can you confess your love as well as your folly?

my pride just took a punch.
and however necessary that is, from time to time, i really thought i was being helpful.
i really thought i was being 'encouraging'.
i really ought to stop thinking.
the truth is, that old demons have been resurrected.
this could get interesting.
there's nothing i can't handle, right?
i keep telling myself that.

also. i can't stop listening to nirvana.
and mumford and sons.
and the blues.
i have the weirdest of combinations.

my mind is heavy.

My mind is heavy.
Intent on mimicking the weight bearing down on my shoulders.
Like twisted fingers pushing stress further down.
Massaging my muscles into knots.
You start not to notice after a while.
I tiptoe through the familiar hallway.
There’s no avoiding the creaks in the floorboards
Sweetly opening their palms to take my steps
To confiscate a trail of tears.
I don’t remember how I got there
It’s so routine from there to here.
To this quiet room.
To the bed welcoming only me.
A bed you made.
At the mention of your name
I go no further.
I am scorned…
reminded…
My mind is heavy.
Filled with deafening sirens and bells and alarms
Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.
RAGING.
SCREAMING.
WARNING.
Never sure whether it’s a fire drill or the real thing.
So i lifted the windows and descended the fire escape.
There’s smoke coming out everywhere.
The heat of the flames doesn’t come close to this fever in my livid skin.
But the rescue teams aren’t listening.
The smoke filling my lungs like your scent.
And still I’m reeling. And I can’t breathe anymore…
I can’t learn.
And everything starts to look a bit like an old black and white tv
My mind is heavy
I keep seeing your face.
It keeps getting uglier.
And I swear if you touch me again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.
I keep saying it over and over in my head.
I’m not really sure how to make the words speak.
It comes out sweeter than I mean for it to.
Politely requesting to excuse myself from you.
From them.
From the grisly assault.
They just laugh. They never answer.
So I just pretend it will stop soon.
Always afraid of hurting those who are incapable of feeling.
No damsel in distress.
Just misled.
Little Red Riding Hood filled with compassion for a big bad wolf.
Angry wolf taking it all out on me.
Blank canvas painted red, taking more and more and more…
My mind is heavy
I mean well.
I meant well.
Instant replay.
Rehearsing the past
And inadvertently practice for the future
Numbers incessantly entering the screen of my mind’s eye
Like an adding machine.
It’s broken.
I’ll never fix it.
It’s broken.
Time travel hasn’t been invented…
Outside of my head, anyway.
Perhaps it’s like when the astronauts go to space…
And they lose bone density.
Maybe it’s the same with all this time travel in my head
Just reversed.
So I stay here engaging the present.
It’s such a shambles from my point of view.
I’m exhausted.
Can I just sit down?
Can I just have a hand?
Or do you have something for my head?
My mind is heavy.
Much too heavy for me.

equally elegant and ugly.

it's officially time to get real excited.
i got a call from stan the man[ager] this morning regarding a certain person who wants to go in the studio with me.
i literally burst into tears like one of those fancy girl accepting the award for miss america.
sheer elegance.

the ugly part.
still no word from a friend.
it hurts man. i should be used to it, but it really hurts.

so yeah. back to the elegant bit.
here's a hint.
xy.

dream a little dream of me...

is it crazy that i may just charge/spend the $200-something for the box-set of remastered beatles albums?
i don't even care.
last night i dreamt i met my mccartney. oh. man. what a dream boat.
and then, i was talking with emilia over coffee, telling her every detail... you know. i was excited, apparently.
i miss her. i miss my girlfriends... arley and stephanie and amanda and mallori and vanessa and colleen and sarah and elena and gemma and... hohum.
i miss good conversations... and sweet favourite 'bestest' boys (who say i'm a favourite too, and they don't just recycle empty words to all of the girls.) and late nights spent dancing and cuddling/drinking wine/making mischief/laughing til my face and sides hurt and talking and secretly making fun of the lovers at love-circle... also the foxes. ahem.

i keep trying to remember, the whole 'this too shall pass'. it's just a seasonal thing. so much good is stirring. this... well, this is like an isle of seasonal weirdness in the grocery store. and before long, they'll change the setup to coincide with the magical things of autumn, and my shopping cart will be overflowing with goodness.

oh and i'm crossing my fingers and toes and even my eyes if it'll help.
i'm bursting to spill the beans!!!

my nose is froze...

The last two evenings I’ve slept with the window open. And it’s nice and chilly out, which means, I’m able to cuddle up in my favourite comforter. Bliss.
I’m reading this biography of Paul McCartney, and was on this particular chapter regarding the Maharishi and meditation, which came just after talking about some experiences in trying acid. All I can say, is who the heck needs to try it, when you can have the crazy warbled imaginative dreams like I’ve just had! I think they were mostly inspired by what I’d just read. But they weren’t scary. Just nuts! And I kind of liked it. And… the last to mornings have also brought other hints of the first tastes of autumn… Pumpkin Spice Latte. Gorgeous. Starbucks has changed it’s coffee cups and all of the merchandise are bringing the brown, caramel, honey, bronze/golden hues of the coming season. I looooove it. It seems our office A/C is set to get us in the mood as well. It’s currently about 69 degrees in here. And my nose is froze. I like it. Except for the fact, I decided against my better judgement to forego bringing the jacket with me…
Unfortunately though, as I’m super attuned to the gorgeous scents of autumn… I’m inundated with not so good ones. Like the motorcycle that started right next to me this morning, filling my hair which WAS smelling of delicious vanilla and a little coffee…to exhaust. And now, the jacket brought to me smells of stale smoke. I miss my London favourites who are drenched in yummy aftershave and cologne, Chanel Allure for instance. I still have the lingering remains on a shirt of mine, and I don’t really want to wash it…
(Which reminds me, I knew I should’ve gone and watched the Coco Chanel film before leaving London. I’ll have to wait absolutely ages to see it here.)

The soundtrack to all of these wonderful things seems to be a grand mashup of the beatles, zeppelin, and the new Frank Sinatra (Dean Martin/Mel Torme/Harry Connick Jr/Ella Fitzgerald etc.) station I’ve set up on Pandora radio. I have discovered that I swoon to zeppelin as much as I do to these classic jazz tunes. Perhaps bizarre, but it’s still very factual, actual, and satisfactual.

In other news… I’m trying to learn. I want to. I really do.