dear,

Quietly

2011-07-30T22:19:00.002-04:00

In common with everyone: alive.
Something often forgotten: saucy.

Listening to the sounds of ramekins clanking against each other; ringing porcelain, how delicate. I think of how those sounds are caused and I smile. How beautiful is this morning? What more is there than eggs & cream whisking into burnt sugar while a ray of sun fires it into molten amber?

An easy morning.

I've forgotten what it used to feel like. The fear of never arriving, of never getting here, of being lost, of losing sight. But I crept into it. I crept into comfort; crept into a clear blue morning. And I found that here is there and there is here, and no one is ever lost. Just forgotten for a time. Forgotten by their own self.

2011-06-03T11:05:00.001-04:00

took out the gifts locked away for months in my closet

warm hands fingering them gingerly for a moment

until i put them away again, this time with white tissue paper and an orange ribbon

somehow i'm still able to make perfect bows

even though all i see is the tiny metal spoon with the long neck i used to feed her with

usually mashed bananas

she was old enough to say "no" to me then

but for some reason

i never heard those words form from her pretty pink pout

i'm glad no one else i know has one

they don't know

how soft she is

and how much those eyelashes tickle when they brush against your cheek

wish i could tell these pieces of white tissue paper

to wipe her tears for me while i'm away

little sister

but in my mind
she was always my baby.

Pressed Flowers

2011-03-25T23:07:00.000-04:00

I don't know whether it is silence I should love or the absence of it.
It seems that every other moment is a chase after one or the other, and neither ever touches its prey.

Perhaps everyone has this duality in them:
A content little being with curls bouncing and laughter clear,
And then one day - she falls, shoulders pinned to the floor, encumbered with reflection and aching visions.

It's the reminders that keep throwing her smiles off.
Indicators of a lost thought, provoked, and now chasing away any chance of redeeming tenderness.

How is it that it's possible to live in two realities at once?
The one of your choosing and the one that steals you from it.

I wish I could take my flower and press her tendrils of worry away.
Let pages from a book place the pressure of their soothing stories into her veins
Let her moisture linger upon the words to let them outlast any suffering beyond those bindings

And one day, when I lift her free from that ancient touch
I'll show her how, while all the other flowers faded, her colours stayed their form
And her essence was everlasting.

what you do is not who you are

2011-03-03T16:04:00.003-05:00

rise above, or let it pin you down; there is always a choice in balance.

to reject a nature of yourself you do not commend; this accusation against your goodness.

i acknowledge my failures, i bring them forth and let them take their claim in my history. they are charcoaled momentos covered in santa's judgement of black filth; but it is my suspicion, a hopeful one, that they may be polished by a resolution to redeem myself, and reveal a treasure underneath comprised not of precious jewels, but of a truest self. but reader, let me clarify my method of self-forgiveness. i atone, not by my sorrow, not by wretched tears of self loathing and hatred of a marred soul - but by a new action, a corrected thought, a reformed direction, beheld by an entrancing knowledge of my Self.

for my god has placed into my hands the power of self-judgement, and thus i deem myself accrued with the same blessing as the phoenix in the ashes - to recall my heart back from a bleakness, and sooth it with the awareness of the peace and goodness i touch my world with.

once you have known your own soul, never let it be agitated by another misguided word, or a troubled action. for, forgive me, but we are not always ourselves; you have not always been yourself. but now, i, at least, have known, a better self. a truer self. a self i love most ardently, and that i hope will one day serve to help you realize the difference between who you truly are in your god-graced depths, and who you act as instead.

A Trespass

2011-03-01T22:51:00.004-05:00

Dear heart, dear oh wretched heart;
how do I show you to a pair of unbelieving eyes?
How do I prove your justness, your soundness,
your deep and caressing throbs?

Are we not designed to beat
the proof of love through a hand?
Are we not united in purpose
to assuage a bitter cry?

So why have you left me, my heart?
What do your strings play?
Why do you abandon my tongue
when I must display you at your best?

Does the discord of another heart
have you tangled, writhing, and lost?
Have you forgotten your greatest grace,
your soothing and tender cheer?

I have wrought and I have molded,
a most distressful truth
That my heart has forsaken
the one most hungered for my love

Savor Yourself

2011-02-03T20:15:00.002-05:00

I need a new way to keep the curtains open.
We always need new ways to keep that pink summer glow in our fingertips and perusing lips.
There will always be touches, secrets on a pillow cushion, eyelashes aglow under starlight, even unbidden rages.
All you can do is brush your hair one hundred times a day and hope the reflection in the mirror will remind you to behave as you know you are.

Keep the days and nights coming, I'm only just discovering what they mean.

hips & nips

2010-06-21T20:08:00.000-04:00

minus the nips, boys.

ode to age

2010-06-05T03:30:00.000-04:00

tomorrow, i will greet the morning with teasing eyelids and a thirst for sunlight. only, the windows will mock my reaches to drink, and i'll be left tumbling with sleep again. eyes fighting, a soft soreness at their core. my prayer tonight is for the brightest sun. to pull my smiles from the dreams and land me squarely into a morning. whether it be tender or terrible, i do not fear. it is only missing it that i cannot bear the thought of.

lemon water

run

shower - hair - makeup

spiced chai tea

grapefruit & egg

make earrings

vacuum/dishes/dust/bathroom

sell earrings

pick up becca

spiced chai latte

elegance

wish me luck being a lady.

circle

2010-05-15T01:37:00.004-04:00

i am a fluttery thing

so many heartbeats allowed to build from so many names

as i grow, the world nods

takes hold of my lessons and spurs the stars forward

i am a young star

a white dwarf

barely standing

hardly aware of my own name

as the leaves hold my fingertips steady, i walk

who do i see under this canopy of heady scents

lights dancing, teasing with their weightless eyes

they look to the way

i'd see what they see, but i'm still stuck to this earth

lift up a foot

brown swirls between the lines

is this why i can't join you - because the feet, they've grown into the ground

another step

leaves are blowing higher now

i can't reach them

why haven't they lifted me to their branches?

the ground is cool

i can feel from my toes

now my hands, they feel it too

so cool, so soothing

i brush my hair from my cheek so every throbbing cell can touch it

there are leaves here too

i didn't recognize them before on my feet

eyelids shut

i can see better inside what these leaves are doing

they've found the crisscrosses on my soles

a hidden passage, cracked and seeping

little brown leaves in my legs

my arms

my neck

my heart

i can see them, they're braiding a rope

to tighten around my heart, to drag it above

the air is harder to taste now

it has colour now, not clear, like before

dark

like when the lights dance too high up in the sky

the wind,

i feel it covering me with a blanket

it thinks i'm sleeping

my eyes are just closed so i can see better

not tired

the rope is yanked

i breathe in deeply the taste of brown

this time, it is done

the heart is gone

there is nothing to breathe back out

all has flown

quiet
then a rustle

my eyes open

the leaves are green

if you're alone tonight and you need hot cocoa

2010-04-30T22:02:00.003-04:00

serves 1

1 tbsp + 1 tsp unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tbsp (heaped) brown sugar (i discovered a tbsp of honey works just as well but for a stronger flavour; try molasses for a real kick)
1/4 pinch of salt
dash of ground cinnamon
dash of ground nutmeg
1 tbsp + 1 tsp boiling water

mix these in saucepan (heat on low) for two minutes until texture is smooth

then (heat on high) mix in:
3/4 cup + 2 tbsp milk
1/8 tsp vanilla extract

heat until steaming, but not boiling, then serve.

add 2 tbsp of half and half to cool down if you want, but i didn't and it tastes perfectly lovely

i also popped out the whipped cream and added some extra nutmeg to top it all off.
amaaazing aroma

*snazzy trick i learned from the millers: add a scoop of vanilla icecream to the top of your hot cocoa (i like using mint chocolate chip, makes chocolate bits at the bottom).

this is my amazing friday night
hope your're as happy as my taste buds right now

why i can't relate to my parents:

2010-04-28T13:09:00.002-04:00

The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.
-Alvin Toffler

and this is good to keep in mind the next time i feel "called" to help someone. there must be another way.
Charity is injurious unless it helps the recipient to become independent of it.
-John D. Rockefeller

stay cool

2010-04-27T00:50:00.001-04:00

why do i argue with those i love
and why in my eyes,
are they always the ones rejecting my love?

i think i need to seriously redefine this meaning of love i seem to have
it's a film i don't need
in an already distorted world

it's true. love is never the end all. love is just the glue that forces us together
whether we're actually nice or not was never the question
all anyone can do is cross their fingers and hope it doesn't get so hot so as to melt this glue
in so many cases, for so many people
everyone is a little too hot
to be binded together for long

live physically.

2010-04-24T12:40:00.002-04:00

one task gets brushed under another
until a carpet weaves itself with threads of dusty goals and moths make off with your dreams

where is the open window which will clear the air today?
what words do you have to say to coerce the broken lock on the window to give
let you shape this room
sweep away the lost desires
with your broom of determined straws and neat rows of rope bound in hope, binding your confidence together

what words are enticing enough
to chase away a ghost of determent?
what sacrifice will it take
to let me be happily committed to meal times, 6 am jogs, face masks once a week, and sunday morning calls to a mama across the sea?

what price is enough
for this freedom from want
to set me free to ties

"Seven Blunders of the World"

2010-03-28T02:01:00.000-04:00

1. Wealth without work

2. Pleasure without conscience
3. Knowledge without character

4. Commerce without morality

5. Science without humanity

6. Worship without sacrifice

7. Politics without principle

—Mahatma Gandhi

2010-03-25T12:47:00.001-04:00

be your words and your story will tell itself - no public relations or footprints in the sand required.

taking the day off to prevent a future of days "off"

2010-03-22T22:02:00.000-04:00

Being radical so I can spook myself into normalcy. Unfortunately, I only get things done when I trick my mind, for my mind gets the better of me so often that I no longer know what substance my days are piling over with - deed or declaration.

This is not a request for understanding salves nor my usual hair-tearing inquest to resolve the mystery of time's apparent inability to practice compassion. My heart, is hesitant by a lack of resolve. My fear has become my face for I would rather blunder forward with a pioneering spirit than to acknowledge that I am not willing. Not willing to use this time for what must be done in order to do what would love to be done. And yet - all I envision and paint with gazes and blazoned words will fall to pieces before I even have a chance to trace its jawline of existence. Because exist it will not, should I forgo my dedication to "its" chance to be born.

Give me then - not hope, not vision, not taste, not direction - but the teeth-gritting, lamp desk buzzing, coffee surging, sentence by sentence by sentence admiring, joy.. of pure sweat and promise... to the beautifully delicate piecing together of a thought... that i may witness that process transpire with the markings of my own fingerprints... and watch this unfold with a deserved awe and gratitude of the power granted me..

to work.

and bloody love it.

La di da - As Annie would say.

2010-03-22T11:18:00.001-04:00

Hide me with my wondering
Tell me it's a pang
Give the trees a melody
Sing it with your hands

Steal into woken thought
Gibe with all your woes
Listen to the hungry mouths
Applaud to tender foes

Lie your way to lovers bliss
Chase within those lights
A gift of sorrow set amiss
By voices raised in plight

Strip your mind of all its ease
For that will be your cue
To close the chambers of your heart
And lose all that is new

A simple word will only do
To children given time
For in my world I have but one clue
And that's to make a rhyme.

An excerpt

2010-03-03T00:19:00.005-05:00

Both of us, in an ease of relating where questions cannot infiltrate, (and in fact, the notion of a question - does not exist), would sit in this void where we are both waterfall and mountain, reaching high as the other reaches low, melting as the other smolders, one buckling his knees with both our weights so that the other may glide from the top of his reach as a creature of flight, only just recognizing her lightness.

This tangent is a dear one to me.

how to play with paper dolls

2010-02-11T01:07:00.007-05:00

hi honey,

i feel a little bit like a widower these days.
but that's because not every day can hold kisses on the cheek while i take your coat
and not every day bears fruit to a warm peach cobbler in the oven stealing time from other, more subtler aromas.. .

but that's okay because there is always one more day. another day to look forward to
another day for me to throw your hat in a perfect trajectory towards it's rightful place on the first brass hook to the left of our giant oak door.
this time i'll get it right
i won't be so careless with the oven timer today.
i swear, honey
i'll do anything for you.

a world wherein i lie exposed

2010-02-06T17:46:00.001-05:00

we're all somewhere in the world today, awake, and looking.
but this somewhere for me leaves a particular taste on your tongue
induces a chill by its touch
and arrests the windows with its flaking weightlessness. heavy to watch, heavy to comprehend.
it allows for no escape would a candle tilt its poison tip to the lips of an unwary curtain
and i lie here in a twilit pink haze, releasing breaths upon an immovable whiteness
watch the four corners of my windows slowly cascade with winter's unfeeling intent.

and i wonder can i possibly find my blanket a shield enough now
from the snatching of my desire:
to bound back into a sun-grazed night
without the weary heaping of a season not yet gone by,
with immobility its only gain.

sad-sop, but pretty.

2010-02-04T17:48:00.002-05:00

i sat on the patio chair, outside looking in through the window.

everyone stared back at me from all sides but the right one.

i clasped my fingers together and uttered one of those inconstant prayers,

asking,

no begging,

for a dream come true on such short notice.

i blew a kiss at you, hoping the glassy panes wouldn't deflect my affection back to me,

useless in my possession.

i guess my second worst fear was confirmed, considering you didn't turn around even in mock surprise.

or maybe i was in fact living a nightmare, because you knew, and didn't turn on purpose.

whatever the case,

i'll turn my back to you now and give you a chance to let me feel staring eyes at my back.

but somehow i doubt i'll be swiveling around to catch you in a blushing act anytime soon.

sorry if i love you too much.

it's the downfall of my heart, the trademark of my soul.

my forever relentless love.

i found this written in my handwriting on a pad of cornflower blue, lined paper.

from 2009, that's about all i can remember.

self realization blah blah blah

2010-02-02T18:38:00.005-05:00

1. i hate wasting time

2. so i waste time thinking of ways i can better use my time

3. this makes me feel like i'm wasting time

4. in which i waste time trying to overcome and forgive myself for wasting time

5. then i realize i've been wasting time

6. and i have a higher conviction in my hate for wasting time

this was a waste of time. i never learn.

2010-01-18T02:33:00.002-05:00

tonight, it's confirmed

i gave it a good run and i can say i almost said goodbye to self

but then she came whirling back with her coffee addictions and thoughts unbidden from her books and then her red scarf told her to chase the wind and said go there don't lose it

i'll keep you warm

so it's true.

this fight is not mine

and yes, it may linger in your air

and your eyes

and your silences

and your build up of messages gone unanswered, verging on unwanted

but this fight is not mine.

so i free this home from my love

and i'll go take it elsewhere

i've got it good, really

it's the rest of the world that doesn't know it yet

but they will

and i wish you well, this little home that never was.

2010

2010-01-02T21:04:00.003-05:00

feed yourself with truth

i'd like to know what God thinks about the mess under these 50-year-old wooden beams.

new years resolutions

2009-12-25T14:10:00.003-05:00

be a better communicator

write letters/message & call friends back immediately/don't ignore, ever.

become fluent in spanish/portuguese
get a job where i'm measured solely on how charming i am
yoga
teach hebrew at old job
enjoy my commuting routes to new york every 3 days
stay with janie?
work on house - strip room, paint, decorate, give away stuff
always have a book to read
have french music on in the background
cook for the family. experiment.
write whatever i will
plan road trip: an american summer

"this world is so beautiful. somehow"

merry christmas

2009-12-25T13:37:00.001-05:00

understanding isn't just about listening with a cocked head and a nice smile. it's about listening to the words stuck in someone else's heart and being grateful to be allowed to hear them.

12-24-that year i was almost 20

2009-12-24T23:10:00.006-05:00

every day has been fulfilled, i hope

satisfied and fed. scrumptiously, not malnourished.

you're living the rest of your days out in peace, i hope

verified of your value and clinging to the soundness that knowing offers.

but if your days are still lingering, emptily.. spilling over into tomorrows, and i'll do it laters,

please let me tell you something, dear.

no santa's gonna get you what you really wanted for christmas tonight

and jesus doesn't know what to do, either, about your tears

and mama sleeps, exhausted, in your bed

and papa dreams of a world where he is perfect, and we're all living in happily-ever-after

no responsibilities, you know what i'm saying?

but darling, dreams only come true once you've found a reason to

let yourself

be loved

by you

next christmas,

give your heart away

to anyone and everyone

who melts it

because you're melting theirs already

but you don't know that yet,

this christmas.

raspy morning voice

2009-06-19T01:19:00.002-04:00

when he wakes up his face will stay still, so silent in its awareness

of my sleeping form so confused, so still in my bewildered ease.

and his cheek will rub against his pillow softly

and he'll feel the prickle of new growth in his skin touching cloth

and the stubble's whisper will call me from my sleep

and my eyes will hesitate to open, for what if it was a sound from a dream?

but your heart will stir at my sudden life

your fingers will brush my skin in a first attempt to reach

to me in my place of quiet pondering

"dare i let it remain a dream?"

so your lips part to breathe before your first speech

and your throat, parched, heaves in efforted passion

but before your only utterance and assurance of our love

i open my eyes

and we meet this day as only one.

to my unborn son

2009-04-04T03:37:00.003-04:00

you love them so much and then you let them go

watch them from your perch on a brick wall and hope you find the strength in your desire to keep balanced

focus your eyes on the ever-fading image of their backs, hunched over in defense against your devotion

the very thing you would die to gain in your efforts to convey the truth, just once without words, would end up being your final leap over this brick wall.

from here i watch their fingers curl up as they sleep amongst the birds

oblivious to whistles and wings brushing against tan skin

they'll rise under heavy lashes and speak a rejection,

glancing in the other direction

eyes turning toward a faceless horizon, a less familiar sky mouthing their names

and you will watch from this old brick wall

and wish your voice could stretch to deaf ears, brown curls, and an ever-fading back

running from the day this old wall stands tall no longer

an older, simpler, brooding

2009-04-04T03:33:00.001-04:00

such a pretty dance we have

always receding and denying

more than anything there is the silence

of things unable to be said

of the words uttered without words

do you remember?

the night of the stars

the blankets

the offered coats and quiet refusals

it's a dance of unexpressed concerns

and touches untouched

a crowded hour

2009-03-31T04:22:00.002-04:00

sweat beads melt from my forehead as i chug the last dregs of a self-created miloccino.
there aren't many options here. bleed in a pool of self denial and wear the cloak of contentment until each sentiment solidifies in a hasty mold, or wait in last-minute agony.
turn towards the waiting face of father time and ask him to throw at you something to launch these last revolutions of his hands into a blur..
something to freeze a lasting impression or something to blot it out in the tender whiteness of the forgotten.
a something in common with the creators and destroyers
who both react
in beautifully distorted ways.

interrupted, i'll come back to this again on a quiet day.

forced morning passion and other inconsistencies

2009-02-25T14:15:00.004-05:00

"if you want to cry... just cry.
if you want to smile... just smile." -taka

$361, $267.45, already i'm hesitant to entrust my growth in numbers,
so i think i'll watch a new piece of my heart on a new page each day and see if it eventually falls into grace.

sunday service 11:02 a.m.

2009-02-15T08:32:00.002-05:00

a baby cries and yet we all sit still, silently waiting in our chairs for a warm breast to appear and stifle the wretched cries.
and yet they continue... minutes melt away and a mother is admitted as missing. what they don't know at the time i sthat it's only the beginning of a killing trend; a new era of ripping innocence where glances are only thrown in your direction once, telling you that from now on, you are on your own.
a mooth, sweatless brow is mistaken for an understanding fulfilled heart and so the baby still cries and still we sit in a row of chairs, forgetting to notice the velvet cushioning of the carpet against our numb feet and staring; laughing with dry throats.
at the sound of our laughter the baby halts his tears and laughs a hiccup in reply; as though we've found his company amusing.
but as he breaks a sound we quiet down into a void of our own spheres and lackluster musings.
"sushi on kabab?"
"shall i cancel the 5 o'clock for sarah's dinner party or arrive late? will i be able to bear their stares as i waltz in stiff in y business suit and argile tie?"
"no, better call linda to move it to a lunch date next week."
and so baby laughs and no lips curve up in a smile; no chest breathes easier with the crystal tinkling of his voice.
no eye envisions his scrunched-up eyes crinkling with clarity and zeal for the moment.
we are visionless.
we do not know that the chance to witness greatness has gone... unnoticed.

as we melt into sleep

2009-02-06T05:09:00.002-05:00

the last life of this english semi-blizzard is momumenting its death as new-found cracks in the sidewalk.

one more way to break your mother's back.

is this how karma works?

internet is back on, and with it my inbox reads 1370 unread messages.

of those, i will open 19, star 4, and unstar 3 a couple hours from now, remark on the genius of 2, scoff at 10, and reply back to 3.

only three heartstrings i care to pull out of 1370 potentials.

but is it really fair to call selective care cruelty?

i'm just a girl with shrinking legs and a growing heart still trying to find a place somewhere to store everything she wants to love.

on other news. .

first open mic

http://www.beeseemediagroup.co.uk/covernight/audio/I'll.do.anything.for.you.mov

last day in britain.

cooking dinner with the loveliest of people you'll ever find. gorgeous the lot of them.

seven days

2009-01-29T18:26:00.004-05:00

i will miss this more than i can say.

a day in the life of a blue balloon

2009-01-28T17:32:00.009-05:00

trying to lose myself again

but it's proving to be an unforseen struggle

for i do dearly love to laugh

sorry i can't be more

2009-01-27T17:39:00.004-05:00

it's been a dark morning and a glowing night

sometimes you let people go willingly and sometimes they fall out of your arms as they grow thin without your notice.

suddenly stick figures are your companions and you find yourself full -

too full

full of that which you've taken without entitlement and that which you didn't quite want anyway

but it's enticing

to have more than you can truly bear, for there's always safety in numbers

or so they say

but then you find your hands pulling out ticket stubs from a date you can't recall and a face you've already forgotten the name of

you find yourself grasping at the hidden streets you haven't ventured through yet

. .i think it's a memory

any familiarity is a godsend

a miracle

the one thing that will complete you for _second(s).

but then you recognize this search and find it's nothing new

and all you really want is that shoulder you hid your laughing head in,

to relive,

over and

over

and

over

and

from a dream

2009-01-24T04:48:00.001-05:00

"the hunger you drive away with is instilling in everyone."

enlightenment

2009-01-23T16:44:00.006-05:00

reverting back to the old habit of tea and two biscuits at half past nine.

this doesn't bring me the great satisfaction it should but it doesn't bring the old distress either

so in tune with a consciousness the past few days

imagining a moment, whether it is unanimously observed and accepted as a good moment, makes it one hundred times more impacting when perchance the moment actually occurs.

and when something shakes you so hard you can't even comprehend it's happening as it does

but the fringes of it tickle you so gently you barely know it's there but for its insistence,

and when those said fringes suddenly intertwine your thoughts into one golden rope of focused truth

and when you are held merciless, not just a red carpet but an entire station platform is swept out from under your feet until you are looking at every face as though they hold stardust in their eyes and you are seeing the galaxies that will stem from them billions of years and infinite romances from now,

and when all you can do is hold the pathetic little tinfoil parcel in your hands,

and when the scent of bananas fill the empty seats in front of you coupled with an aftertaste of the knife you forgot to wash after you cut the onions,

and when all this enters your realization of what that moment was

a look was not a look

a lingering thought did not collect as condensation on the windows and vaporize into a cloud

an umbrella with adams family skulls on it was not a ridiculous accessory but the most prized possession of someone who has given up and sacrificed for something they barely understand but hold steady to.

a heart was not my heart

i have been walking with the wrong steps with the wrong colour heavy boots

there is a u-turn that you missed a few miles back by the purple pansies

and when all this comes to pass

you will reach your will.

a night spent watching flower print curtains

2009-01-22T19:42:00.004-05:00

left corner: overflowing basket of clean clothes too inconvenient to fold or hang. the greys. the black shirts. the oxford collars and navy blue over-sized sweaters. they're always out for greets with the world. they live in constant contact with air and they smell like lily of the valley room spray.

desk: overflowing piles of unscanned pictures, unabsorbed, unblemished, fingerprint-less and still foreign snapshots of a day i haven't fully processed. the sun that day was too bright, my cheek bones from that day still ache. they will stay on this desk until i can awknowledge the whirlwind. until i can taste the four cheeses large pizza melt on my tongue again washed down with vanilla spiced roma coffee. the one with more whipped cream and cinnamon than actual liquid. which is just fine, really.

head: overflowing with on-the-edge-of-negative musings and wonderings. stop. these days it's all about catching yourself before you fall off. about learning to fly over cliffs before causing a great upheaval in the lifeless ocean with your splash. live amongst the clouds if it keeps the peace. i'm a fan of no-fuss, no-muss, really.

i stare at the irish coffee picture and i remember the tip i left her. she cared about the extra cream.

today, i love.

2009-01-22T06:22:00.002-05:00

today i have already woken up

in my mind it was at 8 a.m., lifting the sheet away as the sun reached in to blanket me with its own so that i'd never be left uncovered.

i sat up, looked up and felt the full effect of the new objects painting the room into my own picture

a butterfly stuck just above my head

a picture, so beautiful. so collected. ringing so true.

but this morning it was 10, not 8

and it was a dismal sky that greeted me with a blanketless embrace

left me cold and up to my own devices for warmth

but somehow despite this i am burning up

sweatless, angstless,

suddenly everything is a non-issue

i just glance up at my butterfly, let it unfocus, bring it back, unfocus, no, back.

nothing was ever a dream.

train, dear __, and dinner.

2009-01-21T07:12:00.003-05:00

and it's the train running parallel to my seat, glorified in its scarlett daring and glittering in the earth's sinking glow,
that gives me pride in this night's arrival.

plastic bags reused and torn, holes bourne with honour and tall in their unexpected long life,
lie still on the blue seat next to me
left behind but surely not discarded.

it's in this young afternoon's streaks, its colorful fingertips reaching to adorn through brown curtains,
that give me will in this day's life.

it's the white phone now off-white from rubbing oils between my cheek and a pillow
tender tellings and tender listenings
casual goodnights and one-worded good mornings
all a tale told on a little phone's backing.
words left as grey smudges
that holds me near to it now.
working close by, inhaling simultaneously, we share the common purpose to become and share
to remember to add red pepper shavings to the boiling tomato cream soup

because that's the way you like it.

2009-01-20T05:25:00.004-05:00

it's all a state of mind.

rise up from the shit feelings and bring yourself back to earth when you get too far up.

reality can be all that you ever wanted

if you take a step back and see there is something to it

this feeling.

2009-01-14T22:25:00.005-05:00

i'm about 87.41 percent sure i'm as in between two worlds as a person can be.

you're awake

you have my mind

but my heart is here, sleeping soundlessly with them.

two forty two

2009-01-14T21:42:00.009-05:00

it's in the a.m. and i can't bring myself to leave this desk.

absorbed

for once focused on something tender.

there is no hate in portraits, no competition, no persuasion necessary of your good intent

shine your best light on

that's all any one can ever ask.

i'd leave you kisses but i can never bring myself to envision such an open display of affection

no matter how much i appreciate you.

and nobody ever knows, nobody ever has the courage to say they love you.

even though you probably need to hear it the most

i can see it in the way you shift the way you tuck your legs under you once in a while

in your careful placing of every word

hesitate, erase, rewrite,

frozen in indecision, always moving until you realize you're just afixiated by the same stance

a ballerina in mid-plie

i don't remember why i started here.

oh yes,

i can't reach my pillow.

who would ever dare to take you away from this?

silver earrings

2009-01-14T12:54:00.004-05:00

my face changes day to day so drastically, i can't even relate to the girl in the mirror, to the picture taken just a week ago, to the girl that appears at night in the window.

even she, who only makes an appearance once she knows she's safe from the sun, doesn't look the same to me.

i don't wonder who she is, i don't care to know

i'm happy with our silent aquiescence not to ask questions

not to mock worry and butter on the concern

we wear the same earrings, we hold our chins just the same, we carry the same tension in our shoulders,

but we don't exchange numbers.

we know not to make a sound, else we may have to admit something we're not ready for just yet.

. .

everything is a storybook here.

sometimes it drives me mad, like the slightest misplaced coffeemug on the wrong faded ring on the wrong night stand could send everything out of balance.

could wake you up, maybe.

but most of the time i'm grateful for it

it catches me with its reliability, weaving a net of assurances and uncompromised details

like the little bowl where the used tea bags go for organic recycling.

and the glazed royal blue pot where the scissors collect and muse and bicker over who has the sharpest edge.

i feel that half my thoughts drift away unfinished.

and just when i think i have one back in front of me,

to mold

to teach

to decorate,

i realize it's an unbidden stranger i don't have the heart to discard.

i look at the glass of orange juice brought with me to keep my hands company up the stairs.

i can't help but notice its beauty yelling

saying come and play

you can look but don't touch.

then i touch

and taste

and marvel

and swallow

and then all that's left is the red lipstick on the rim

dying already,

faded already,

leaving already.

couldn't we

2009-01-13T14:52:00.005-05:00

keep it simple.

yes.

2009-01-12T07:36:00.002-05:00

2009-01-10T11:56:00.002-05:00

it's been a grey underware kind of day.

04-0?-08

2009-01-10T06:38:00.003-05:00

and so she realizes, there's nothing left for her under this sun

the rays don't shine fiercely enough to warm her skin

so perhaps she'll shoot up out of this world and take domain under another star

a star that will marvel at her sparkle and the heat of her core

the star that will give up its place as center of the universe to revolve around her

but she will be so smitten with her brilliant, adoring sun,

that she will revolve around him as well

and they'll dance around each other in a waltz of the universe.

what they would have said

2009-01-08T09:23:00.010-05:00

i was sitting on the train watching the rows of houses trickle by, noting that these 'undesirables' would be considered a luxury in another land

how much things can change from another vantage.

i curled up inside myself

i stretched

i checked my armor - no space violated, no private sentiments exposed

good.

reverting back to consciousness, or real sight, or something undefined,

i looked at the window for something to capture my interest outside

and saw something inside instead.

a fair-haired knot, a poised chin, an unfocused gaze, two seats and a row across.

it was all too perfectly composed

her turmoil could not hide from my own

her tightly wound hair, to express her clarity, became her exposure

it could not hide the flush that lit her hollow cheeks

her fitted black suit, so closely wrapped around her skin so that not a question of her figure could exist, could not shelter her thin arms from burning

she was revealed

one of the tormented

breathing out her answer with every rock of the train

with every passing station, shouting yes,

let us stay here frozen in this agreement of closeness

forget every stop

not head anywhere

just sit next to each other.

and her object breathed in his aquiescence

deep breaths replied to her inquiry

his black suit crinkled in his delight

his arm burned with the effort

too close, too close

he looked the other way.

each town melted from existence, from importance, from necessity

brixton, sutton, crystal palace

they would have continued on, immovable, inseparable

but the last stop was announced

time to wake up, darling

victoria station.

i watched her fair head stand up, walk out through the train doors before they closed shut, and disappear as just another lost love in the crowd.

i wonder how many people on that train were thinking about one person

i wonder how many people were thinking about the same person

i wonder how many people were thinking about each other

i wonder how many people were thinking about the person sitting next to them, a stranger, but closer than a stranger ever would be, just because they're on a train.

how many strangers in a room does it take for one to realize they're in love?

dissatisfaction

2009-01-06T11:17:00.006-05:00

it's not the lack of words or the wrong words,

not the hasty scrawls or the absence of a farewell, 'i love you'

but the deliberate placing of civility. the lack of fluid affection left to find it's way across the distance from one fingertip to another.

it's dark in my room and my heart is too empty to let my legs walk to the door, lift my arm up and push the switch up with unfulfilled hands.

bleaker street.

"i saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand"

such words can only make one calm.

here walks another young ruffian under my window, oblivious to my notice. to the fact that he is the singular most interesting object i have to transfer my attention to.

he is all i desire to know about the world until he passes out of sight beyond the white wooden frame,

hopefully out of the bitter evening into the steaming cup of tea waiting inside.

for this moment, i have no care but to see him safely home.

2009-01-06T09:57:00.002-05:00

"i'd rather be imperfectly together than perfectly alone" - 14:56

nine o'clock

2009-01-05T04:20:00.008-05:00

if i pity you, i hate myself

so i continue on with a box in my chest,

watch the snowflakes descend on london through my window

and let jack come out of the box for a brief look

to watch these imperfect pearls fall into perfect as they graze my sight,

and die as soon as they embrace the ground

which will signal jack to go back home to the hole in my heart

and then i can watch this snow without further remark.

fear city

2009-01-03T15:19:00.003-05:00

sometimes i don't think i would be half so good company if i wasn't so conflicted.

sometimes i can't even breathe anymore until i hear a song that sends me back to a time of good breath, fresh breath, deep breath, willing breath.

sometimes it takes my every effort to smooth away the crinkles between my eyebrows

sometimes this every effort isn't enough.

sometimes i wish there wasn't the possibility of a sometime.

sometimes means you can't sit on the border

things change

people yell

people cry

people can't live without you

then you see them through a window, laughing without you.

what?

i could be blissful here

but it would leave me too susceptible to happiness

and happiness has its dangers.

i just wish i could stop missing you from across the kitchen table.

2009-01-02T06:26:00.001-05:00

i've moved out of my relative's homes and lives, probably for the rest of a very long time.

somehow i've managed to find a home, with coffee, yellow curtains in a sun room, extra knitted afghans, and lapsang souchong brewing in a tea pot over a candle.

a single candle for a single pot, just so that a single person will not be left out

singularity can be beautiful when served for a whole.

once again, i've found love in strangers and strangers in love

i haven't felt this way since i was home,

still about 5519 miles away from here.

2008-12-31T08:20:00.000-05:00

for my birthday, please.

family inquisition

2008-12-28T09:28:00.003-05:00

yesterday i woke up to my granny spreading marmalade on

my toast.

yesterday i was ushered into a car by my aunt, summoned

for a meeting by my grandad.

i was flattered, felt honoured even..

"i guess he must've missed me, huh"

(silence)

we pulled into the cobblestone driveway leading to the farmhouse with all it's grandeur and familiarity comforting me, guiding me back into that easy smile i was so used to wearing around them.

this was the place i had spent so many weeks walking around, touching the gilded mirrors and staring at the chandeliers, wondering how every little thing managed to stay in it's place without moving an inch, despite the earth spinning around so fast over all those years.

surely something would get thrown out of place

or did gravity not have a hold here?

it seemed magical

too good to be true.

i was right, it was too good to be true.

the constancy, the identical inflections in their voices as they greeted me with supposed happiness and warmth..

it all served to bring me to that house, that morning, to the same people i had associated with hill farm my whole

life.

grandad. jenny. aunty heather was there as well.

it was the same setting but a different act, everyone sitting rigidly in the wrong seats. even i felt displaced from my usual spot on the couch and walked hesitantly, quietly,

towards the stiff armchair everyone knew was there for

show.

mild conversation

5 minutes

thick silence

5 seconds

"they kept my daughter away from me for 4 years"

"they purposely placed this program over a stretch of time so that you would miss two years of school and never go

back"

"your father kicked you out of the house because you

weren't a good enough moonie"

"you are a lovely young lady and we don't want you to end

up unhappy and bitterly regretful like your mother"

"she could have been anything"

"what good has come out of her life?"

....'me?'

(silence)

"why are we crying here?"

'bye grandad'

i'm reading anti-moonie propaganda my granny gave me

it's called "heavenly deception"

by chris elkins

i wonder if his family ever sat him down in the sitting room and told him the people he was forever drawn to,

people he loved, were inherently evil and had a malicious

intent to ruin his life.

i'm going to keep reading and find out.

it's cold and grey outside

2008-12-24T10:58:00.001-05:00

i want to steal the keys from their unspoken home on the landing table and drive with them dangling against each other.
just to listen to the sound
just to feel the solidness of traction along the pavement,
forever grabbing for a standstill but forever slipping away.

drive away from tomorrow, drive away from the new year, drive away from 19, drive away from the hundreds and hundreds of un-thought of presents and unborn people all with different desires and hopes and expectations of receiving and expressing love.
drive. to. nothing.

for fleeting minute and fickle day, be gone and take your disarray.

2008-12-23T12:28:00.012-05:00

hesitate to levitate,

and temptation floats,

halfway to its favoured mark,

meets cracked lips and halts,

used up by the tortured soul,

too delicate to withstand air,

and so do all things go to waste,

if you fear to leave a tear.

the most shitty and hasty of poems i've ever written, but it paints a nicely woeful portrait.

2008-12-23T05:39:00.003-05:00

not trying to infiltrate, just trying to make sense. make truth. make moments to bind and connect.

there's nothing else for me, just a series of momentary lucid flashes that will hopefully string together to create something roughly resembling a life.

we're all in the dance

2008-12-22T13:24:00.003-05:00

"i look at my room, at the table with the flowers and the pot of tea, the two cups, i think how nice two cups on a table can look."

if nobody speaks of remarkable things

over hazelnut coffee and truffles

2008-12-21T20:08:00.008-05:00

synchronized steps, light-headed laughter
for once i am half what i want to be.

lost notes piled in a leather bound book left forlorn and forgotten on a mosaic table.
the dim lights are not to blame
these thoughts will only be another ornament on another's mind.
it could hang lifeless or be knocked over and shatter to the floor; unused, unexamined.
or it could be gently cupped with a fragile touch, fingertips shaking, skin taut and stretching, for fear of damaging something so delicate, like glass.

words are glass
mirrors,

but still breakable and cutting
able to bleed out our faults and reflect them at the same time.

every day has its surprises
perhaps these little losses are chances for them to be found again in a place called home.

goodnight

2008-12-20T21:30:00.003-05:00

a conversation about the past can be the perfect vindication for all the ways you wronged yourself.

i'm quite tired
i was angry for 10 minutes after reading harsh words sent in my direction
whatever, i deserved them to a degree
now watching these words appear and disappear as i write and erase, write and erase, wondering what will eventually stay put, is dissipating all thoughts all cares all concerns
i'm in a beautiful house with some beautiful smells.
i can tell it's beautiful because as small as it is there are christmas ornaments with proper candles adorning the wall. that's all i really need to feel mired in beauty.

i wonder if i've reverted back to my 12 year old self
my thoughts are simple, my vocabulary limited to 'happy' and 'safe'.

even strangers can be the perfect companion.

insomnia, with love

2008-12-19T09:27:00.002-05:00

My head hurts, my hands are dry,
My heart beats clearly but I don't know why.
I'll kiss him sweetly if you pass me the bread,
Just don't blame me if I recoil with dread.
The deadened sun will be my solace today,
A welcome mark to let me end the facade.
Hushed sighs echo through the next room,
If I don't catch a dream it will be to their own doom.

I lay down, then sit up, 'til night catches sight,
Of my restless unease and my unbidden plight.
The sounds have grown louder so I cover my ears,
To forbid from entering my deepest of fears.
My mind wanders to where I would be tonight,
If he could care
At least the night still caught sight.

11-20-08
1:08 a.m.

Où en êtes-vous ce soir

2008-12-19T06:08:00.008-05:00

where are you tonight

Où

pron.: 1. that

adv.: 1. where

2. whereabouts

3. whither

conj.: 1. wherein

prep.: 1. at

2. in

3. during

4. to

5. into

6. of

adv.: 1. thereof

êtes-vous

are you

ce soir

adv.: 1. tonight

2008-12-19T04:49:00.000-05:00

knowing isn't everything

it's when it's okay not to know everything that you know you should hold on.

dead man's float

2008-12-18T06:23:00.004-05:00

typos, hesitance, nervous laughter, superficiality, materialism, bureaucracy - whenever i come across these things i automatically turn something inside myself off until all that's left is a paper doll.

i play the part

minus the expressions

i speak the words

minus the sincerity

i give the hugs

minus the warmth

i wave so long

never letting on that that may be our last

it isn't progress but it isn't the opposite

it's just a lonely reality.

merci

2008-12-17T10:17:00.003-05:00

e s a i t n r u l o

2008-12-15T20:26:00.005-05:00

tay

ehr

day

pay

say

bay

vay

ash

zhay

zhee

koo

zed

ee grek

eex

ka
doo-bluh-vay

Sans toi, les émotions d'aujourd'hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d'autrefois.

without you, today's emotions would be the scurf of yesterday's.

je rêve de toi, ma petite chardonneret.

i dream of you, my little goldfinch.

sleepwalking

2008-12-14T12:27:00.002-05:00

in a fog, as always

up and down

up and

down

shoulders, sore

head, pounding

heart, unaffected

life, unaltered.

and so does the merry-go-round

turn

around and

around

walking, up

and down.

shaking off all pain

smooth cheeks

pressed pants

run away in clean clothes

but still,

run.

or face the morning.

i curl up when i'm talking to you.

2008-12-12T14:03:00.002-05:00

dear santa,

2008-12-12T13:11:00.003-05:00

please eradicate all forms of communication except for appreciation. at least for a day.

that's all i want for christmas this year.

that's all i want every year.

love,

what to do with all i feel

2008-12-11T21:47:00.007-05:00

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.

With sadness there is something to rub against,

A wound to tend with lotion and cloth.

When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,

Something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.

It doesn’t need you to hold it down.

It doesn’t need anything.

Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,

And disappears when it wants to.

You are happy either way.

Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house

And now live over a quarry of noise and dust

Cannot make you unhappy.

Everything has a life of its own,

It too could wake up filled with possibilities

Of coffee cake and ripe peaches,

And love even the floor which needs to be swept,

The soiled linens and scratched records.

Since there is no place large enough

To contain so much happiness,

You shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you

Into everything you touch.

You are not responsible.

You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit

For the moon, but continues to hold it, and to share it,

And in that way, be known.

Naomi Shihab Nye

2008-12-11T20:27:00.009-05:00

Google Translate - Fastest Rising (U.S.)

you
what
thank you
please
love

What is...

what is love
what is life
what is java
what is sap
what is rss
what is scientology
what is autism
what is lupus
what is 3g
what is art

Sverige

Populäraste sökorden

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How to...

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한국어

운동선수 부문

김연아
박지성
박태환
추성훈
michael phelps

we're no different, really.

http://www.google.com/intl/en/press/zeitgeist2008/world.html#top

wednesday

2008-12-10T17:51:00.009-05:00

coffee with a new face today.

coins dropped on the floor, nervous laughter.

thoughts streaming too fast for me to catch and understand - why is it that i always skirt around the edges of what i mean to say?

are we destined to mistaken each other for strangers

even though we're the only beings who can offer comfort to each other.

why is it possible that we can travel through a room without holding a single hand?

im hurting and i don't know why.

this world

overwhelms.

no distinction

2008-12-09T13:53:00.007-05:00

im stripping it all away.

dashing it from the collective i identify myself with

even this definition i use as a basis for recognizing my light, my air, my bath water

is no longer my own, but the world's.

there's really no other way to love everything enough except to love it as if it were you

..yourself

your dreams

your hopes

your tears on the pillow

your questions left hanging

your heart beat

your body shivering

your blood, shed for something you didn't ask for

your sorrow

your beauty.

all there is in this world is your own

and it's a lot to ask to harbor it

to add on a bit more tenderness and let yourself take the brunt of the bitterness

but there's not much else we have to occupy our hearts, really.

2008-12-07T20:26:00.011-05:00

there have been many mistakes and many of those many, significant.

there will be more, i can't change that, for life isn't considerate because life isn't the deciding factor.

it's the will you embrace this unalterable breath with that will choose your fate

and it's been enough time for me to see that i do want to know where this leads.

i don't want to skim over the frost on the grass in places not quite touched by the stretching sunlight

or the way the frayed edges on my curtain sway from a sudden winter chill

or the heat of a towel pulled from the radiator just as i step out of the shower, insulating the warmth my heart pumps to my skin and wrapping me in a cocoon of a comfort i borrowed from within myself.

i don't want to forget.

i want to remember, and listen again.

play back over and over the hazy images and see how beautiful they actually were even in their most foreign and unrelatable form.

maybe then i can relive the last 3 years

and finally forgive.

2008-12-06T08:12:00.007-05:00

two pieces

melted creme and a lightly toasted crust,

irresistable

heavy blankets

doubled up socks on motionless cold feet,

alleviating. familiar.

no matter where i go mothers will smooth away straggling hairs

there will always be a door that could hold you to the truth, with all it has seen

familiar

but

still, i find something too foreign to settle into, too elusive to want to comprehend.

i want to strip from me

everything i've consumed

from books to spices to sights to beliefs

and know today for what it was really meant to be, privy only to me.

italy

akron/family

italy's canals

reflections on water

little mirrors for the vain houses lined up in neat rows before themselves.

i wish that everything would be colourless and dim

except if i look through a fogged up window pane

and see you stand there behind me

then maybe that can be my moment to pause and prepare

instead of immediately taking in the button you lost on your shirt and the cracked leather boots

and taking for granted the care you took to scrub behind your ears in the shower this morning.

maybe i could see that in a window pane, who knows.

3:24

2008-12-04T22:24:00.002-05:00

can't bring myself to lie down. it seems like a shame to have to surrender all this time to the coming day, like tomorrow takes your energy out of turn, without consideration, without thinking to ask.

i debate staying up the few remaining hours until i'm expected to show my face and let the world know i'm here.

i'll tell them all the things they want to see without opening my mouth once.

i'll answer their questions before they even acknowledge the tightness that appears around their eyes as they hear my footsteps descending the stairs, every wooden creak more pronounced with the proximity, every step etching deeper into the anxiety until they set their eyes on me.

and then the deep sigh of relief as i soothe away the lines with lies.

no, i wasn't tempted to pack my bags in the duration of the night and never look back.

yes, my face is clean.

no, im not wearing last night's mascara.

no, i didn't have any nightmares.

no, i wasn't woken up by the rain.

but my sleeplessness is a pleasure, as much pain it might eventually cause.

but eventually isn't now, and now is everything i care to think about, for the moment.

a cupper and a comforter

2008-12-04T19:03:00.013-05:00

patterned curtains stay open so i can watch the sky light up from a dense, bleak grey to somewhat lighter tones. you could almost call it white, but it's rare to see something beyond greyness here.

even though the full clouds only bring promises of showers and another day gone by due to the unwalkable state of the narrow, barely accessible side roads, it doesn't seem to matter much when that barest shred of light falls to touch the hedges and the broken wooden fences.

every morning at half past 7, i turn my head a slight left for a better view; cheek exposed to the first broken frost of the day, while the other cheek soaks in the warmth of lingering images drawn from fluttering eyelids in through the pillow. the contrast becomes a wake up call and a soothing lullabye, a splash of water from a basin left outside overnight, a ray of sunshine on browning skin, sizzling, nestling, settling. i view the sight outside my window with conflicted senses, and then feel alive before i even get out of bed.

the second moment is when, before i can even think to brush my teeth, or put my slippers on, or look at the grandad clock on the lace covered night stand, three neat raps are heard at the door and a cup of tea is placed on that same night stand. i don't say thank you, i don't say good morning, i just watch the steam, then glance out the window, then back to the steam, and wonder how it is that i managed to catch a wisp of cloud in my cup.

someone walks out of the room and smiles, because i had looked at her cup with a thirsty throat and my surprise of a need fulfilled without a single cry of its existence is obvious.

i laugh, lacing my fingers around the cool porcelain, because i don't need any more moments to know that this is real. and solid. and cold.

restless

2008-11-30T12:09:00.003-05:00

today i wake up once, to seeing two puppies named kolya and nuit jump on top of my easel and play.

i wake up twice, to the ring of a new silver phone going off. i don't remember the red one being replaced, and i don't remember anyone ever surprising me with a wake up call before. i accept both and fall back asleep.

i wake up a third time, and find myself in the living room, watching puppies playing amongst a happy family, christmas wrapping lacking but plastic bags still being ripped impatiently from the gifts; no tree, no lights, no snow.

no one mentioned that christmas had been moved to november this year.

i slip back under my covers and wake up for the fourth time.

i'm shivering and i have to pee.

i look over at my easel and my heart drops a little as i see my kitten curled up by my feet instead. i've never been disappointed at the sight of my kitten before.

funny how dreams can make you so dissatisfied.

give modesty a cause

2008-11-22T00:54:00.002-05:00

more sober
less peeking
flat shoes
more speaking
kissing cheeks
flannel sheets
call your mother
whiten teeth
sleep at ten
make the bed
trimming nails
stroke your hair
talk softly
dont you dare
listen always
to your head

2008-11-21T22:17:00.005-05:00

all that will do right now is singing to a dim lit moon, strumming on an old guitar with rhythmic claps filling the night.
but instead i only have a broken voice, and a bow of broken strings to tie it away.

living with remnants

2008-11-21T20:50:00.003-05:00

it's a curse to always be aware of change.
to have to encourage it with needy hands, and shy away of it when it causes distress.
why can't change ever come of it's own accord,
why can't change be the last lingering sense that swoops in when it's most longed for and leave before any damage is done?
instead we see the things we love morph around us until they become strange and foreign.
so much so that we can barely escape fast enough from things that once gave us a welcome illusion of peace.

i look into your eyes and see a reflection i don't recognize.
maybe if i close mine i'll be able to remember why im standing before you, empty and surrendering.

afternoon

2008-11-21T15:25:00.003-05:00

I could stop comparing.
I could place my hands over my eyes and make words from the static I see in them.
But I can't seem to stop reading the same thing over every day, hoping somehow that I'll learn something new about myself and understand why it's so vital to hold onto that familiarity.

I could pick up something new
I could join a club and have someone else to talk to besides my living ghosts.
But it doesn't mean they would understand any more than I don't.

something bilious for dessert.

2008-11-21T01:47:00.000-05:00

Dorothy Parker

2008-11-21T00:32:00.002-05:00

"This is what I pray:
Keep him by me tenderly;
Keep him sweet in pride of me,
Ever and a day;
Keep me from the old distress;
Let me, for our happiness,
Be the one to love the less:
This is what I pray."

Jezebel, I.. I would love to see you again.

2008-11-20T18:47:00.001-05:00

"A man is not an effigy
But still all this horror
Has made a trench out of my soul
I'm gonna have to fall in love with a blind girl
So she will not see the shame that I know"

Dear Jaimie,

2008-11-20T15:59:00.007-05:00

He showed me a picture of you, you know. The one with you sitting in a field, sometime in autumn 'cause the grass was fading. You had on this little powder blue dress with sunflowers on it and a straw hat tied under your dainty chin with a bow. I remember thinking it was a such a pretty thing to wear just to sit in a field, but who am I to judge? I just put on my jeans with the pockets worn thin and a white smock for the bar, don't want anyone getting too fresh on the job. Anyway, I just thought you ought to know he has that photo of you folded up and creased pretty nicely in his leather wallet. I kind of suspect you've never seen it 'cause as pretty as you looked under that sun, you had this awfully serious face on all tilted to your left. Like you were looking at something you didn't like in the distance and didn't even know the camera was pointed at you. Anyway, I'm putting my nose where it doesn't belong so I'm gonna put this pen down and give it to your boy now.

Cheers,
Janet

insomnia, with love.

2008-11-20T15:46:00.003-05:00

my head hurts, my hands are dry,
my heart beats clearly but i don't know why.
i'll kiss him sweetly if you pass me the bread,
just don't blame me if i recoil with dread.
the deadened sun will be my solace today,
a welcome mark to let me end the facade.
muffled sighs echo through the next room,
if i don't catch a dream it'll be to their own doom.
i lay down, then sit up, 'til night catches sight,
of my restless unease and my unbidden plight.
the sounds have grown louder so i cover my ears,
to forbid from entering my deepest of fears.
my mind wanders to where i'd be tonight
if he could care
at least the night still caught sight.

2008-11-14T17:06:00.001-05:00

what is it that is so attractive about conflict.

symphony #9

2008-11-14T13:36:00.005-05:00

I start each day with the echo of a broken door slamming, startling me awake. No matter how many times I hear it and no matter how many minutes I spend preparing the night before for this tormented morning cry, I can't face it with tranquility.

This day started out just the same, and I'm still recovering, five hours later, from the nerves it touched. Perhaps the vibrations are still continuing even now, chasing me across 15 miles to affect me, to hold me in its thralls and force me into a willing listener.

I get the sense once in awhile that all I am is a collection of these sounds, and though I cannot hear them any longer, their echoes stay entangled in me, and every sidewalk I step on, every shoe I place on my feet, collects an imprint of this song I must call my life.
These echoes never leave me.

But I want to dash them from me, I want a clean slate and a fresh sheet of music with all the notes in the world to create my silent piece. To be my own composer.

That's all I ask, but I know it's too much.

hours

2008-11-08T12:20:00.003-05:00

There never was much to begin with, just sorry eyes and an expectant cheek turn up towards the sky.

Eventually the sinking recognition that imploring gestures would never be satisfied overcame all expectations, and I succombed to heavy lids and walked down a dusty back road back to my dusty apartment.

That's how I came to be where I started, and that's where my boots will always lead.

Or so it seems.

And yet here I am, unemployed, coffeeless, an unwashed face against the window pane, and I know I feel the morning dew on the other side. Though when I brush the skin it remains surprisingly dry.

I take off my boots and carress the leather, wonder how they had the good fortune to attract the moisture when my cheeks were conveniently skipped over.

It doesn't seem fair.

That objects can experience more sensations than the hair on your arms.

But that's why I wake up to the sounds of two and three alarms every morning and turn the blankets aside, securely attach a knitted yellow hat to my head and wrap myself in sleeves.

Now the rain can pour and not feel a hindrance to my comfort.

And I can turn my questioning cheek up to the sky and embrace its sorry answers.

about me

2008-10-18T12:31:00.000-04:00

my only concern is fighting the decaying flow; creating a dome with walls of easy-to-listen-to voices and a ceiling of twilit skies coupled with a bite in the wind. i will be my own ground and hold up this land in my palms, from which flowers will sprout out in subdued colors and entangle into a bed for you to dream, undisturbed.

Sanctity of The Tangible

2008-10-01T18:58:00.006-04:00

There has been a layer underneath every course I have taken thus far, an alternate existence for every cursory and surface decision made. So what is it that dictates the distinction between a consciously physical existence and the awareness of a merging reality? Does it merely dissolve back to the choice of acceptance, or is it a farce mired into our very bones from history's manipulation of our consciousness? How thin exactly is the thread we seem to have wrapped around our necks? If by some happenstance, this thread were to tighten around our throats in the form of the hangman's rope, would the pulling of the lever coincide with our suffocation or an unrecognized freedom? How valid can such freedom be without the acknowledgment of danger, how close we are to strengthening the noose around our necks...
Does freedom only exist upon its removal?
What if we are too foolish to see our own entrapment?

So many questions. Who will come forth with the answers?

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair

2008-09-29T14:41:00.004-04:00

I'm surprised to find the world doesn't conspire against me, but I conspire against the world.

hope

2008-07-05T14:20:00.001-04:00

imagine your life well.

summer of the endless daze

2008-05-20T23:58:00.006-04:00

wed 6/18- F Yeah Tour '08 w/ Dan Deacon $13 7:00 @ the black cat
mon 7/7- Fleet Foxes, The Dutchess and the Duke $10 9:00 @ the black cat
sat 7/26- Tilly and the Wall, The Ruby Suns $13 9:00 @ the black cat
fri 8/1- Bon Iver & Bowerbirds $13 9:00 @ the black cat

this list is continually being added and taken away from.

2008-04-29T22:32:00.001-04:00

some things are for keeping, some things are too good and they go.