dianafilms

haiku

Hungry ghost feeding station,
Closed for repairs,
Indefinitely.
Whee!
(c) Francesca Prada 2009

TFTD: Zinger

Even the best projects have difficult people, just make sure you're not one of them. Francesca Prada on set 2008

catharsis, comedy and the importance of laughter

without laughter there's no insight and no growth. I've often thought that comedians at the height of their talents are also healers and philosophers. Actors, artists, writers and performers can also be healers and philosophers and in some cases therapists that heal rooms full of people, even if its just for a few hours. Those two hours can be all a person needs to get perspective and be drawn into a greater awareness of the human condition.

Bittersweet Chocolate Experience

Bittersweet Chocolate Experience
Walking back from a delightful French lunch on Fillmore, I am drawn to Bittersweet, the ultimate chocoholics destination. Did my nose lead me, was it the color on the walls? The walls glow orange. The incredible variety of chocolates they have all over, tucked into little corners, these little love bombs set to explode. The proverbial kid in a candy store, I darted from case to case, the baked goods, the dulce de Leche chocolate pudding nearly knocked me over, as a kid the only way to get those flavors was to eat an alfajor.

I stood there gobsmacked, the overwhelming aroma of chocolate permeates the entire store. It was strong, pungent with a sweet note here and there. Oh there, no there, no There, each flavor offered a short trip. Standing back and straddling my indecision I looked up at one of the paintings and then out of the corner of my eye I saw the ultimate choice. Hot chocolate laced with pepper and roses.

Sipping it slowly, tentatively, the first sip nearly engulfed me in a wave of endorphins, easing my way out of the shop, quietly walking down the street becoming increasingly doe eyed, romancing my cup of cocoa sip by little sip I walked slowly as if under some kind of spell, un embrujo. I felt a strange throbbing in my chest, the lights in the sky seemed somehow brighter and everyone looked so gorgeous, even the dogs. I recognized the signs instantly, it was almost like being in love.

ok that last one was so gloomy

That night, when I remember it again, I'll tell you

Of these stars embroidered on the velvety cloak, there, see?
Of a humble moon, dangling her skirt in the fog
She's eclipsing herself but brilliant still.

Safe in Guadalupe's mantle
In deep regard of the east, turning west instead
watching the horizon
waiting for the sky
to become ours, again.

Sit on my right, I said, while waiting.
your whole weight against mine
as heavy as my own skin
is how you felt.
As light as time's ripening fruit.

This is what we call nothing
because it has no name.
(C) Francesca Prada 1990 rev. 2007

The Load

The Load
the shaking the sleeping the anger
the fear and tremors
the ancestors that come and go with sentence fragments
the perfume somewhere between witch hazel and morphine

staring down the skullcap until I find her eyes again
until the sinewy body glows with the last flickers of memory
until the hands can no longer hold
until even silence feels cold
and the light in the room seems bluer graying

Fling these arms around the shoulders of death
And dance and dance and dance
go around
hold on
let go
hold on
let go

around the arms of death
the matron
death the maiden
death the crone

staring through the cowl and waste until I find her eyes

I want to remember, I want your life that you should have had, to live
through me, though all of us.
I want to carry you in my body and let you live through me
to let you see more
to let you be in a healing body
to let you live longer
If I could take what life I have remaining
If I could divide that so we breakeven
so that my heart and yours would not break
so that this pain this injustice could be softened somehow
so that you only feel half the pain and let someone else carry the load
for once

(C) Francesca Prada 2006