I just bought an iced coffee with a pile of dimes.
I had asked her if she had any drinks that cost a dollar, she said they didn't, so I first got a madeline for 60 cents.
I did it because I feel bad sitting in there using the internet for free.
She said I didn't have to buy something to use the internet, it was nice of her, but I had read this article once that said only cheap people do that, so yeah, I felt guilty.
I sat down with my madeline and the little white slip with the internet password;
Opened my computer, got out my book.
Then I realized I was really thirsty. So I started counting my change at the table until I got up to 2.10.
Then I put it back in my wallet.
I walked up to the counter and stood there, counting the change I had just counted, trying to get together 1.70.
I was kind of sweating, it was really hot in there, and I had just walked 8 blocks.
The brunette barista could not have had a more impatient look on her face.
I handed her the pile of dimes, and told her it was at least 1.70.
She counted it, dime by dime, and gave me 20 cents back
I felt like a homeless person
so I put the 20 cents in the tip jar.
20100507
when she wears her prettiest dress;
Tonight she will take a long warm bath,
soak in the milk suds and breathe aromatherapy.
She will shave the stiff thick hairs from her legs
and manicure between her arms and thighs.
Then she will rub lotion on her elbows
belly, back, neck, calves, knees.
She will dry her long blonde hair
and part it oh-so-carefully.
She will paint her toes an ominous gray
and clip her fingernails just so,
then line her large gray eyes so thick
and mascara her lashes with a blackened stick.
She will slide into her lacy underpants
and clasp a small black bra,
then shimmy into a ruffly shift
and slip her stockinged feet into the shoes that fit.
She is wearing her prettiest dress tonight
to do no more than dine on fish at home,
but how she loves to sit in red high heels at her table
and enjoy an evening meal alone.
soak in the milk suds and breathe aromatherapy.
She will shave the stiff thick hairs from her legs
and manicure between her arms and thighs.
Then she will rub lotion on her elbows
belly, back, neck, calves, knees.
She will dry her long blonde hair
and part it oh-so-carefully.
She will paint her toes an ominous gray
and clip her fingernails just so,
then line her large gray eyes so thick
and mascara her lashes with a blackened stick.
She will slide into her lacy underpants
and clasp a small black bra,
then shimmy into a ruffly shift
and slip her stockinged feet into the shoes that fit.
She is wearing her prettiest dress tonight
to do no more than dine on fish at home,
but how she loves to sit in red high heels at her table
and enjoy an evening meal alone.
20100505
life is like a milkshake.
sucking on a straw,
sipping at the last bit of a milkshake
relishing in the cold, dark, sweet, sugary beverage.
you remember the first sip that tantalized your tounge
the cold rushing to your forehead
the taste overwhelming your buds
the surprise quenching of a secret desire.
you were enveloped in that milkshake.
you thought of how chocolate is your favorite flavor,
raspberry, mint chip or even vanilla would have been fine
but you went with chocolate, your favorite.
the last icy chunks of sugary goodness make their way up the straw,
leaving only the soupy remnants of what once was.
you knew all along it wouldn't last forever,
thats just how it is with milkshakes.
sipping at the last bit of a milkshake
relishing in the cold, dark, sweet, sugary beverage.
you remember the first sip that tantalized your tounge
the cold rushing to your forehead
the taste overwhelming your buds
the surprise quenching of a secret desire.
you were enveloped in that milkshake.
you thought of how chocolate is your favorite flavor,
raspberry, mint chip or even vanilla would have been fine
but you went with chocolate, your favorite.
the last icy chunks of sugary goodness make their way up the straw,
leaving only the soupy remnants of what once was.
you knew all along it wouldn't last forever,
thats just how it is with milkshakes.
20100424
1112006 (eyeminlovewithyou).
i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you. i dont know why its taking me so long to accept this and understand that you are the one for me but i know it and i want to be with you more than anything. i wish i could call you or hold you and kiss you and just feel right. i was talking to my sister and she was like " i knew some thing like this would happen, you and jon just have a weird connection." but its not even weird. its perfect. and i miss you and i love you. please grow up soon and let me grow up soon so we can be together. eyeminlovewithyou.
no really. im in love with you.
09062006 (you're still my one).
Love isnt easy but it shouldnt be hard.
Loving is living love, and living in love, and showing it and feeling it and seeing it.
Love is going to sleep with a kiss and a whisper and waking up to a hug and a smile.
Love should be the kind words in the back of your head and the support from the sidelines whether your ahead or behind. Love should be the one constant, the one thing you KNOW. Love isnt name calling and threats and broken promises, love is baby and i love you and forevers. Love is a feeling of oneness from 2000 miles away, and a single being when together. Love is what I feel for you, and please help all these other things come true, cause baby you're my one I know it baby I do.
I cant put my finger on what is causing the tension between us, and if you think maybe my feelings and heart are misled then tell me, I'm not looking to have my heart broken from colorado. Things arent going the way we thought they would (meaning living together in cali) and dealing with being together is hard right now because we were let down, at least thats what I'm feeling. I can only hope that as I go my way, and you go yours, we wont lose that feeling that has gotten us to where we are now. Please dont forget boo. I can only hope that we will manifest ourselves in that little bubble of perfection I know is waiting for us, somewhere...
I know I said earlier this summer that no matter what happens I will still be your girl, and no matter what happens I kno that when the time is right again, we will be together. And i still believe that. There is something between us that will last a lifetime, it just cant manifest itself right now. And thats ok. Just know baby, just know that we're in it together till the end, and nothings going to change that. No distance or lust or immature bickering, none of that matters. When I hold you in my arms, im holding the world, and how could i let that go?
i love you.
20100409
20100403
[poetry] When we were young
When we were young, it was so easy to laugh before we understood the depths of the crash.
When we were young, it was so easy to cry when we didn't yet know how much time would go by.
When we were young, it was so easy to love. So easy to glean what we thought real love was.
Now that we're older, now we understand
there is much more to it than just holding your hand.
I would love to go back, to those carefree hours,
When our heads would just rest between thorns on the flowers
and our minds would just wander over fields of dreams
And just wonder what our love and lives would mean…
[some words from]
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
20100324
These Fleeting Moments: A Love Story
When writing this story, I was conflicted by what was the appropriate way to tell it. So much and so many years lead up to a single moment, making it difficult to determine how to balance the narration of my past with these isolated events. I decided to take a route similar to that of Momaday and tell the story from multiple perspectives, and include small bits of poetry to better convey the emotion around certain happenings. I tell this story from both the first person, as myself reflecting back on events, and in the third person, with a narrator that dictates the lapses of time in between the events. All of this was in an effort to bring the reader successfully to the final line of the story in which a moment of realization occurs. I want the reader to feel the energy and power behind what I was feeling. I want you to understand the confusion, the mystery, and the beauty in that moment.
1.
"Can you feel that?" I whispered, as I buried my head further beneath the cream and faded green blankets. I clutched the cordless phone tightly to the smooth skin of my child-like face. I cupped my palm around the mouthpiece and spoke softly, so not to wake my father in the next room. Around that time we spent many nights like this, one-thousand miles away tucked into bed at 2:00 A.M., our teenage minds constructing dreamworlds where our mouths would meet.
"I can see your eyes", he said, "They're right in front of me". His own stared at the ceiling in a dreamlike trance, arms and legs stretched across the white sheets of his extra-long twin size dorm room bed, phone balanced in the space between his head and shoulder. He pushed the tousled dark brown strands out of his face, as if to get a better look.
"I feel like you're right here with me. I feel like I can hold you, touch you. Please come here".
They had met six months earlier, their eyes had locked across a crowded parking lot at a Phish show in the throws of the truly rebellious stages of their youth. She hadn't been home in months. Many teenagers find themselves struggling for a sense of self and identity, seeking to find meaning and purpose while locked in the blocked off cement world of a middle class high school. She simply couldn’t take it. So, for a while, she left. Maybe she was simply succumbing to a naive vulnerability created by youth and the struggles of that stage in her life, but she hadn't forgotten the way the deep chestnut of his glance told her things that would take years to understand. She knew that he felt the same. They held tightly to that moment as the darkness enveloped their bodies leaving the mind's eye to do its work. All they knew was the feeling they had in their chests.
"I want to feel your breath", I said. "I want to inhale you so it slips past my lips, rushes through my throat, and down my arms to rest in pinpoints on my fingertips. If you were inside me, really inside, our souls fully intertwined, I would feel your thoughts, your speech, your heat. We would never be alone again. We would never have to be alone".
He went to visit her in New Hampshire. They held each other close, and promised they would be together forever. But forever is a long time when your seventeen.
2.
A year went by. She dropped out of high school and moved out. Eighteen came and went in an chaotic blur. Drugs, a boyfriend, an abortion, a couple jobs. In the midst of the mess, she found her way into college. She still spoke with him daily. Walking across her quintessential north east campus one day, staring at the trees, daydreaming as usual, she had a moment of realization and took a sharp right into the study abroad office. She looked hopefully at a woman with thin, pink lips and a face caked in a thick foundation, “I want to go to California”. That summer, she moved from Keene back to her parents house before embarking on her journey across the country, and on a whim, he came to visit her.
I looked up into his tanned face, my eyes beaming in wonder, unbelieving that he was truly there again. I gazed at our hands clasped together over the center console, I had never felt something so right. “You’re beautiful. This is beautiful”, I said. My jean skirt barely covered my thighs, and I let his hand drop softly to my leg and brush against my skin. I arched my back and head up towards the roof, the fading sunlight catching the sun-kissed blonde strands of my hair as it tumbled down my shoulders. I was nineteen and he was twenty. We spent the summer months in ecstasy. We read the Toa Te Ching, meditated on the beach in North Carolina, and got Mayan long count tattoos as symbols of what we meant to each other. We felt, when we were together, that our hearts and souls were one, that we knew the meaning of love. We felt as if the whole world was ours, was there to allow this.
He went with her to california. One night in San Rafael, she held him down by his shoulders, her naked pussy pressed against his chest, "I love you, ask me. We are soul mates. Ask me". He looked up into her wild gray blue eyes, eyes that he was inexplicably drawn to, "Will you marry me?"
3.
Their dream life in California didn’t pan out as expected. It was too expensive, too difficult, and they were too young. She started studying poetry at her new school, and he went back east. As most gray-eyed, blonde haired young girls do, she found a new boy; she said she was drawn to the insatiable blue. But, once he fell asleep, eighteen and satisfied, she crept out of the room with his cell phone and snuck down to think on the cold, cement stairs. She dialed his number, he answered, and sounded drunk.
"I thought about you. All I could think about was you. I miss you."
"I miss you too”, he said.
I listened to his breath and watched the rain fall on the campus I now called home, thousands of miles from my family and friends. My only comfort was the smell of worms and the phone resting against my cheek. I pictured his face, and his chestnut brown eyes. I thought of his arms wrapped around me and the intensity of his touch. I listened to him tell me that he loved me, that he needed me, and I thought of how I loved him too. I rested my head against the cool chipped paint of the banister as if to ease my thoughts from the outside in, I closed my eyes- then remembered the boy I had left inside.
"I have to go, I'll call you soon".
She didn’t call, and she dropped out of school two months later.
4.
The rain eventually stopped. She awoke daily to the smell of salt and sea and sweat. The beach had beckoned to her, but the city claimed her. She learned how to drink, how to walk
alone at night, to cook, to sign a lease, hold a job, to write. Still, she sought his words and voice. She figured out how to get through college. She lived with boys, and lived alone, and in time, she called this new place home. But each morning, she would sneak on her AIM, and only ever speak to him. She was taught about literature, and diversity, about being a woman and the meaning of “free”. She learned how to love in a certain place and time, about complacency, just living, the mundane and the sublime. Still, she would find free moments, to call, to text, to listen to him, and to prattle about the lives they lived. Three years went by.
5.
We met at a bar in brooklyn. It was January. I took one look at his face, his eyes, something was different. Was it me? I crowded, somewhat uncomfortably, with some new friends at the counter, taking shots and laughing. I was attempting to gracefully deflect pick-up lines, while still accepting the free drinks. I remember my skirt was pulled up above my navel, eyes lined thick. My ripped black tights and cardigan showed him who I was now, or at least who I thought I was.
“Can I just talk to you”, he whispered, trying to grab my hand.
“I don’t know what you want to talk about Jonathan. Come on, get a drink”.
That night was a lost cause. Once we were drunk enough, he hailed a cab, and we both got in. We couldn’t even look at each other.
They sat gazing out the window, musing on the thick white snowflakes and wondering if any of them ever did look the same. The cabbie stopped outside a brick warehouse, and he watched her wrap her coat more tightly around her self and step into the freezing air.
I glanced back, "Thanks", then walked away.
6.
Months went by. They continued talking, and eventually moved passed the incident in Brooklyn. As they always do, another summer finally came. The year she was to graduate, by chance, they were in the same place at the same time. Their old stomping grounds, a Phish show.
I tried to push him away, but he was persistent. We held hands and led each other through the crowd of dreadlocks and smoke, greeting old friends and acquaintances along our way to the top of the venue. It felt like the old times.
She looked up at the bright Colorado stars as they leaned against a concrete wall, “Esther” played in the background. He held her close, his hand resting on the back of her head. He buried his mouth into her long blonde hair, kissed the tops of her ears, his breath grazed her neck, and he whispered: "Don't you remember"?
I grasped the tops of his shoulders, ran my palms down the sides of his arms, thumbs sliding past the inside of his elbows and wrists. I strung my fingers through his, and dug my nails into the tops of his hands and cast my gray blue eyes up to the deep brown of his.
She stood, frozen, flooded with memories of the past six years. She was overcome with momentary glimpses of whispered words and broken promises. She looked at him now, and mused on how far they had come from their sleepless teenage nights. She was twenty-two, and he was twenty-three, and she realized in a single moment, that she felt exactly the same as she had then, as she always had.
I leaned in until my lips touched the side of his face, and took a deep breath, feeling an old feeling rise up through my chest, "I remember".
1.
"Can you feel that?" I whispered, as I buried my head further beneath the cream and faded green blankets. I clutched the cordless phone tightly to the smooth skin of my child-like face. I cupped my palm around the mouthpiece and spoke softly, so not to wake my father in the next room. Around that time we spent many nights like this, one-thousand miles away tucked into bed at 2:00 A.M., our teenage minds constructing dreamworlds where our mouths would meet.
"I can see your eyes", he said, "They're right in front of me". His own stared at the ceiling in a dreamlike trance, arms and legs stretched across the white sheets of his extra-long twin size dorm room bed, phone balanced in the space between his head and shoulder. He pushed the tousled dark brown strands out of his face, as if to get a better look.
"I feel like you're right here with me. I feel like I can hold you, touch you. Please come here".
They had met six months earlier, their eyes had locked across a crowded parking lot at a Phish show in the throws of the truly rebellious stages of their youth. She hadn't been home in months. Many teenagers find themselves struggling for a sense of self and identity, seeking to find meaning and purpose while locked in the blocked off cement world of a middle class high school. She simply couldn’t take it. So, for a while, she left. Maybe she was simply succumbing to a naive vulnerability created by youth and the struggles of that stage in her life, but she hadn't forgotten the way the deep chestnut of his glance told her things that would take years to understand. She knew that he felt the same. They held tightly to that moment as the darkness enveloped their bodies leaving the mind's eye to do its work. All they knew was the feeling they had in their chests.
"I want to feel your breath", I said. "I want to inhale you so it slips past my lips, rushes through my throat, and down my arms to rest in pinpoints on my fingertips. If you were inside me, really inside, our souls fully intertwined, I would feel your thoughts, your speech, your heat. We would never be alone again. We would never have to be alone".
He went to visit her in New Hampshire. They held each other close, and promised they would be together forever. But forever is a long time when your seventeen.
2.
A year went by. She dropped out of high school and moved out. Eighteen came and went in an chaotic blur. Drugs, a boyfriend, an abortion, a couple jobs. In the midst of the mess, she found her way into college. She still spoke with him daily. Walking across her quintessential north east campus one day, staring at the trees, daydreaming as usual, she had a moment of realization and took a sharp right into the study abroad office. She looked hopefully at a woman with thin, pink lips and a face caked in a thick foundation, “I want to go to California”. That summer, she moved from Keene back to her parents house before embarking on her journey across the country, and on a whim, he came to visit her.
I looked up into his tanned face, my eyes beaming in wonder, unbelieving that he was truly there again. I gazed at our hands clasped together over the center console, I had never felt something so right. “You’re beautiful. This is beautiful”, I said. My jean skirt barely covered my thighs, and I let his hand drop softly to my leg and brush against my skin. I arched my back and head up towards the roof, the fading sunlight catching the sun-kissed blonde strands of my hair as it tumbled down my shoulders. I was nineteen and he was twenty. We spent the summer months in ecstasy. We read the Toa Te Ching, meditated on the beach in North Carolina, and got Mayan long count tattoos as symbols of what we meant to each other. We felt, when we were together, that our hearts and souls were one, that we knew the meaning of love. We felt as if the whole world was ours, was there to allow this.
He went with her to california. One night in San Rafael, she held him down by his shoulders, her naked pussy pressed against his chest, "I love you, ask me. We are soul mates. Ask me". He looked up into her wild gray blue eyes, eyes that he was inexplicably drawn to, "Will you marry me?"
3.
Their dream life in California didn’t pan out as expected. It was too expensive, too difficult, and they were too young. She started studying poetry at her new school, and he went back east. As most gray-eyed, blonde haired young girls do, she found a new boy; she said she was drawn to the insatiable blue. But, once he fell asleep, eighteen and satisfied, she crept out of the room with his cell phone and snuck down to think on the cold, cement stairs. She dialed his number, he answered, and sounded drunk.
"I thought about you. All I could think about was you. I miss you."
"I miss you too”, he said.
I listened to his breath and watched the rain fall on the campus I now called home, thousands of miles from my family and friends. My only comfort was the smell of worms and the phone resting against my cheek. I pictured his face, and his chestnut brown eyes. I thought of his arms wrapped around me and the intensity of his touch. I listened to him tell me that he loved me, that he needed me, and I thought of how I loved him too. I rested my head against the cool chipped paint of the banister as if to ease my thoughts from the outside in, I closed my eyes- then remembered the boy I had left inside.
"I have to go, I'll call you soon".
She didn’t call, and she dropped out of school two months later.
4.
The rain eventually stopped. She awoke daily to the smell of salt and sea and sweat. The beach had beckoned to her, but the city claimed her. She learned how to drink, how to walk
alone at night, to cook, to sign a lease, hold a job, to write. Still, she sought his words and voice. She figured out how to get through college. She lived with boys, and lived alone, and in time, she called this new place home. But each morning, she would sneak on her AIM, and only ever speak to him. She was taught about literature, and diversity, about being a woman and the meaning of “free”. She learned how to love in a certain place and time, about complacency, just living, the mundane and the sublime. Still, she would find free moments, to call, to text, to listen to him, and to prattle about the lives they lived. Three years went by.
5.
We met at a bar in brooklyn. It was January. I took one look at his face, his eyes, something was different. Was it me? I crowded, somewhat uncomfortably, with some new friends at the counter, taking shots and laughing. I was attempting to gracefully deflect pick-up lines, while still accepting the free drinks. I remember my skirt was pulled up above my navel, eyes lined thick. My ripped black tights and cardigan showed him who I was now, or at least who I thought I was.
“Can I just talk to you”, he whispered, trying to grab my hand.
“I don’t know what you want to talk about Jonathan. Come on, get a drink”.
That night was a lost cause. Once we were drunk enough, he hailed a cab, and we both got in. We couldn’t even look at each other.
They sat gazing out the window, musing on the thick white snowflakes and wondering if any of them ever did look the same. The cabbie stopped outside a brick warehouse, and he watched her wrap her coat more tightly around her self and step into the freezing air.
I glanced back, "Thanks", then walked away.
6.
Months went by. They continued talking, and eventually moved passed the incident in Brooklyn. As they always do, another summer finally came. The year she was to graduate, by chance, they were in the same place at the same time. Their old stomping grounds, a Phish show.
I tried to push him away, but he was persistent. We held hands and led each other through the crowd of dreadlocks and smoke, greeting old friends and acquaintances along our way to the top of the venue. It felt like the old times.
She looked up at the bright Colorado stars as they leaned against a concrete wall, “Esther” played in the background. He held her close, his hand resting on the back of her head. He buried his mouth into her long blonde hair, kissed the tops of her ears, his breath grazed her neck, and he whispered: "Don't you remember"?
I grasped the tops of his shoulders, ran my palms down the sides of his arms, thumbs sliding past the inside of his elbows and wrists. I strung my fingers through his, and dug my nails into the tops of his hands and cast my gray blue eyes up to the deep brown of his.
She stood, frozen, flooded with memories of the past six years. She was overcome with momentary glimpses of whispered words and broken promises. She looked at him now, and mused on how far they had come from their sleepless teenage nights. She was twenty-two, and he was twenty-three, and she realized in a single moment, that she felt exactly the same as she had then, as she always had.
I leaned in until my lips touched the side of his face, and took a deep breath, feeling an old feeling rise up through my chest, "I remember".
20100316
20100309
[sigh] summer wardrobe wants.
Items in this set:
Sonia by Sonia Rykiel Striped cotton sweater dress, $270
Acne Harmony sweater, 135 GBP
Classic Mini Pocket Tank, $74
Just Jeans - Womens - Tops - Chambray Shirt, 60 AUD
Stretch-twill mini skirt, $230
Sonia by Sonia Rykiel Striped cotton sweater dress, $270
Acne Harmony sweater, 135 GBP
Classic Mini Pocket Tank, $74
Just Jeans - Womens - Tops - Chambray Shirt, 60 AUD
Stretch-twill mini skirt, $230
20100301
20100222
[DOSE] Regina Spektor
"Dont tell your secrets to anyone,
because ideas are vulnerable.
As soon as you say your ideas out loud,
Then they can go and live on their own without you.
And you will miss them oh so bad
And you will wait for their return
And you will wish they were your own
But ideas, that left, will never come back."
20100204
[ART] I want to see my beating heart
photo: mi amore, jstfd.com
She leaned her head against the cold bus window, soothing the searing pain that plagued so many of her days. Her large gray eyes stared dejectedly through the rain drops that had been left to lie on the glass. She was listening, eavesdropping really, to the chatter of other students. I feel an ache inside me, she thought to herself, Why wont it come out. Her blonde hair, slightly damp from the walk through the early February rain, tucked itself into the collar of her long black peacoat. The coat was a gift from her mother around christmas time, purchased spur of the moment in a flurry of shopping trips in New Hampshire during the winter break. As she glanced down to the book she was pretending to read, she noticed that the coat had accumulated a dusting of the ever-present short, white dog hairs that swarmed even her most carefully guarded articles. The book was a used copy, "The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin", an assignment for her senior capstone course, and although there were two "used" stickers clinging to the binding, it didn't look to her as if it had seen much use. She read the first line, for the third time, "Dear son: I have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes…"
"Sev has this mindset that if he comes up with a plan to march, people are just going to march with him. He doesn't think about other people's motives and priorities".
"Yeah, but you cant just sit around waiting…"
"True. Sevs an adventurer. He is doing it 'cause he likes it".
She muses on their naive tangents, Why don't I start getting involved in activism again? What am I doing with the magazine? What if I am trying to force something that isn't there?
This question had come like a reoccurring dream as predictable as eating or defacting, as unyielding as the Haitian earthquake, or Hurricane Katrina. Many of her thoughts operate in this way, obsessive, unrelenting; she was practicing learning to let go.
I'm there because I want to be there. How could I be forcing my own life? I am not going out of my way, I am not starving. I am taking it step by step. Day by day. I cannot ignore that which I want.
Her mind drifted away from the plotting students, the rain soaked window, the discussion of Pakistan and the shape of california. She let her large gray eyes wander to the blank first page of Franklin's Autobiography. And she thought. She thought in poetic prose as she so often did, and her mind whispered,
I wish to slice an incision down the center of my body
Arms and legs strapped to a gurney
Pretty blonde hair splayed about me.
I want to watch the blood drip down my sides
revealing the layers of flesh and muscle.
I desire to reach my ribs. To see before my own eyes
the beating of my own heart.
I want to watch the white, black, gray silvery ribbon and spiral
emerge from within my chest. I want to watch it release it self.
I want to set it free into the world, and let them sit with it.
She thought this all as she let her head drop back against the glass, now warmed by her own heat. She felt her hands clutching the words of Franklin, an attempt to elicit meaning through touch alone. The chattering students had quieted. Her headache soothed by her own rhythmic day dreams.
The red yellow white lights of the station came into view, her large gray eyes stared up at the concrete giant looming before her. The bus stopped. She gathered her book, her bag, her wallet; thoughts eased by the simple act of going home. She thanked the driver as she stepped down the stairs into the february rain. Hair tucked serenely into her coat. Gray eyes staring, preparing for the routine that lay ahead. Her mind whispering, you are almost there.
[ART] murmur.
Save the Date:
Oakland Art murmur
Downtown Oakland
February 5th, 2010
Start: 6:00 pm-ish
End: when the cops send us home...
Heads up everyone, tomorrow night is our favorite hipster street party of the month, Oakland Art murmur! For those of you who haven't previously attended this earth shattering event let me outline the basics for you:
1. Free Art. Thats right, you can actually go out in the Bay Area on a friday night and not wipe out over a week's worth of BART fare! Nineteen galleries from Berkeley to downtown Oakland open their doors so you- fellow art lovers- can view the contemporary masterpieces that await your critique and viewing pleasure. Generally the works run the gamut from headless toys to politically charged drawings to oil on canvas pieces that evoke the greats. Bottom line, there is something for everyone. Murmur's mission states that they are, "dedicated to increasing popular awareness of and participation in the arts". Now I'm making you aware so no excuses, come participate!
2. Its BART accessible. Just take your local Pittsburgh/Bay Point or Richmond train to the 19th Street station and walk up a few blocks to the first gallery, Kuhl Frames and Art on 22nd street. Believe me, you'll know when you're there, you can't miss it.
3. Street Drinking. You heard me, come prepared with a bottle opener and some sort of alcohol concealment device, such as a brown paper bag, and you'll be just like one of the Oakland locals- at least for a few hours, then we're sending you back under the bay where you came from.
4. You can participate! If you are an artist, jewelry maker, clothing designer, photographer, street poetry dealer, macaroni collage maker, etc., Art Murmur wants you involved! If you contact Rock Paper Scissors Collective (www.rpscollective.com), an art collective that helps put on Murmur, you can set up a table on 23rd street to sell your art wares. From Rock Paper Scissors website: "Can I set up a table on 23rd street?
Why of course you can. There are some stipulations to note: [1] Let us know - send an email to 23rdst _at_ oaklandartmurmur _dot_ com and the 23rd st coordinator will let you know if there's room and work with you on the day of the event to find a space for you. [2] Bring a table and chairs - Rock Paper Scissors has a limited number of tables and chairs that people can use but they aren't guaranteed. [3] Clean up - be prepared to break down and help clean up the street at 9pm".
5. This is a place for the young, the old, the scholars, the shoppers, the wealthy and the completely destitute to rub elbows and mingle in a mutual appreciation for contemporary self-expression through a multiplicity of mediums. It's cool, it's hip, and if you don't have anything else mind-blowing going on, it's tomorrow night.
So that's it folks, if those reasons haven't convinced you then we don't want you there anyway!
Visit www.oaklandartmurmur.com for more info.!
20100203
[ART] half-drunk poetry 09062006
Things aren't what they seems once awakening to juxtapose pen to paper, scrawling out that reoccurring dream. Climbing out of the beautiful, beautiful mountain mist to the crispness of clarity, and the freezing twang of snow gracing your lips so carelessly, carelessly reminds you of reality. Bringing you back to all that was and is and all that will be. Again, hints go unnoticed, swept away like the last cookie crumbs hidden guiltily under the rug, tempting you to ask yourself, did you simply forget or try and run? All that was and all that will be changed so momentarily, as you attempted to find a new face in a new place and now watch that subtle unspoken dream come undone into a tangled half-finished blanket, draped by your half-drank coffee mug
20100202
20100201
[DOSE] Get it out.
Hi _blank_,
I want to start by saying that you need not feel obligated to respond, I know people are generally too busy for "drama" such as this, I am just the type of person that likes to have things out the open (as you probably know) so I want to attempt to clear the air a bit...
First off, I want to apologize for showing up, uninvited, to your birthday celebration last night. I had no intention of going because of our recent history but was roped into it after a glass of wine. Be that as it may, I recognize it as an indirectly disrespectful move on my part and I want to say I'm sorry. Although it was likely not the hugest deal ever, It was wrong, and kind of lame.
Secondly, I fully understand that everyone will not always like me, and I am not required to like everyone. However, there are adult ways to handle animosity and immature ways to handle it and I fully intend to abide by the former regarding _blank_ and yourself. We have obviously had a terrible time communicating and quite honestly I dont think any of it needs to be regurgitated on facebook, or ever for that matter; there are two sides to every story and I am sure that yours is just as sound as mine. That being said, our social circles do intersect from time to time and since clearly none of us feel compelled to act fake, I think it would be best if we squash this, move on, and act civil from here on out. While _blank_ and I did a great job of avoiding eye contact last night, it seems excessive, and since we dont see each other often enough for it to really matter at all whether we like each other or not- I would rather not be arch enemies :).
So, in closing, thats where I stand on the whole ordeal. If I have wronged you two so badly that you just cannot get past your utter disgust for me- I completely understand. If you can, see you around.
Later,
Alex
I want to start by saying that you need not feel obligated to respond, I know people are generally too busy for "drama" such as this, I am just the type of person that likes to have things out the open (as you probably know) so I want to attempt to clear the air a bit...
First off, I want to apologize for showing up, uninvited, to your birthday celebration last night. I had no intention of going because of our recent history but was roped into it after a glass of wine. Be that as it may, I recognize it as an indirectly disrespectful move on my part and I want to say I'm sorry. Although it was likely not the hugest deal ever, It was wrong, and kind of lame.
Secondly, I fully understand that everyone will not always like me, and I am not required to like everyone. However, there are adult ways to handle animosity and immature ways to handle it and I fully intend to abide by the former regarding _blank_ and yourself. We have obviously had a terrible time communicating and quite honestly I dont think any of it needs to be regurgitated on facebook, or ever for that matter; there are two sides to every story and I am sure that yours is just as sound as mine. That being said, our social circles do intersect from time to time and since clearly none of us feel compelled to act fake, I think it would be best if we squash this, move on, and act civil from here on out. While _blank_ and I did a great job of avoiding eye contact last night, it seems excessive, and since we dont see each other often enough for it to really matter at all whether we like each other or not- I would rather not be arch enemies :).
So, in closing, thats where I stand on the whole ordeal. If I have wronged you two so badly that you just cannot get past your utter disgust for me- I completely understand. If you can, see you around.
Later,
Alex
[POETRY] Gertrude Stein "Sacred Emily"
"Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Loveliness extreme
Extra gaiters
Loveliness extreme
Sweetest ice-cream
Pages age page ages page ages".
20100129
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