split

I looked around and found the dichotomy that is me.
Hanging on the hooks behind my door are my two favorite jackets... one is a black leather jacket with zippers all over. It's tough, and soft, and worn. It's my badass jacket. The other jacket might not even be a jacket at all. It is a patchwork of random fabrics, falling just above my knees. It closes with a single ribbon under the bust, and it came from a hippie thrift shop in san francisco.

Thus: the dichotomy of me.

I find that I am a walking contradiction. On one hand, I crave change and action and extremes. I want to skydive and live as a gypsy and run away from convention. On the other hand, I sit lazily on my couch, watching movies and writing poetry.
I want to be a musician; I don't know how to play an instrument. I want to travel the whole world; I don't save up money to go anywhere.

And though this may be frustrating to those who know and love me, I have to say...
...I still love both of those jackets.

sometimes you feel like a nut...

Last night I felt myself lose grip on my emotions, and I spiralled into madness. I felt like screaming, like running away, like throwing away all the good things in my life. I slipped steeply into self-distruction and sabotage.
I apologize, to everyone I may have taken this out on. Namely you, my love. You didn't deserve that.
Thankfully I woke up this morning with a kind of... acceptance. So what if I have gone completely insane. So be it. I still have to get up and brush my teeth and wash the dishes, no matter how nuts I think I am, if i can just gravitate towards normalcy I think I will be okay.

bored, waiting

I dont know how much longer I can wait for something big to happen.
Maybe I'm selfish and think only of myself. Maybe I'm greedy and don't see the big things that have already happened to me.
But I need something crazy and reckless in my life, or I get bored.
I am sooooo bored with my life right now.

snap, crackle, pop

I woke up today under a mountain of bubble wrap.
It's true. Last night my friends and I liberated a few bags of industrial bubble wrap from the dumpster behind a craft store. It fills the living room, taking over all available floor space so that whenever someone wants to go from point a to point b, they must be unafraid to stomp upon a thousand plastic bubbles. And I, drunkenly and without hesitation, decided i would sleep upon this mound of bubbles and nest within it.
Thus, upon waking, I was nearly submerged.

It made my day.

fairy tale

His was a heart of gold, held deep within his chest. He could have sold it a hundred times, bit by bit or all at once, but he never did. Not for food, nor for shelter. This man was secretive with his heart, and no one who passed the young vagabond on the street would have known the treasure within.
He traveled the roads with a carefree spirit, always humming to the flowers or making toys out of sticks and string. Whenever he passed a child, he handed them out, no charge ma’am. Sometimes he was gifted with good food or wine, and sometimes he was meanly booted from the towns he was resting in.
The Vagabond never stayed too long in one place, searching instead for the simple change a good walk around the world can bring. He learned to sleep in forests and atop bluffs. He found the churches, and the brothels, and the ferry boats that ran overnight. He learned to dress like the inhabitants of wherever he was, adopting turbans in the middle east, and going shirtless with the Amhara people of Ethiopia. In Paris his black attire was fashionable, and he was well taken care of there.
He made his own way by selling knickknacks he made himself. Sometimes he made something so useful or pretty that he could stay in one town for a month or two, teaching a youngster his technique. But he always moved on.
There were hard months for The Vagabond, the cold winter months in Ireland, when there was nowhere really to go but the Churches. Churches were fine and all for one night, but he couldn’t quite stomach their lectures and morals and strange dogmatic rituals. It was a warm enough bed in the rain, but after the rain stopped he always managed his goodbyes.
Never once did he sell his golden heart.

it feels like...

How does it feel to be loved? he asks.

I wanted to melt into his arms and fold into his chest and never breathe again. How does it feel? It feels like flying, or falling from a great height. It feels like surrender and peace and drowning; it feels like the sun is always shining and the grass is always green and the birds are always singing just for me.

I can't quite be grateful enough to God for him. I need to bow my head to the four directions every ten minutes, just to keep my heart from overspilling with love and thanks. There is not enough room in this ever-expanding universe for how much love there is in me: for him, for God, for the birds and the sun and the feeling of falling.

And here I go, back into reality, to dip my toes in the honey light of life. I am so blessed.

a great force

I spend my days lazing about, doing nothing of consequence or value. I read. I watch movies. I eat. I water my one house plant.
Where is my passion for living? I feel itchy, waiting for something to happen that wakes me up. I am a victim of inertia... whatever is at rest will stay at rest until a force great enough makes it move.
I need a great force.
It is easier to work hard and try hard and make something happen when you are in dire need. When you are homeless and without food, suddenly a spark is lit and your survival instincts are ignited. But when you are comfortable, and taken care of, and at rest it is much easier to lay still, to do nothing of consequence or value. It takes greater will to make something of oneself, to dig deep and find the passion within.
I need great will.
Where does one go about finding a thing like that? Will. Passion. Drive. I inherited my inclination for laziness, and I wonder if will is also an inherited trait.
One thing is certain: I have to pull myself up and into the world again. No one else can do it for me. I have to find the courage to not settle for less than what I want out of my life.

10/16/10

This morning is full of magic.

I wake up in my bed, a fluffy cloud thing, and roll under the sheets to stretch my sleeping limbs. I slide my hand out into the cold void between the covers and the nightstand, and find my phone.

Goodmorning, I send to Kurtis.

It takes me a few minutes more, after going pee and brushing my teeth, to realize that the light from behind the hanging blinds is unusually grey for eight thirty. The familiar sound of rain comes dripping into my awareness, and I pace into the living room where the windows are open and the smell and sound of the gentle storm is fully present.

It is a rainy Sunday, the best kind of day. I make tea, water my basil plant named Coo, and pull on the sweater that is more like a blanket. I sit and observe the silvery light that outlines everything in my apartment; the edge of the counter, the sides of the dining chairs, the tips of the fan blades hanging from the ceiling. The pillows on the couch look grey and soft, the metal pieces on the chest shine like nickels.

I love the sounds of the rain. Sometimes the drops hit the railing, and make a slight, musical ping. Other drops land with a fat plop on the leaves of the tree outside my window, and then sweetly dribble past all the other leaves to land on the thirsty soil. Birds chirp restlessly, frogs croak in their amphibious joy. I think I can even hear the sounds of laughter in the clouds, a contented chuckle as they pass over with the breeze.

halloween

I am looking foreward to this year's holiday. Of course I still don't know what to dress up as, but I am stil going to make something awesome. My problem is I just have too many ideas...

Jester? Spring? An old Gypsy?

I just don't know...



I am currently sitting in a black airport seat, waiting for my flight to tkae ma back 'home' to San Diego. Ugh. I am not looking foreward to being there again, and having to pack everything up to move it to my new 'home' in Petaluma. I am thinking of how nice it will be to have a vacation from Grass Valley, how it is going to be an interesting experiment to see how well I can handle being away from Kurtis again. WE spent everyday for two months together... it nearly made up for the three months apart. Almost :)

But I don't want to go back to San Diego. If I could have paid someone to pack all my shit for me, and ship it off, I would have done that. I guess there may be people that do that, but I wouldn't know about how to find them or if I could afford it in the first place. It might have been worth it.

Ugh. Anyway. I am bored and sitting in the airport and doing nothing else. Just writing to pass the time and take my mind off of the doom I may find at home. I don't even remember what was in the fridge. Eeeew.

not much

He tastes like chai tea and chapstick. He really does.
I have never felt so full.

i dream of a day

Sometimes my world gethers itself up, and creates the most beautiful moments. It pulls at the strings of things and makes miracles happen, and I get to walk a gilded path of golden light.
And other times, those strings that are gathered are then pulled apart, unweaving the tapestry and jumbling all the precious moments together and casting them to the wind. Things that were once solid as stone are now flimsy as damp paper.
Someday, I swear to myself, there will be nore more gathering, no more strange and mystical miracles. And there will be no loose ends, no whispy temptations of fate to unbind. Someday my world will be soft and flat and...

And then I realize. What kind of life is that? Sometimes the adventure is in finding the ways to gather up the bits of light you can find to make a path. Sometimes the adventure is in the risk of loose strings and catching the satin fabric of life on your rought hands. So one thing falls apart an a rush of confusion and chaos. Another mirale will surely gather. Another miracle will be born of that chaotic construction.

Burn Burn. And fear not the flames of rebirth.

god is in the details

His dimples.
My curly hair.
The railroad tracks across the street.
Movies based on literature.
Chain reactions.
Full moon nights.
Wind chimes.
Paying with exact change.
Pennies with your birth year.
Books. Old book smell.
Glittery sand on the beach.
Holding hands.
Being 'metal'.
Hard rocking to your favorite songs.
Making lists like these.
Sunrises.
Brushing your teeth.
Fruit.
Fruits asians.
Shiatsu massage.
The rose I found on the beach, all sandy and scented.
Tea.
Hot cocoa.
Art.
Laughter.
Smiling at strangers that smile back.
Hobos.
The word 'Betwixt'.
Karnivool.
Tool.
Hearing neighbors clomp up the stairs.
Big red couches.
Seashells.
Pebbles from foreign countries.
Coins from foreign countries.
Postcards.
Jewellery.
Trees.
Doodles.
Loving people like things.
Friends that kick ass.
My sisters.
My little brother.
My mom.
Mountains.
Rivers.
Oceans.
Flower petals that love you, love you not.
Singing bowls.
Altars and shrines.
Clocks with roman numerals.
Penguin books.
Tinier versions of small things.
Kitten sneezes.
Moorchildren.
Honey.
Blankets.
Crystals.
Smudgy, sexy eye make-up.
Feeling loved.
Being in love.
Dancing on rooftops.
Poetic song lyrics.
Inside jokes.
Continuously texting someone all day.
Anything hand made.
Steampunk.
The name 'Everest' for a baby.
Top Gun.
Singing.
Making things.
Cameras.
Polariod pictures.
Indie Rock.
Great food.
Concerts.
Running for no reason.
Feeling FREE.
Playing ‘Apples to Apples’ with friends who get your humor.
Returning home after vacation.
Road trips with friends.
Summertime feelings in other times of the year.
Passports.
Captain Jack Sparrow.
Making out with someone really attractive.
Discovering new things about yourself.
Dik-Diks.

love and tea cups

I haven't written in a while, mostly because I have had nothing to say. All I seem to write or think about lately is how much I miss my love, and how afraid I am that things are going to be... wrong... whenever it is he gets home. It seems sily to people, and often I feel like I am just complaining to everyone, but it truly worries me. He is one of those people you don't lose if you can help it. So it gets under my skin, this fear.
But underneath the fear, there is something so much better. Under the fear, there is Love. Under the fear, there is the sense that it will all work out, no matter how it all happens. I know that if we are meant to be, then nothing will stop us from being together again. I know that worst-case scenario is a dear friendship that will last an eternity. And honestly, I don't think I have to worry about that. I think he is the love of my life, that no one and nothing will need to take his place in my heart. He is the light where I live, and when he comes home... it will be like the sun coming up again.

So, until then...

I feel myself changing. I feel myself coming out of the... shell i had put myself it. I am awakening to my true self. I clearly see my flaws, and vaguely see my strengths. It is true what they say, that you cannot fill a full cup. I am currently in the process of noticing that my cup is full of shit. Now for the washing of the cup...

duuuuuude...

MUSIC!!!!!!
I wake up to good music, and my day rocks. I rock. Life rocks.

ROCK IT OUT!
Fear not death, be afraid of the UNLIVED LIFE!

sweet obsessions and a lazy attitude

I am obsessed with Urban Outfitters... because of their groovy CAMERAS.
I can't take it anymore... I need one. Or many.

I have also been thinking lately that I want to be a real blogger. I don't know how to do that, considering I am currently the only one who reads this one. Also, what would I have to say?
My boyfriend's mom is amazing, has a real-life blog that people love her for. She's so creative and fun. And my auntie Deann has a beautiful blog as well, and many a church goer follows her...
I dunno. I guess I don't really have what it takes to be a legit blogger...
C'est la vie.

CAMERAS!!!

fever dreams

i just woke up and had to get this down
i was trapped in a part of the wrold that the people were living off the land, no electricity, stone cottace houses... the future people were threatening to come and civilize them. then there was an attack of a great dog, we are talking huge, bigger than some of the houses... and i was the only one who knew when it was coming... id always see a tiny pug puppy and then a big black wolf dog, and then i knew i had to get out of wherever i was...
i tried to escape the village with kurtis, and it turns out everyone was living out by my dads place, and there were other scary animals in the woods out there... like tigers... but nothing as terrifying as the giant dog... i was driving my car to get out of there, and made a crazy turn, and got pulled over by a cop. who i fought, and slepped, and screamed at... then i was picked up by a friend who had heard i was in trouble (i dont think i know her in real life) and she only had a two seater, and i wasnt going to leave kurtis behind, so we got in my car but by then the crazy cop had reported it as stolen, so we couldnt use it. then this friend of mine had called a bunch of people to come help us, some friend that i never met in the dream, and only knew her name, but i cant remember it now (awake). so she had called some guy who drove up in a black escalade and asked us if we were who we were, and told us that so-and-so had called, so we all tried to get in his car, but i saw that the giant dog was about to show up (like magic it always just appears, like the other two dgs before it) and then i woke up sweating...



about a year ago, i had a dream that i was on a circus island, i guess like coney island (though i have never been there). i was walking along the boardwalk, looking in shops, when this crazy bearded lady sees me and tells me i better come with her, she's been waiting all week for me to show up. she had been leaning against a wall, literally waiting for me to pass by. so she takes me down these stairs, and around all these corners, and into hallways, where i see a door... theres a girl screaming and crying, so i look and see her shadow, and it looks like someone is stabbing her... so i rush into the room where she is naked, riding a stationary bicycle, and the bike is attatched to this thing that has a knife, and the knife is feeding her cake. -not stabbing her- and there is a video projected on the wall of my home movies... (idk.) so then i get pulled into some room by the bearded lady, and she tells me to drink this thing, quick, its the only way i'll live through it... and it tastes like unicorn piss... thats the only thing i could think of that it tasted like, becasue it was disgusting but really really pure. so then, suddenly, the strong man busts in, sees me, and laughes. he takes me hostage (he is the strong man, after all) and puts me in a birdcage. im there for weeks, and he gives me only moldy bread to eat, and its dry and cuts my mouth and im bleeding, and all this stuff... it turns out i somehow figure out that i have lightning powers now... the bearded lady gave me them in that drink, and i can send the lightning through puddle of water i see on the ground...
so the strong man comes and gets me, says hes gonna sell me as a sex slave to the ringmaster... dresses me up in some skanky circus outfit (that i totally wish i owned now, but then was really scary and demeaning...) and forces me to dance, chained, all the way to this bus thats waiting... the island complex is completely deserted now. everyone on the bus is in the circus... sad clowns, the bearded lady (who cries when she sees me, and shakes her head, and tries to tell me everything is going to be fine... and then he puts me back in a flat cage that goes under the bus... and then we start driving, and i can feel the road under me by milimeters, and all i see are the yellow lines and some weeds next to the road... we stop at a gas station, which is right next to a church... strong man takes me out of my cage and tells me i am going to sing for the church, which i forcefully decline, and i shove my hands on his bald head and use my crazy lightning powers to electrocute him... only he can take it as well as i can, so we are both siezuring and going unconcious, and i remember slipping into a coma or something in my dream and thinking 'if this is the only way i get to be free, so be it...' and make sure i keep my hands on him as we both go down. i woke up, thinking i was still in the dream waking up from my coma...

laundry day

Do you know what happens when you get caught up in your own bullshit? You get sick...
So today is the day I take back my body, the day that I straighten up my life, starting first with my home. No more putting off 'til tomorrow what I can do today...
I love music. Music can either light a fire under your ass and get you moving, or it can calm you down and settle your heart. Or it can do both at the same time. It is an art, and I relate to music well. If only I could make some........

what im praying for

I am praying that you come home sooner.
I am praying that I will be working in my chosen field sooner.
I am praying that my sister will be healed sooner.
I am praying that my mama will find love sooner.
I am praying that our curse will be broken sooner.

poem of the lonely

My bed
is like a sea
Too big
for little me
I drift
into sleep
And drown
in my dreams

'Cause i need you
to fill the spaces in my room


My heart
is like the sky
Too blue
but full of light
And you
you're like the sun
You shine
on everyone

And you warm my soul
when i'm as cold as dawn


O our love
is like the stars
So true
but still so far

And time ticks by
like the pounding of a drum

HAPPY/sad....

I have been visiting my NorCal family and friends for a few days now, helping my cousin pick out wedding dresses and getting Megan's sister drunk for no reason... I have had a blast, and it only makes leaving harder. Alas, I love my school, and must return. Tonight. Thank God for Chad, my one and only true and dearest friend in the Diego of San.....
This trip has been good, refreshing. It has brought certain things into the air to flow freely, namely my own stuck energies.
Its funny that I am learning who I really am, and have no need to switch personalities from one group of friends to the other, like I used to. I remain mostly consistant. It's nice to realize that I am a pretty good person...
There are, however, new insights to current situations, new issues and perspectives that have thrown me a little. I feel a bit unsteady in convictions I recently held to be true. I may have picked up a virus, the thing so many people have, and no one has found a cure for.
Worrying.
I feel like I am slowly going psychotic, like I am losing my grip on reality because all I seem to do is drown in pessimistic thoughts, the 'what ifs' that can run people ragged. Gah. I'm trapped in a circle, an endless and dizzying circle of nonsense and distruction.
Watch me go, round and round and round and round......
I have really got to snap out of it.

these boots are made for stomping

It just needs to happen. I just need to get up, make myself do the things that make me smile. The reasons for running away from myself yet again are not nearly as powerful or necessary than the reasons to rock it out.
I am a powerhouse of strength, of will. I am the woman on the tarot card, straddling the lion and making my way through the world. I am gypsy queen, I am warrior goddess. I am an artist and a poet and a healer and a harbinger of light. Where did the notion come from that I am weak, worthless? How did I think it was okay to let my life slip by, as if I have no say?
It is a new dawn, and I am the chariot. I will sing it from the rooftops, and I will rejoice in my own moments of life.
Tomorrow is a new day.

illegitimi non carborundum

It is peaceful in my little apartment tonight. I have the lights low, watching tv shows on my laptop, drinking tea and eating an apple. The simple pleasure of just being alone has escaped me the past few weeks. I forgot that I like being by myself, that there have been times in my life where being alone was a rare blessing.
I have been shutting off all my senses, dulling myself in order to survive the moments. I allow myself a few minutes to feel, to smell his shirt or listen to his music, but mostly I have closed my windows and doors and fell into a hole so I didn't have to bear it all. I sound so dramatic, but that's what I did. Now I see that there is so much more I could/should be doing with my time.
When did I forget that I love to create? That I feel sick when my room isn't clean? How did I let my passion drizzle out of me?
No more. I start in the morning, cleaning and fixing, and making things. No more just sitting around, staring at a computer screen so I don't have to feel. Where did I go? I LOVE to feel, even when feeling hurts.
I didn't know this would affect me like it is. I didn't know I would have so much trouble handling it. I thought I would just do what I normally do, and wait it out. Now I see that I have fallen into despair without even realizing it.
No more of that, thank-you-very-much. I am way too awesome to let something like this get me down.

i had a dream i stood beneath an orange sky

It is cold out here today. Not cold- it can never really get cold in Southern California- but definately chill. The clouds are thick overhead, and the breeze that is shaking the leaves on the trees, that breeze is right off the grey-green ocean. The breeze is cold. The sun is playing a child's game of peek-a-boo, shining its face from behind the sheet of clouds for a mere moment before hiding again.

It is midnight where he is. I don't know if that means he is alseep, sweating and hot in some bed, or if he is awake with a drink in hand, wandering the streets of Koh Samui. I hope his feet are in the sand and the moon is high and close to full. I hope right now he is thinking of me, too.

These days are going by, and mostly I feel like I am just wasting time until he gets back. That needs to change, quickly, becasue six months is a lot of time to just waste. I know there are things I am going to do with my time. When the days get hotter, I am going to become a surfer. I am going to hit the waves with a girl I know, and I am going to learn. I am going to take more classes at school, start integrating all the things I have learned so far into my everyday life. I'm going to start going to yoga at my school too, it's offered free for students. I'm going to get a job, earn some money of my own to save for traveling, or getting a bigger apartment, or just to have in just in case. I hate living off my grandparents, and saving nothing. That is going to change.

I wish, though, that I had my feet in the sand, looking up at an almost-full moon, sweating in the midnight heat of Koh Samui.

rose-colored glasses

It's amazing what someone can do with a videocamera. Record your whole life, all the little moments, put them to music and it somehow makes sense of things. I want to live a life like that, one where I can look back, put a soundtrack to it, and there it is: a plot. Something that makes sense.

Right now, I'm alone in my apartment, writing about nothing important. But someday I will look back on this, add some Bon Iver to the background, and voila. This will be a scene, from that time in my life when I was lonely. From the days when I didn't have Kurtis around me. The time in my life that used to be boring and dull... I can't wait to look back on tonight and remember feeling excited about the future.

It's easy to see myself, sitting alone on the couch, laptop on lap, white tank top with holes. Its easy to take a quick moment to adjust my perspective, to see that I have it all. I have freinds that kick ass. I have an apartment right on the railroad track, and a stone's throw from the beach. I am in love with an amazing man, who loves me back. I have a family that loves and supports me, in all my random ventures. I have everything I have ever asked for.

I thank god for the blessings in my life, and will happily wait an eternity for Kurtis if I have to. I didn't think I would be this lucky.

True Love.

Wow.

i used to be a morning person

I am going through a bit of an identity crisis.
What am I supposed to do? I ask the universe, over and over. Where am I supposed to go, who am I supposed to meet? What am I even doing here?
I am sitting on a couch that isn't mine, eating food that isn't mine from a bowl that isn't mine,wearing clothes that aren't mine... I look around and realize that most of my belongings are gifts, are bought with money that I haven't earned. And the worst thing is, I don't want them. I don't want this stupid couch or this stupid bowl or these stupid clothes. I don't want to walk from my bedroom to my bathroom, and into my kitchen to get to my living room, when all of it isn't mine. I want to pick up and leave, drop it all and just walk away.
But I can't. I am here for a rason, given these things for a reason. All signs point to 'learn to stay in one place' or 'learn to do what you need to do, rather than what you'd rather do'. I don't know if i can do it. What is it that I am supposed to be doing?
My spirit tells me to flee, to sell it all and find myself somewhere on some open road. To travel, and be free.
But my heart and head both agree that I am here for a purpose, that there is something much more important than the open road. I have to accoplish something, to be some kind of leader and teacher.
But NO! I scream. NO! I will not be tied down!
I have the spirit of a wanderer, and exploerer. A gypsy, if you will. But my heart and head fear it, give me other things to do, a task to perform for the greater good. WHAT DO I DO?

05-17-10

So I have done nothing worth doing today. I am sitting at my dining table on my computer, wearing a robe becasue I just didn't get dressed today. I watched two movies and finished a book. Okay, the book part I admit was worth doing, but really? In bed all day and not even get dressed? What kind of life is that?

I find that I have debilitating thoughts. Thoughts that flood into my mind unbidden, and while I can objectively look at these thoughts, pick them apart and destroy them as being stupid and unproductive thoughts... the pulling apart of those thoughts takes up most of my energies. So either I think the thoughts, and cripple myself, or I banish the thoughts and still end up crippling myself.

My problem is, I am in love with someone who is so out of reach... I hold him in my dreams, and I wake up to find him on distant shores, soon to be almost a world away from me. And while there are half-promises made, and plans half-laid, the odds are surely against us. Sure, they say "If love is not madness, then it is not love" and all those other brilliant cliches explaining how illogical true love can be, but it doesn't make it any easier. I wonder if I will do something to cripple it as well, and doubt if I am really as loveable as he thinks of me. There is such a good chance that nothing will matter, and all this inside me will be for nothing. To quote miss Regina Spektor: "Love will be the death of me."

But as much as I may wish I weren't, I am that girl who throws it all away for some love or another. And this love... this love is a real one. This love walked in the double saloon doors like Robert Redford and demanded my full attention. I'm lost to it already, planning the epic poems and hand-written letters and believing against all logic that he will return to me.

Being that as it is, I have two options: wallow in self pity and dig myself a shallow hole to wait for him in (and he may never come), or put my big girl boots on and go live some more. If he does ever hold me again, I don't want what's left of me to be a half-rotten shell of what I could have been. I can't go around dying when there's beauty to be seen, life to be made. I've learned that the hard way once already.

Today was just a hard day. And it isn't over yet.

the gypsy and the vagabond

She had come into the world a screaming thing, like everyone does.
A little blonde thing
With tiny feet that were sure to walk the world.
She took to dancing on rooftops and
Changing lives with her smile.
Through the strife of her youth,
She managed to keep her head in the clouds,
Where it should be.

Yet for a time, all there was for her was sadness,
A darkening of her heart and mind.
There was nothing left but escape,
A drop in the bucket of despair.
It was music that saved her, the night she meant to die.
A song that saved the beauty inside her.
That beauty bloomed like roses, and she laughed again.

She found a path and took it,
Gambling all her eggs in one basket
But the path was rough and she dropped them all.
Back to the farm, for more eggs,
But the silly gypsy girl took the same damned path.

On the fifth go ‘round,
She met him.
A sweet and gentle vagabond,
Tall and strong and handsome in his worn out shoes,
Standing in the grass and sunshine a little way off the path.
“I’ll trade you an apple for an egg, there, Miss” he said,
But they traded heart for heart instead, and were happy.

It’s like that for them now,
All sunrises and sunsets.
Wherever he walks, she wanders.
Wherever she rambles, he roams.
They sit on back porches and share lemonade.
He makes the music, she dances.
She makes the magic, and he dreams of her.

It’s a forever kind of love,
The kind that can last a single moment.
Its all tall grasses and polaroid pictures.
The wind in the trees,
The sunlight dancing with the dust.

And its only a summer, but its also forever.
Like everything else is.

by the way

I have another blog, full of ideas and chapters for books and such. Just so y'all know.

http://newbookidea.blogspot.com/

dreams of what could be

The way she moves
It's like she's dancing
A simple two step to the rhythm of the world.
And she chooses what to let in,
What to hold onto, and what to let go.
She takes it all in stride,
whatever floats her way
A slow-motion waltz.
She is a goddess
An angel
A siren to those who know her.
She pulls you in to hold you, to let you go.
(Akasha)
A whisper
She is a dream of what could be, made real.


He is...
Well, he is everything to me.
My simple vagabond:
'...The soles of your shoes are all worn down...'
He held my hand once,
And I was gone.
I didn't know my heart could hold all this love.
It's infinite,
The skin of wine that never empties;
A gift from one God or another.
He makes me want to bare my feet
To touch the earth and be free.
He laughes without restraint
And loves in the same way.
He is my dream of what could be, made real.


These two,
My Angel and Light,
My Vagabond Love,
They are two pillars of truth that hold up the sky.

...i do know where you go is where i wanna be

The air in my little apartment is revitalized, refreshed. I have thrown the windows open and rushed to let the light in. There is new art on the walls, depicting sweet nothings and the nature of the gypsy who loves a vagabond.

Still, there are dishes in the sink, and clothes on the floor. I know the mess will get worse before it gets better, and it overwhelms me. I cast my eyes and in glimpses can take it all in, but I cannot muster the attitude of will to make sense of the chaos.

So I sit, bathed in sunlight and letting my wet hair dry in the breeze. The train goes by again, and I wonder what he's doing, what he's learning, where else he will go today. I smile sheepishly at the little notes he sends, and break the newfound silence in my apartment with my laughter and glee. I ache for him, like a tooth. Its a dull pain, but it throbs and pulses and hurts most at night, when I lay down alone. There is always a Kurtis-shaped space next to me, and it is empty.

Time goes by like the dripping of a faucet: maddeningly slow. It can drive a person crazy, waiting for that dripping to fill up the sink... I feel like I'm waiting for it to fill the bathtub, and the drain is open.

There are still slivers of joy, the silver lining, thin as scotch tape. But they hold me together... Things like his shirt, and the tinkling of a bell. Sweet words and half-made plans, all prop me up so I can see a little better. I'd be lost, a cricket in a forest and no way out, if it weren't for these simple things. Sprinkles on my cake of life.

There is nothing as bittersweet as this...

you know who you are

I drove yesterday, down 5, past all the farmland and through the grapevine. I drove past cows and hills and countless gas stations.
I saw the wind turn the long grasses into oceans. I saw the horizon filled with clouds, puffy clouds that churned and moved across the sky. I saw lightning sizzle, purple. I saw the sun setting in my rearview mirror, and it was like having to say goodbye again.

I don't know how long six months is going to seem if a day feels like forever. I hate that I can feel how far away you are to me, by inches. Its all I can do to hold onto the pieces you put back together.

I love you.

running out of reasons to stay here

I miss you!
...and your short hair, and your smile, and your heartfelt laugh.
...and the color of your eyes, and your strong hands, and how you calm me.
...and the things you whisper, and how you hold me, and your softness.

When can I feel you around me again? When will I get to kiss that part of your lip that is mine to keep? How many times today have I thought to myself 'this hurts too much...'

I can't wait to get to love you again.

I need you like the flower needs the bee.

holding hands

I see that I write most about beauty and music. The two things go hand in hand to me, Beauty in a white gown, swaying her hips as she walks, her face painted with silvery vines. Her pale hand fits perfectly into the strong hands of Music, A thick muscled man with dark hair and wild eyebrows. He is handsome, and tan, and he steps hard on the ground. They have a lovely relationship, as Beauty can be hard and cold, or warm and sweet...and Music is the same. He can be heavy and angry, or gentle and rich. The two of them walk the world together.

It seems to me that film makers know this relationship, as you can often see in movies when something is beautiful, there is also music to lead you into a specific emotion connected to that beauty. Or even when something is graphic, and unexpectedly beautiful, made beautiful by the music being played. I dont know if I am expressing myself very well at the moment, but if you know me then you know what I mean.

I remember a moment when I was attempting to explain happiness to my mom. She was going through her shitty divorce (still is, actually) and she was struggling to find the balance between grief and joy. I pointed out the window and told her to look at the tree outside, and become grateful for its beauty, for the leaves that had turned pink, and the sun shining on it. Be grateful, and joy will flow into your heart. She didn't understand, so I tried example after example, until suddenly my little sister drove up in her car, the stereo on. I said to my mom "Look at your daughter. Do you see how BEAUTIFUL she is?" Of course my mom nodded, not taking her eyes off my sister. "Are you grateful for her?" I asked, and suddenly my mom starts crying, and smiles. I have to admit, that when I looked upon my sister myself, tears flooded my eyes and threatened to spill over. My sister is a light in the world, a beautiful beacon of hope and joy. She moves with grace and spirit, and I can only be in awe of her.

In any case, I find that I write about the things I believe in, the things that strike me as some kind of Truth, and though I repeat myself, or the subject of my writing, these are the subjects that consume my spirit. Love for those in my life, Beauty as a way to God, and Music being the bridge between everyone and everything.

consumed - two doors

I have passions with very little or no expression. It's hard to deal with sometimes, these bottled convictions.

I am afflicted by what gypsies call 'Duende' - which is the spirit that lives inside music and can tear your heart out of your chest. That's the thing you feel when you listen to music and it sounds too beautiful or too rich to be able to exist without a soul... because it has a soul, called Duende. I have been blessed and cursed with a sensitivity to the soul of music. Blessed, because nothing is more freeing than a song playing and the window rolled down. Blessed because without that spirit, my world would be less dynamic, less emotional, less interesting. Music makes my mind shut up for a second, and brings me to a place of beauty. But I am cursed to feel the soul of music because I have to expression of it, no way to free this spirit from my own chest. I cannot sing, cannot play an instrument, cannot dance. There is an art to each of these aspects of music that I cannot master, I cannot hardly invest myself in. I sing in the shower, as loud as I can when I am alone, just to pour a dribble of Duende out of me before I explode with it. It's like shaking a bottle of soda, and then opening it just enough to let the carbonation leak out, then closing it and shaking it again. I am filled to combustion with the soul of music.

And not only Duende fills me. I have a passion for Art, for painting and drawing and sculpting and tagging and tattooing and splashing my heart out into the world. I dream of art pieces, I see them in my mind just waiting like sails for the right winds. I walk into an art store and nearly cry, I want it all, my heart cries out for the gesso and the wire and the drafting pencils. I see a Sharpie and I might burst with the doodles that could escape me if I had that Sharpie in hand. It's almost more than I can bare, to smell charcoal on someone's hands, or to feel paper thick as skin. I wander the aisles like Alice in her Wonderland.

And more. I contain passions for Writing, for the novels I read and the novels I want to write. For the Poetry I fall in love with, and the words and verses that come to me. I have the deperate need to travel, see the world in all its splendor and obscenity. I hold within me the conviction that Massage can change the world, that not only am I destined to heal others, but also to heal myself. That I see the world in a way that no one else seems to see...

And yet, here I sit, praying for ways to fulfill these passions, to let the burning and aching desires of my spirit set something aflame. I waste so much time... and it sickens me, literally. I have no time to hold this in anymore, the clock is up, and I must either exert myself to live a mundane life, or I can set free these chained souls and follow them elsewhere. I suppose the tigers and dragons must be loosed sometime. Do I wait until they break free of their own will, or do I find the shining key and unlock them myself? It's like choosing between a violent outburst of passion, or giving in to the passions willingly. I dont know if surrender is door 1 or 2 at this point...

'cause i miss you

So.
I just miss my friends, I guess. It's increadible to me that I can go through a whole day, and all I seem to think about is how I wish I could jump on Paul's back, or grab Tas's face, or tickle Kurtis's back... I miss Nick's easy way, and how Rosie knows EVERYTHING, and how James smiles like a crazy person when he's intoxicated. I miss Megan for her silliness, and Corey's way of making everyday at Jamba Juice not suck.
And I miss Akasha. I miss how she knows me, all the way deep. She can make me smile when I want to kill myself, she brings me beauty in handfuls, and she has my sense of humor, and my way of opening her heart to life. Get us together and we laugh and argue and tell each other secrets. It's a rare sister that becomes your best friend, and she is certainly that.
All my friends are dear to my heart... they hold bits of my life in their hands, like puzzle pieces, and I feel incomplete without them.
That is all.

only love is all maroon

It is an amazing world we live in, and I can't help but be thankful for it all. The sun is shining, the wind is shaking the leaves of the tree outside, and I can almost smell the salt in the air.

I listen to music, feel the beat reverberate within me, shaking up my soul and pulsing with my heart. It makes every moment fuller, like an art piece. I can lay back on my comfy couch and close my eyes and breathe the music in.

Has anyone else felt that way? Yes, I am sure of it. That's part of the beauty of music. It touches everyone, somewhere within them. I have turned up Tool and sat with a friend and sang every word, involuntarily orchestrating the music with my free hands. I have rolled down the window as I drove through LA, Bob Dylan peeling away the dirty layers and revealing the spirit of the city to my plain eyes. The minutes I laid in peace with a boy, my head in his lap and wishing the world were just a little bit different, with Bon Iver breaking our hearts... I have danced with a distant aquaintance who became fused in my memory as the only boy who has asked me to dance. I have let go of all inhibition and body-slammed the nearest stranger, I have leaned into the arms of my lover, I have pushed myself just a little farther, all due to some song or another. And I can remember each song...

Music is the Great Uniter, the Shifter of Paradigms, the Eraser of the Mundane. And if for some reason you want to revisit your past, you want to hold the memory on your tounge and swallow it, tasting it all the way down... just put on the song that was playing. You won't be able to escape it

i have never seen a more beautiful thing

fever ray

The song is 'When I Grow Up' and it is worth watching the video.
Look it up, please.



When I grow up
I want to be a forester
Run through the moss in high heels
That's what I'll do
Throwing out a boomerange
Waiting for it to come back to me

When I grow up
I want to live near the sea
Crab claws and bottles of rum
That's what I'll have
Staring at a seashell
Waiting for it to embrace me

I put my sould in what I do
Last night I drew a funny man
With dark eyes and a hanging tounge
It goes way bad
I never liked a sad look
From someone who wants to be loved by you

You've got cucumbers on your eyes
Too much time spent on nothing
Waiting for a moment to arise
The face in the cieling
And arms too long
I'm waiting for him to catch me

Waiting for you to embrace me

where i live

I live in a place where the train comes through on the hour, rattling on its tracks and shaking the mirror on my bedroom wall. Sometimes Marc’s car alarm goes off when the freight train passes at nine, and he has to run to his keys to press the stop button. Last night was one of those nights.
Anyway, I live in a place where the sunlight hit’s the leaves of the eucalyptus trees and bounces into our window, giving our apartment a green tinge, like an aquarium. But the light is rich and golden, and smells like the eucalyptus it reflects. I am in love with that smell. It smells like oil and deserts and wind. It makes me think of Santa Cruz, and where my step-dad lived. I cant think of a better smell. Maybe the smell of wet skin after a shower.
There are other trees outside. A pine, go figure. And a tree that my grandma thinks is a banyan tree, even though it almost certainly is not. That tree, the not-banyan tree, is Nani to me, and she is an old wise tree that pricks your palm before she lets you sit in her branches.
I live in a place where the pears are allowed to ripen all the way before you eat them, and where pasta is both lunch and dinner. A place where mold grows in the tub like paint, and the parking lot floods when it rains. I live in a paradise, an inspiring place. I cross the street and walk miles until I see the ocean, and then the walk is worth it.
I live in a place where there is always music playing, something soft and nostalgic, or hard and reviving. Sometimes it is played over speakers, sometimes in earphones, sometimes its Marc playing his guitar for no reason but the joy of creating sound. It is a place that hugs you with its plush furniture and rich colors, a place that points its finger at you when you have left the dishes undone. Again.
I live in a place where dreamcatchers hang over the bed, where pillows are numerous and highly sought-after. It is a place that longs for peace, where the couch is just as comfortable as the bed and slept on just as often. It's a place where books are treated like gold and paper like silver, and the tv is never on because there is no tv.
I live in a place where I cut my fingernails to the skin, where make-up is optional and rarely worn, where silence is held as precious and broken like your grandmother's china as the train rolls by, on the hour, rattling it its tracks...

new music

I am not sure I am the person I was yesterday. I have changed, something in me has been replaced by a ... by something new. I cannot yet grasp what it is that has changed in me, but I am different.
Things are richer. Life is better. Friends are more dear. I am cherishing every breath. There is music in this world that can only be heard by those who know how to listen for it. I feel like I have only just begun to hear this music, the dancing notes of a heart, the spiraling melodies of time.
Thank God for this life, and for the lives before, and the lives after. I want nothing more than to open my dancing heart and reveal it to my God.

this chance for beauty

abstract
ab-stract
adj.
1. Considered apart from concrete existence: an abstract concept.
2. Not applied or practical; theoretical. See Synonyms at theoretical.
3. Difficult to understand; abstruse: abstract philosophical problems.
4. Thought of or stated without reference to a specific instance: abstract words like truth and justice.
5. Impersonal, as in attitude or views.
6. Having an intellectual and affective artistic content that depends solely on intrinsic form rather than on narrative content or pictorial representation:

beauty
beau-ty
n.
1. The quality that gives pleasure to the mind or senses and is associated with such properties as harmony of form or color, excellence of artistry, truthfulness, and originality.
2. One that is beautiful, especially a beautiful woman.
3. The combination of all the qualities of a person or thing that delight the senses and please the mind

I believe, by this definition, that all beauty (the combination of all the qualities of a person or thing that delight the senses and please the mind) is actually abstract ( considered apart from concrete existance; difficult to understand)
Yet beauty is there, you can feel it in your spirit, in your heart. I believe it is God's way of enlightening the world (bringing light in). But I read somewhere that it is a gift of the higher aspects of one's being when one can see beauty in all things. In even the grotesque, or mundane. It is easy to see the beauty in a sunset, or a flower, or a star. How many of us can find the beauty in human tragedy, in the suffering of souls? Who among us can look at the image above and think "That is truly beautiful"?

spring: an ode to newness

A thousand pieces of a thousand petals, 

drifting on the breeze 

like ashes from the fires. 

As if it were summer, 

those hot days at the river, 

and I can press the petals on my skin 

like pages of my favorite novel. 

Instead it is nearly spring, 

the winter dewing and wetting the tall grasses. 

I can feel the maiden season dripping over my roof, 

her blushing cheeks the pink new sky. 

Brave blossoms are budding, 

daring the bitter winter wind still blowing. 

The sun only now peeks its sheepish face 

around the corners of the clouds. 

It is time for newness,

for change and rebirth,

for the old to feel young again.

It is time for the sweetness of life to return, 

for the warmth to kiss away the cold.

It is a new season for lovers,

for those flushed winter faces to be replaced

by freckles and drops of sunlight.

I sweep the front step,

climb the nearest tree to sing,

gather up all those past transgressions and offer them up 

like flowers 

to a God that smiles.

I sew new buttons on my old good shirt,

pressing the simple cotton to my lips.

In short, 

these are the days of life. 

These are the hours of life.

These are the minutes and moments of life.

I shall take them and say Good Morning.

an opening

It happens when you least expect it, a grand opening of spirit. Your heart flutters like a bird in a cage, wings beating against the bars. And then suddenly the whole world is new. Everything is brighter, everything is clearer. You can see the dew on a spiderweb and it nearly makes you cry. 

I turned to my left, and there was his face, his eyes alight with love. I saw God there, or an echo of God within him, and he pulled me in and I was flying. No more bars, the wings of my heart pumped expertly and I was up in the air, attached to nothing, riding the sky on great white wings.

there's no place like home

There was a rainbow yesterday, two of them right next to each other, glowing with ethereal light. One was so bright it was almost solid, and every color was vivid and blended into the other. The other was faded, distant, like it was a vision into the other side of the universe, like there was an infinite distance between the two rainbows and you could see the whole way.

I wanted to stand in that infinite space, and hold out my arms, and sing.

chasing smoke

It is strange to know that there is so much inside you, so much to say, but there is nothing important that comes out of you, no secrets of the universe or even whispers of greatness. I write meaningless giberish in hopes of making sense to someone, somewhere, or at least to myself.

I have an aunt, and she is magnificent. She blogs here, writes down her joys and sorrows, her everydays. She changes the world with her thoughts, and I can't even blow out my birthday candles right.

There is just so much beauty in the world, and all I want to do is show it to the people around me, the blind souls who linger in the greyness and reject the silver lining. I am sensing it may be a lost cause.