on much and still get along because we respect each other. She has the best smile I’ve ever seen, there’s always food in her fridge and coffee within arms length. ♥
Song: Canned Goods by Greg Brown – this song reminds me of Maggie and Rebecca Boogz. My besties are all about the canning. ♥♥♥ Canned Goods video
“Let the wild Winter wind bellow and blow… I’m as warm as a July to-may-to! Taste a little of the Summer.. gradma put it all in jars…
When I go to see my grandma
I gain a lot of weight
With her dear hands
she gives me plate after plate.
She cans the pickles, sweet & dill
She cans the songs of the whippoorwill
And the morning dew
and the evening moon ‘N’
I really got to go see her pretty soon
‘Cause these canned goods
I buy at the store
Ain’t got the summer
in them anymore.
You bet, grandma,
as sure as you’re born
I’ll take some more potatoes
and a thunderstorm. ”
Dear Humans: Last week, I had the pleasure of singing with the Spektacles at 2nd Wind in Carrboro for Halloween! I dressed up as Columbia; we were all characters from one of my faves, Rocky Horror Picture Show. My hair was crazy Manic Panic red. Took me an hour to clean my bathroom after I washed it out.
I went to the Frida and Diego exhibit with Robert (my badass friend and drummer) over the weekend – it was a surprise! That was awesome. It was also Dia de los Muertos and the museum had altars (ofrendas) all over the place in addition to the exhibits themselves. Later on that night, my neighbors had their first inaugural fire pit party; I LOVED the SMORES!
This week is booming with business! Crystal Bright and I have a show a week from today in Greensboro at the Lucky 32 restaurant. I’m looking forward to that. Tomorrow night, I’m cooking dinner at my dear friend Martha’s house for her houseguest from Chile, Nino, who’s presenting his thesis at UNC! Thursday I’m speaking on a panel at Guilford College with two professors. We are hosted by Democracy Matters, College Republicans and the College Democratic Socialists on the topic of the 2020 election and the problem of big money in politics. Big action week!
Right now, I’m stoked about reading Joni Mitchell’s new book, Morning Glory on the Vine and getting back into painting after a long hiatus. The last two weeks have been very creative and inspiring with poetry and drawing, song-writing and painting. I even meditated once last week!
Our Shake Sugaree Jonathan Byrd residency Kraken community lost a dear friend this past week, James Richardson. I didn’t know him personally, but there are many who are mourning the loss of his soul. He was a jolly one, I remember that. Big, beautiful smile. I send out my condolences to his family and friends. Jonathan Byrd wrote a beautiful poem for him, this is the link: The Byrd Word – today’s blog from Jonathan Byrd
TuesDayNewsDay Vol.2 Issue 17, October 30th – CAUTION: Trigger Warning – this newsletter contains triggering sexual violence references. Please take care.
Dedication: Today’s issue is dedicated to my therapist Karen. Today, while going through what came up in therapy, I realized I would drive to the place, where in October of 1990, I was first molested. I was seven years old. I decided I would drive there, sit on the ground and take a photo. I would also take something of the earth to work with this healing. As the idea came to me, a light bulb exploded in my head. Karen said, “Anita, don’t take your wounded little girl there without your whole adult self holding her, seeing her, and telling her that you are there for her no matter what. You are her nurturing parent now, hold her in your arms.”
I pulled my car into the driveway for the first time ever on my way home from therapy, realizing I have never driven into that driveway before in my life.
This spot, which I have to drive by every time I go to my grandparents’ house, is also a block from where my mother still lives with the pedophile step-father just across the railroad tracks. When I say this healing is a daily, a moment to moment process, I mean it. Literally facing those places every day has wrecked havoc on my insides – but I am resilient and strong, vulnerable and honest with myself. The place is a vacant lot in a trailer park on Pomeroy Street in Graham, where my home used to sit. Now it’s an empty, dirty space with an overgrown concrete platform over which there was a carport. Under that porch, I remember having to take all of our stuffed animals outside to be thrown away because there was such a terrible flea infestation. I remember sneaking up late at night after everyone was asleep, turning on the television to watch Alfred Hitchcock and the Twilight Zone, my face about an inch from the screen, ever wary of any sounds coming from my mother’s end of the trailer lest I get caught.
Vividly, I remember the game we were playing that night in October. My baby sister, a developmentally disabled boy named Jason, and his sister Tasha and I were playing charades. Jason and Tasha were the teenage children of my mother’s red-headed boyfriend. We played in teams and it was decided we would go into the closet to decide what animal or character we would pretend to be. I was seven years old, my sister was 2. I was on Jason’s team. Jason was sixteen. (Typing this I can feel my heart racing and the old familiar anxiety aching in my chest and shoulders, my left eye and cheek twitching.). When we went into that closet and Jason molested me, I was too afraid to move, too afraid to scream, too afraid to fight, too afraid to do anything at all except to freeze. So, I froze. I could feel his icy cold, trembling hands on me. To this day I can still feel the darkness of that closet, the walls closing in around me. When we came out of that closet, I was sick. I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember the game, nothing. I remember after they left that night, I told my mother what happened. She said to me, “Honey, if it happens again, let me know.”
Those words etched endless caves into the crevices of my heart. Those words are the haunting. Those words represent the moment I knew I was on my own. With no one else to turn to, my grandparents were gone to Disneyland at the time, I was completely alone. I prayed and prayed and heard nothing. Those words mark the day when I, as a seven year old, realized that god didn’t exist and that I wasn’t worth saving. Those words created children’s tears. They cannot be undone, and of course, it happened again.
Despite those memories buried deep in endless caves and my mother within shouting distance, I went. It was my nurturing, accepting, loving, and whole adult self who sat on that ground. I felt the cold, wet grass and soil underneath me. I looked at the trailers to the right and left of me. My phone was propped on the very metal bracket that once held that trailer to the ground. I snapped a shot of me sitting on that sacred ground. It took less than a minute. Leaving, I searched for a four-leaf clover in the tiny patch of yard, but found none. Instead, now a big green black walnut from that place is with me. I plan to do some ritual with that walnut. It tried to escape twice from me before walking up my back-porch steps in Saxapahaw. Something inside told me not to bring it inside my house, so I left it on the back patio table. It is not clear what kind of ritual will come about, but it is sure to be a powerful one of releasing the physical ghosts of that moment. It will be one of forgiving my mother for not knowing or realizing what she was doing. It will be a process of exorcising the grief and trauma which has been sitting in my bones and blood, blooming into the person you see today. Today is all I have.
Quote: Choice is all we get, change is all that’s real.
Song: Silence is the song today folks, listen to your heart beat. – my Tuesday video song series is available here: TuesDay Song Series Video on Facebook
Dear Humans,
Today’s post wasn’t meant to be this way. The events of today were not planned, but have made a mark. The words of my song, Darlene, record this event in a lyrical, symbolic sort of way. Being an artist is a privilege because it lets us put words and visions to feelings and thoughts. We are able to somehow transform our feelings into a universal language others can share. Today with Karen, I admitted to trying to let go of my fears: people won’t like my arts and I’m not good enough to walk in the footsteps of my idols. Slowly and purposefully, she said, “Let’s transform that. You are working on your language, so let’s start here.” So after thinking, my mouth said, “I am letting go of my concern for people not liking my art or me as a person.” I do not need validation of others to justify my existence. This self-work is Sacred. I feed on it; it makes me feel more and more alive and free every day to uncover and unleash the demons. Turns out, they aren’t demons at all. They are one scared, frozen little girl, stepping into who she is destined to be, not solely a victim of her circumstance. I looked Karen in the eyes today and spoke my gratitude for her being here with me this last year and a half of journeying, visioning and healing. It was the first time I’d ever asked to hold hands with anyone. With our feet on the floor, we grounded, I closed my eyes and saw little Anita sitting on my right knee. There Karen prepared me to go sit on that patch of grass, which someday, I will drive by without flinching. I will drive by proud to have been seated there.
Today’s issue is dedicated to Ruth Gordon! What a firecracker! Tonight I decided to do the Cat Stevens song, “If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out.” The character, “Maude” from the movie, “Harold and Maude” made such an enormous impression on me, this whole day should be dedicated to her glorious soul.
“Do you know that woman? She just stole my car!” says the priest…
Dear Humans! There is so much news. There have been some ups and downs over the last week – but today, I’m high on life! The last few days, I have been compiling and digitizing old poetry I wrote back in the day! Some of it absolutely sucks! (That’s my judge-y adult being unfairly mean to my little teenage self who was just hurting a lot and didn’t know what to do with herself.) Nevertheless, there’s a TON of material. I found songs I’d not finished, my eccentric, fairy-tale prose… love letters to my old boyfriends, dreamy poems about my girlfriends and their amazing selves, there’s even a poem about a fuzzy little spider. Here’s that one:
Little jumpin’ spider
i saw you by the window
oh little jumpin’ spider,
biggest I ever saw
hairy little arms, squinty little eyes,
fuzzy and twitchy, black as night time sighs
fangs I couldn’t see
oh but I know
they were waiting just for me
oh little jumping spider
I’m gonna take you out
cause you know I can’t have you
here inside my house ~ July 9 2014
Another poem I found was one I wrote while falling in love, it’s precious to me:
Oh. Dear Honey.
You know just how to say
The words that make my insides play
The truest forms of pristine feelings
They escape me through my Smile
They exit through my Exhale
They permeate me in the side of this Time
You’ve awakened a thousand sleeping Fairies
A million bells of stillness are now ringing
An eternity of rustling leaves and moonbeams
A rousing on deep waves of blue and green
I fear not, my eyes are open.
Smooth
Silent, like the wings of a night bird
Calm, yet floating on the clouds of sunset
Giving in to the excitement of the tide
Pushing and pulling and swirling and mingling
Miners, sailors, and gems of old
sing their songs to Us, stories untold
Phantasms in the dark, wrapped inside ourselves
Safe and tender perceptions
Your voice in my soul
I needn’t search for your smile Shadow
Its imprint has been signed onto the whole side of my spirit
I hear you.
You don’t have to speak
I would not be afraid to open my eyes
in your downhill stream
Let us fly
Fly away far into the day
Explore each cave
Sing new songs
Make new Love
~ August, 2010
Amazing… I love poetry and painting. Right now, I am in the midst of a new watercolor/ink painting right now. There was an old wooden calligraphy boxed set at the Goodwill the other day, it’s now in my home. So much sharing to do, so much more to transcribe into digital format. Once everything is entered, then begins the editing and placement of letters in exactly the right place. Truly, I want to create a poetry book and for it to be an adult pop-up book. Many of my friends and also my sister have done self-publishing; I may go that route, though it is expensive. I will also pitch the idea to some publishers and see what happens! Last week, a fellow professor at Alamance Community College suggested that I submit some of my poetry into the faculty writing contest. The prospect was exciting so I obliged. Maybe they’ll like them! I’m going to paste the ones I entered here – so you can read all 4 of them as well. 🙂
1. Status Update:
Anita Moore
‘s turning a corner ~ a path to health and clarity
A non-doldrum roar of cleaning it all the fuck out ~
body and spirit ~ love and truth.
I have strands of positivity reaching into the future
I am envisioning that enlivened journey of my Self.
The yellow-brick road leads to Anita’ville,
the badass grateful go-getter,
with a no-stop’em medidationary attitude of the Now-Tao.
There are lilies on my tongue and roses in my nose, golden light shining right out of my ass.
Purging and seeing what’s real and what’s not.
Keeping in the checkmark those stories I tell myself and refuse to listen to the ones that aren’t true.
No assumptions. No generalizations. Be specific. Be on point.
Be loving and trusting and open and true.
Be the brave believer and the courageous vulnerable one.
Be clear and focused and heart-of-gold style out there ~ and right here.
Breathing and walking and singing and plotting my own enigmatic Now.
This world needs more love and active voices of the light,
in the streets, in the claiming of what we deserve ~ clean water and fresh air to breathe,
true voices and something we can believe in: system-change, not puppet change.
Seething with light-force, I know I am in the heart of God.
I am in the heart of God. I am in the heart of God.
2. Decisions and Serendipity
To sit
feel the breeze on my skin
coughing and chatter
cars rolling by
birds hopping, pursuing scraps
the baby talks, indistinguishable from the noise, yet distinctly knowable
Feeling pensive
sure of where I’m from
choosing to go forward into the
u
n
k
n
o
w
n
no compass
no map
only my own encouraging word
co-mingling with my discouraging chorus
Nodding
a tip of the hat to the Builder
the Architect of this vessel
I see that entity as me
still small
yet more vast than I can possibly imagine
Others see her
historically I have not
Such privilege to get to sit down in an empty room
choose to listen
rather than speak
I can taste my dreams
I can hear the music
It’s not above my head, heaven IS.
it is within
3. Little Girls
We are born fearless, named after our grandmothers
Then we are hushed, beaten and ashamed
We then built walls, taller than we’ll ever be
Beyond the clouds, those walls protect you and me
Then we grow up and learn to see
those walls which fortified us, kept us from being free
They’ve become a cage, we must find a way to escape
To get to the light Beyond our enclosed landscape
We inherit the strength and strife of our ancestors
generations of oppressed children in cages
Self-built and outsourced
yet, we blame ourselves for so much more
What if I told you it’s all okay?
What is you had permission to thrive?
What if in an instant, you tore down your walls?
What if you believe you can fly?
I’ve been beaten, assaulted, invaded, invalidated and thrown
Boundaries a foreign concept, and now I’ve learned
That I have a right to one or two of my own
It is my time and time for you
This ripeness of this moment will free you
Like it has freed me, all you have to do is surrender
to the sacred survivor inside you
That little girl who saved you
who gave you the tools to save yourself
She is your higher power
She is your salvation
Treat her with respect and compassion
Cradle her when things become tough
She carried you, now you must carry her
She didn’t deserve her oppression
She didn’t ask for a beating
She called out for help and her mother never answered
She has you now, her protector
I knew a dual world
Two extremes in life
A cradling and an abandonment
A vision of everlasting love and a nightmare of neglect
A plethora of mentors and guides, a whole population of me-shaped limitations
A society meant to hold me down and also the privilege and the choice to rise above
I am finding my way back to the Looking Glass
A child of Neptune sternly placed among the ills of Life
Too forcefully unsupported and left with your homemade guilt
There is true wisdom in these fantasies
Yet they were too early extinguished, I am finding my way back now
You can also find yours
The path to the box of liquid filled rainbows
The visions lie beyond what we can see
The inspiration my little girl has left for me
She still has her key, it was hidden and now is bright
Shining by the light through the keyhole of the drawer where she buried it out of sight
4. The Muses Groove
This rhythm is rolling, rolling around inside
my undulating chest and heart
Sitting at this wooden table
contemplating it not being real and part of me…
and part of you… .
and I’m not really touching it…
it’s touching me.
The music changes
I dream of being a poet
I dream of being who I am
I dream of making music
unabashedly humble
grateful to share this gift with the Greats
To only for a moment think of all those who laid the path before me
those brave and enduring souls who
pebble by pebble, note by note
stroke by stroke, experience by heartbreakingly joyful, or painful, experience, tapped in
They tapped in, not out
Some through Divine Spirit intervention,
some through straight-up booze.
Whatever the avenue, whatever the teacher,
it brought about my ancestors of music and word.
They walked that road.
Creative muse lingers just outside our reach
we must take heed
We must cook up that stew
be ready when the salt falls from the shelf
to delightfully enrich our slippery, sensuous, slimy, salubrious, sacred soup
So thank you.
Thank you Greats.
Thank you oldies, thank you newbies
thank you to those who have yet to be born.
Thank you for learnin’ me to open up
stand up straight
be connected to the ground
lift my head and sing – those notes are not mine, they are Ours.
If you’ve made it this far, I hope you enjoyed it! Adieu for now! Crystal Bright and I will be doing a show together in Greensboro on November 12th. Other than that show, I’ll be recording in the studio, painting, and compiling/editing poetry! Y’all have a beautiful week.
Love, ALM
My Baritone Uke from Phil Cheney, painted by Robert Frito Seven
anita lorraine moore 
