there's this frailty in the air. a rich fragility. these leaves floating through with magic like the songs in my lungs that keep filling up my chest with each inhale. i can't stop humming. i can't stop singing. it's absolutely enchanting. i'm walking along in some fog of reverie, and i dont quite understand. because the sadness is so deep i've lost the capacity to communicate it. and i mostly feel like a dog who never speaks but is trying to understand. there's so much i'd like to just say. just to be understood. but you are frightened by circumstance. you don't know of my close regard. you are wrapped up. you. you. you. you... all of you. so last night i crept toward the edge of this precipice and whispered your name. i looked at the time, down to the second. and stared at it, looking back at me. frozen in time. and i kept staring as though it would mean something. like some profound meaning would collide with consciousness and i'd snap out of this warbled dream.
there is comfort in the names you call me. there is comfort in closing the curtains. there is comfort in climbing into bed with the window wide open. in sipping the milky cup that calms this riot of thoughts. and if im quiet enough, i can hear the keys on the ring in your hand that unlock the floodgates. and in this flood there is freedom. but it is, still very much a flood.
in this same room when i was very small, i watched them cry and pretend to be fine. we all knew it really wasn't. and yet i somehow knew it would be. and i didn't want them to be sad or worried. and mostly i didn't want to leave. even then, this grand dreamer with this deep seated knowledge of angels hands in mine... being carried off into the dark night and looking it full in the face, focused on the stars and the moon against the ominous blackness. confident and unafraid in the midst of uncertainty. that innocent trust in full bloom. being very small and very brave in a very big very dark place with my red suitcase tight in my hand. hearing some unintelligible sound that announced the commencement of the war between peace and chaos. trust and anxiety. all taking it out deep in my skin.
we never change, do we?
i just want a constant. a steady. a place to feel safe.
i'm lost in everything that is so familiar.
and i just want to go home.
and i want to be found.
but i'm not very sure anyone is looking.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
can you say vul.ner.uh.bull?
I said, “Hello Thursday.”
I would’ve said “good morning”, but little known fact is, I hate saying the words “good morning”. (that is, unless I’m singing that song from ‘Singin in the Rain’) Those two words put together to make the Ante Meridien greeting are my verbal avocado or smoked salmon. Nothing wrong with either. They taste just fine. But the texture…
Can’t.
and so it is, saying “good morning” feels like trying again to enjoy the taste of something that means well but feels awful. Hahaha.
Which brings me back to the beginning.
I said, “Hello Thursday.”
And she said, “It’s far too early to have been crying, don’t you think?”
But, try as I might, it seems I keep from crying as well as most infants. I swear the universe is out to get me because I was hell-bent on not crying for a couple of years. So, in my great attempts to keep the tear ducts from giving way to ‘dramatic girl-weepiness’, I’m slowly becoming a work-a-holic, keeping busy, keep writing/practising/running/moving and essentially, just altogether avoiding silence… the kind that came for a visit last night. You know, the kind you lay in bed crying to and end up taking the anti-anxiety medication, because you can hear everything pumping from your heart through your veins and back again…and it all sort of echoes a bit in your head. You hear absolutely everything except the phone going off, because it doesn’t. The sound of the TV next door is amplified. People walking outside, the cars on the highway you’ve forgotten are there… And best, you hear the sound of a breaking you swore you didn’t ever want to hear again. But there it is, right in the middle of you reiterating, “Fail. Fail. Fail.” And what’s worse is, there is no answer to the ‘why’. It just is. And so, if you’re anything like me, that’s not sufficient. So you replay everything over and over and over, trying to edit this tape and find the ‘why’. Sifting through clues, trying to understand. Trying to learn the lesson and figure out what you missed, so you can take the blame. The next thing you know, you’ve gone past the first stages of sleep and are having full-on R.E.M slideshows but you’re still.wide.awake. Who needs a scary movie?! Take a walk in my jilted mind. You can’t possibly sleep, though your bed is full of feathers, because of this awkward lump of a thing called rejection invading your space and keeping you awake. The same one who keeps dressing up like your new best friend…a blossoming friendship or a friendship restored or a relationship being brought back to life or going deeper…and sometimes even like a lover pursuing, romancing, adventuring, and moving in for a kiss that you think is real. I mean, fireworks and everything! (Seriously. Can I just say that fireworks are ace? I don’t care what anyone says. And they’ve actually happened once, and in the moment, you want to be all ‘this is velveeta cheese’, but you get over it in a quick second because, really it’s magic as sugarplum fairies dancing in children’s heads the night before a Victorian Christmas.) Right, so the kiss. Or whatever moment of intimacy happened and you’ve become vulnerable again. You let someone in. You’ve given a bit of your real self away like some priceless treasure to __fill.in.the.bank. friend.family.lover.etc.___ and you’ve meant it, and at this moment you really really care, and you don’t care how much it costs you. When suddenly you taste that horrid acidic low. Like a gorgeous piece of fruit that’s actually rotten. (if you’ve taken that bite, you know exactly the surprise letdown I mean.) And suddenly the lights come up and it’s all a ridiculous green screen. You’ve been duped again into playing a part with a ridiculously handsome imposter… And you hear this little giggle, and these arms squeeze tighter, the knife goes in and this voice sings this annoying song you’ve known forever… (like one of those stupid hits that made millions and no one ever understands why)… all to just make sure you haven’t forgotten: why on earth did you think this would be different? You’re a still a damned fool. You still mean nothing. You’re still not enough. You’re still beneath them. You’re still a novelty… and it always wears off.
[why is it so easy to believe lies? because i know better. but it feels so true.]
herein lies the struggle.
Usually the alarm clock goes off right around this time.
Cue tears.
I merged onto the highway… singing along to some Neil Young, (duuuude. I’m obsessed.) followed by some louder bluesy tunes that I could scream along to while floating on some tidal wave of guitar lushness.
And so I said, “Hello Thursday.”
And she said, “It’s far too early to have been crying, don’t you think?”
And I turned the music up a little louder, because I’m secretly hoping one day it will just swallow me whole.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cue Pandora's clever little hand pressing play on a song of hope...
so i'll "take this sad song and make it better."
sometimes it takes an hourly reminder that ALL of this WILL be made right.
now, miss pandora and i will dance to the kinks.
til hope floods my soul in the morning.
I would’ve said “good morning”, but little known fact is, I hate saying the words “good morning”. (that is, unless I’m singing that song from ‘Singin in the Rain’) Those two words put together to make the Ante Meridien greeting are my verbal avocado or smoked salmon. Nothing wrong with either. They taste just fine. But the texture…
Can’t.
and so it is, saying “good morning” feels like trying again to enjoy the taste of something that means well but feels awful. Hahaha.
Which brings me back to the beginning.
I said, “Hello Thursday.”
And she said, “It’s far too early to have been crying, don’t you think?”
But, try as I might, it seems I keep from crying as well as most infants. I swear the universe is out to get me because I was hell-bent on not crying for a couple of years. So, in my great attempts to keep the tear ducts from giving way to ‘dramatic girl-weepiness’, I’m slowly becoming a work-a-holic, keeping busy, keep writing/practising/running/moving and essentially, just altogether avoiding silence… the kind that came for a visit last night. You know, the kind you lay in bed crying to and end up taking the anti-anxiety medication, because you can hear everything pumping from your heart through your veins and back again…and it all sort of echoes a bit in your head. You hear absolutely everything except the phone going off, because it doesn’t. The sound of the TV next door is amplified. People walking outside, the cars on the highway you’ve forgotten are there… And best, you hear the sound of a breaking you swore you didn’t ever want to hear again. But there it is, right in the middle of you reiterating, “Fail. Fail. Fail.” And what’s worse is, there is no answer to the ‘why’. It just is. And so, if you’re anything like me, that’s not sufficient. So you replay everything over and over and over, trying to edit this tape and find the ‘why’. Sifting through clues, trying to understand. Trying to learn the lesson and figure out what you missed, so you can take the blame. The next thing you know, you’ve gone past the first stages of sleep and are having full-on R.E.M slideshows but you’re still.wide.awake. Who needs a scary movie?! Take a walk in my jilted mind. You can’t possibly sleep, though your bed is full of feathers, because of this awkward lump of a thing called rejection invading your space and keeping you awake. The same one who keeps dressing up like your new best friend…a blossoming friendship or a friendship restored or a relationship being brought back to life or going deeper…and sometimes even like a lover pursuing, romancing, adventuring, and moving in for a kiss that you think is real. I mean, fireworks and everything! (Seriously. Can I just say that fireworks are ace? I don’t care what anyone says. And they’ve actually happened once, and in the moment, you want to be all ‘this is velveeta cheese’, but you get over it in a quick second because, really it’s magic as sugarplum fairies dancing in children’s heads the night before a Victorian Christmas.) Right, so the kiss. Or whatever moment of intimacy happened and you’ve become vulnerable again. You let someone in. You’ve given a bit of your real self away like some priceless treasure to __fill.in.the.bank. friend.family.lover.etc.___ and you’ve meant it, and at this moment you really really care, and you don’t care how much it costs you. When suddenly you taste that horrid acidic low. Like a gorgeous piece of fruit that’s actually rotten. (if you’ve taken that bite, you know exactly the surprise letdown I mean.) And suddenly the lights come up and it’s all a ridiculous green screen. You’ve been duped again into playing a part with a ridiculously handsome imposter… And you hear this little giggle, and these arms squeeze tighter, the knife goes in and this voice sings this annoying song you’ve known forever… (like one of those stupid hits that made millions and no one ever understands why)… all to just make sure you haven’t forgotten: why on earth did you think this would be different? You’re a still a damned fool. You still mean nothing. You’re still not enough. You’re still beneath them. You’re still a novelty… and it always wears off.
[why is it so easy to believe lies? because i know better. but it feels so true.]
herein lies the struggle.
Usually the alarm clock goes off right around this time.
Cue tears.
I merged onto the highway… singing along to some Neil Young, (duuuude. I’m obsessed.) followed by some louder bluesy tunes that I could scream along to while floating on some tidal wave of guitar lushness.
And so I said, “Hello Thursday.”
And she said, “It’s far too early to have been crying, don’t you think?”
And I turned the music up a little louder, because I’m secretly hoping one day it will just swallow me whole.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cue Pandora's clever little hand pressing play on a song of hope...
so i'll "take this sad song and make it better."
sometimes it takes an hourly reminder that ALL of this WILL be made right.
now, miss pandora and i will dance to the kinks.
til hope floods my soul in the morning.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
i am lonely but you can free me all in the way that you smile.
i'm pretty sure this is legal crack.
and i cannot put this book down.
and i cannot put this book down.
i mean, i just had to google the image to feel better about the fact that it's still at home...
which actually made me wish i hadn't left it.
which actually made me wish i hadn't left it.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
comes a time.
There are a few legendary singers that I’ve never really been into. Not that they aren’t wonderful… I’ve just never really ‘gotten it’ before. And there are moments when you try it again, and you find your taste buds have changed… and this whole new world has opened up.
This has begun to happen over the last 2 weeks with Neil Young.
Where have I been all my life!
Oh my what?!
I am also happy to say that I’ve reached the end of my rope.
Happy?
Yes.
Correct.
I’ve been trying too hard. I’ve been heaving around ridiculous weights I was never meant to carry.
(Anyone else noticed that playing God is the worst game EVER?)
Why?
I’m so busy trying to perfect this person so that you’ll love me… so that you'll approve of me, and just maybe I won't be so very lonely. And in this mad process, I’ve started to lose me... and become this 'image' and i'm not really sure who that is. Like I'm trying to make a new skin. No wonder I've gotten so uncomfortable.
ugh. this has become too much about me. and that's not even what love is.
And you know what? Whether I see it or not, and feel it or not... everything is going to be ok.
All of this will be made right.
All will be well.
ALL of it.
"we were right. we were giving. that's how we kept what we gave away"
This has begun to happen over the last 2 weeks with Neil Young.
Where have I been all my life!
Oh my what?!
I am also happy to say that I’ve reached the end of my rope.
Happy?
Yes.
Correct.
I’ve been trying too hard. I’ve been heaving around ridiculous weights I was never meant to carry.
(Anyone else noticed that playing God is the worst game EVER?)
Why?
I’m so busy trying to perfect this person so that you’ll love me… so that you'll approve of me, and just maybe I won't be so very lonely. And in this mad process, I’ve started to lose me... and become this 'image' and i'm not really sure who that is. Like I'm trying to make a new skin. No wonder I've gotten so uncomfortable.
ugh. this has become too much about me. and that's not even what love is.
And you know what? Whether I see it or not, and feel it or not... everything is going to be ok.
All of this will be made right.
All will be well.
ALL of it.
"we were right. we were giving. that's how we kept what we gave away"
Thursday, October 22, 2009
echoes in the alleyway. footsteps in the hall. my love is comin' my way in this house full of mirrors.
little word of advice...
don't ignore your sleepy cold meds when they kick in. unless you want your body screaming at your brain to shut down... and having these half-delirium dreams that keep getting stuck.
i was listening to the beatles in my head. then little joy. then i got mad cos the song wouldn't change.
see. should NOT ignore the nyquil.
oh but, it won't end there.
you see, today i'm going out of my mind. my body's all limp and sleepy...and my brain is just screaming wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup!!!!!!!! in a way very similar to that of a 4 year old at 6am christmas morning.
so this doves song just came on. and it took me back to that time when things felt alright. when that boy made me laugh every day. and all my girls felt so close. and good things were just around the corner. and in the meantime i was just getting into the swing of the job. funny how a song can do that.
but it's today.
soak it up.
p.s.
i'm nervous about the weekend. i may be sick.
don't ignore your sleepy cold meds when they kick in. unless you want your body screaming at your brain to shut down... and having these half-delirium dreams that keep getting stuck.
i was listening to the beatles in my head. then little joy. then i got mad cos the song wouldn't change.
see. should NOT ignore the nyquil.
oh but, it won't end there.
you see, today i'm going out of my mind. my body's all limp and sleepy...and my brain is just screaming wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup!!!!!!!! in a way very similar to that of a 4 year old at 6am christmas morning.
so this doves song just came on. and it took me back to that time when things felt alright. when that boy made me laugh every day. and all my girls felt so close. and good things were just around the corner. and in the meantime i was just getting into the swing of the job. funny how a song can do that.
but it's today.
soak it up.
p.s.
i'm nervous about the weekend. i may be sick.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
broken heart's hymnal. [page 20]
I loathe the distance between us two
Oceans of space that only makes us blue
Misunderstanding all these messages
Emotionless text to say just how it is
I heard the cracking of your inner core
Clear as the knocking on my own front door
Only tried to offer you a helping hand
Didn’t mean to drive us into a dead end
Please come back to me
Oh bring your sweet heart back to me
Sweet autumn morning turned to dullest night
I didn’t argue or put up a fight
Tried to turn my heart into a block of ice
But we know a cold coquettish girl’s not nice
Brown eyes reflect the brand new harvest moon
Begging for something good to find them soon
Broken hearts chorus in the sweet refrain
Asking their lovers to come back again
Singin’ Please come back to me
Oh bring your sweet heart back to me
…and make the sadness flee from me.
-------------------------------------------------------------
p.s. -
and the magic that happens when the seasons change guards... the dance that unfolds while they link their arms and falling leaves kiss jack frost... all that stopped with another act of senseless violence. and their hearts were robbed blind. and it all got cold.
(love to the lerose family.)
Oceans of space that only makes us blue
Misunderstanding all these messages
Emotionless text to say just how it is
I heard the cracking of your inner core
Clear as the knocking on my own front door
Only tried to offer you a helping hand
Didn’t mean to drive us into a dead end
Please come back to me
Oh bring your sweet heart back to me
Sweet autumn morning turned to dullest night
I didn’t argue or put up a fight
Tried to turn my heart into a block of ice
But we know a cold coquettish girl’s not nice
Brown eyes reflect the brand new harvest moon
Begging for something good to find them soon
Broken hearts chorus in the sweet refrain
Asking their lovers to come back again
Singin’ Please come back to me
Oh bring your sweet heart back to me
…and make the sadness flee from me.
-------------------------------------------------------------
p.s. -
and the magic that happens when the seasons change guards... the dance that unfolds while they link their arms and falling leaves kiss jack frost... all that stopped with another act of senseless violence. and their hearts were robbed blind. and it all got cold.
(love to the lerose family.)
Friday, October 16, 2009
i'm walkin away from this before i hurt someone. [disclaimer.]
before I start, I'm warning you that what you're about to read will assuredly be honest and possibly offensive. So, if you'd rather not feel that way, then don't read any further.
I wonder when these things will stop hurting.
I wonder when curiosity will stop slaughtering the cat in my mind. She must have at least 900 lives.
I hate feeling like your heart has dropped out of your chest like elevator cords being broken. The walls of your chest suddenly start restricting in this pattern that feels like a heart beat, but it's not. It's all hollow spasm. Your face flushes and blood runs away. Skin pricks with an icy glaze that I'm sure wasn't there a few moments before.
It's always like this.
Also quite like giving away something of great meaning to someone, and they treat it much like a spoiled heiress would treat such a gift... eventually squandering or losing it. Or like you've given something precious to someone you trust with it... invested something in good faith. And you've found you've been made a fool of and your faith was unfounded.
In this world...
I know words are like pennies. Almost worthless... but some of us still find them on the ground and excitedly pick them up as though they were worth more.
I know bodies are things to use.
I know romance is a thing of the past.
I know so many people only care about themselves.
I know lies are accessories. Bullets to add to your resume in order to elbow your way up the ladder of success.
I know relationships are based on convenience and something you must earn.
Love is based upon contractual obligation. It can be made. Revised. And broken at any time.
I know this is 'the way of the world', and I'm old fashioned to care about such things.
Well, maybe I'm tired of conforming and feel like being rebellious.
Maybe I dont want to think or feel the way I'm supposed to.
Maybe I think people and their bodies have worth and value.
Maybe I believe romance is a present truth.
Maybe I know enough people who put others first.
Maybe I know enough people who get excited about the truth. Who seek out the truth. And because the hearts of those around them are worth much, they won't conceal the light of truth from them or anyone else.
Maybe I know true relationships (all. why is it people assume i always must be talking about boys and love-sickness?) aren't based on convenience, because frankly it's far more convenient to be alone.
Maybe I know love is the most free thing/person there is. And you can't distort it or twist it or put obligations on it. You cannot earn it. There are no conditions or terms. And it will break all of your rules. Every single time.
And at the very same time...
Maybe I'm tired of making excuses for crappy behaviour.
Maybe I'm tired of having my heart and trust broken.
Maybe I'm tired of being well-aquainted with sorrow.
Sometimes you catch a glimpse of the heart of God. The core of love.
And sometimes, like today, it makes me livid that we've not only missed it, but we're conditioned to keep missing it.
Maybe I still believe the 'God is love' thing is true.
Maybe I dont believe in much of what has become modern day 'christianity' which is why i find myself trying to disassociate myself from it.
Maybe it's not cool to be all 'i still love jesus'.
Maybe i dont really give a shit anymore what anyone thinks is cool.
I don't have some final practical answer.
And I am not content with 'oh that's just the way it is.'
I dont have some cool self-help technique to feel better.
And maybe the 'turn the other cheek' i've taken out of context, which has resulted in a face I'm finding unrecognisable.
(And maybe it's my own hand throwing punches sometimes.)
And maybe the advice "aw, f*** em" isn't really sound.
If joy isn't dependant on circumstance. Then why do we think sorrow would be?
Sure things are starting to move along with my musical aspirations.
But, damnit, I've been hurt a lot over the past 10 1/2 months, and maybe I'm just not ok.
Cos maybe I'm tired of the same people I care about screwing me over and taking advantage...
and maybe I just don't want to be used anymore.
And just maybe I'm tired of beating myself up. Blaming myself for everyone else's problems, and holding myself to some ridiculous standard of mental, physical, emotional and spiritual perfection. Which leads to nothing but anxiety over carrying weights I was never ever meant to carry.
Maybe it takes time to heal, and I need to just get better.
And I'm sick of false strength. And hiding how I really feel and writing sad songs that turn into angst that becomes some ridiculous mistrust of every human.
I need to sit myself down in the heart of God... where I'm welcomed anyway I come. With any words I bring. With any song I sing. Every emotion I've got. As long as it's honest.
Maybe that will be the most beautiful place to get lost.
And somehow i know it is.
I wonder when these things will stop hurting.
I wonder when curiosity will stop slaughtering the cat in my mind. She must have at least 900 lives.
I hate feeling like your heart has dropped out of your chest like elevator cords being broken. The walls of your chest suddenly start restricting in this pattern that feels like a heart beat, but it's not. It's all hollow spasm. Your face flushes and blood runs away. Skin pricks with an icy glaze that I'm sure wasn't there a few moments before.
It's always like this.
Also quite like giving away something of great meaning to someone, and they treat it much like a spoiled heiress would treat such a gift... eventually squandering or losing it. Or like you've given something precious to someone you trust with it... invested something in good faith. And you've found you've been made a fool of and your faith was unfounded.
In this world...
I know words are like pennies. Almost worthless... but some of us still find them on the ground and excitedly pick them up as though they were worth more.
I know bodies are things to use.
I know romance is a thing of the past.
I know so many people only care about themselves.
I know lies are accessories. Bullets to add to your resume in order to elbow your way up the ladder of success.
I know relationships are based on convenience and something you must earn.
Love is based upon contractual obligation. It can be made. Revised. And broken at any time.
I know this is 'the way of the world', and I'm old fashioned to care about such things.
Well, maybe I'm tired of conforming and feel like being rebellious.
Maybe I dont want to think or feel the way I'm supposed to.
Maybe I think people and their bodies have worth and value.
Maybe I believe romance is a present truth.
Maybe I know enough people who put others first.
Maybe I know enough people who get excited about the truth. Who seek out the truth. And because the hearts of those around them are worth much, they won't conceal the light of truth from them or anyone else.
Maybe I know true relationships (all. why is it people assume i always must be talking about boys and love-sickness?) aren't based on convenience, because frankly it's far more convenient to be alone.
Maybe I know love is the most free thing/person there is. And you can't distort it or twist it or put obligations on it. You cannot earn it. There are no conditions or terms. And it will break all of your rules. Every single time.
And at the very same time...
Maybe I'm tired of making excuses for crappy behaviour.
Maybe I'm tired of having my heart and trust broken.
Maybe I'm tired of being well-aquainted with sorrow.
Sometimes you catch a glimpse of the heart of God. The core of love.
And sometimes, like today, it makes me livid that we've not only missed it, but we're conditioned to keep missing it.
Maybe I still believe the 'God is love' thing is true.
Maybe I dont believe in much of what has become modern day 'christianity' which is why i find myself trying to disassociate myself from it.
Maybe it's not cool to be all 'i still love jesus'.
Maybe i dont really give a shit anymore what anyone thinks is cool.
I don't have some final practical answer.
And I am not content with 'oh that's just the way it is.'
I dont have some cool self-help technique to feel better.
And maybe the 'turn the other cheek' i've taken out of context, which has resulted in a face I'm finding unrecognisable.
(And maybe it's my own hand throwing punches sometimes.)
And maybe the advice "aw, f*** em" isn't really sound.
If joy isn't dependant on circumstance. Then why do we think sorrow would be?
Sure things are starting to move along with my musical aspirations.
But, damnit, I've been hurt a lot over the past 10 1/2 months, and maybe I'm just not ok.
Cos maybe I'm tired of the same people I care about screwing me over and taking advantage...
and maybe I just don't want to be used anymore.
And just maybe I'm tired of beating myself up. Blaming myself for everyone else's problems, and holding myself to some ridiculous standard of mental, physical, emotional and spiritual perfection. Which leads to nothing but anxiety over carrying weights I was never ever meant to carry.
Maybe it takes time to heal, and I need to just get better.
And I'm sick of false strength. And hiding how I really feel and writing sad songs that turn into angst that becomes some ridiculous mistrust of every human.
I need to sit myself down in the heart of God... where I'm welcomed anyway I come. With any words I bring. With any song I sing. Every emotion I've got. As long as it's honest.
Maybe that will be the most beautiful place to get lost.
And somehow i know it is.
Monday, October 12, 2009
"photographing cake can be art"
A good photograph is one that communicate a fact, touches the heart, leaves the viewer a changed person for having seen it. It is, in a word, effective. - Irving Penn
one of my most favourite images...
dear irving penn,
one of my most favourite images...
dear irving penn,
may you rest in the sweetest peace.
Friday, October 9, 2009
love in the asylum.
i woke up this morning to the sound of his voice reading poetry like some dylan thomas on the balcony. a cigarette wavering in his hand, tired from scrawling his heart out on the those yearning sheets of paper. words said a thousand times before, but never quite in an order such as that. and there was no need to move, and so i didn't. just listened in that hazy half-dream half-awake glorious state of white. i looked upon him with affection. it seems i never tire of looking on his face. sometimes kissed with youth, with age, with sorrow, with rage, with worry... and always this ruddy boy making mischief still visible just beneath. but best, that smile. that burst of laughter. the wit. the cheek. the determination. the creative excitement. his thoughtful stare... a trove of treasures and past and future wrapped up in the present tense form on whom my gaze is fixed. and he tries to relax his shoulders, carrying that unnecessary weight of atlas. his arms strong, but weary from taking on more than they were ever meant for. his strength slowly unbuilt. his power demeaned. his art commercialized. and so his love waning.
yet the remnants could be heard ringing through the room. and there was something to it. something i never wish to forget. something in him i long never to regret. softly treading upon the grounds. unsure of so many things. willing for him to come away and find rest. 'it will be well' i say, i sing, i show... til he believes. or til he leaves. so wait. watching the sun cross the dial, unsure of the time we're hoping for. but hope will keep me til it comes.
yet the remnants could be heard ringing through the room. and there was something to it. something i never wish to forget. something in him i long never to regret. softly treading upon the grounds. unsure of so many things. willing for him to come away and find rest. 'it will be well' i say, i sing, i show... til he believes. or til he leaves. so wait. watching the sun cross the dial, unsure of the time we're hoping for. but hope will keep me til it comes.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
when im a-walkin i strut my stuff and i'm so strung out...
i got a massage today.
bestever.
i really need to calm down more.
i find myself internalizing all kinds of stress and strain. most often things i can't control.
ridiculous, right? i need to overdose on laughter.
the news makes me cry, man. it's getting old.
i've always heard things about it being hard to be taken seriously as a girl in entertainment. i never really bought into that. i don't pull the 'woman' card...
i'm not a know-it-all. but i'm very confident in what i do know. however, i try to be willing to learn more and get better. there is always room for improvement. and i, above all, am hard on myself. to a fault.
but i'm getting the first taste of this. it's not imaginary. and i don't like it at all.
oh, newsflash boys. girl/woman is not synonymous with idiot.
thanks.
stephy's blog / rob bell's tweet was super encouraging. you should read it.
bestever.
i really need to calm down more.
i find myself internalizing all kinds of stress and strain. most often things i can't control.
ridiculous, right? i need to overdose on laughter.
the news makes me cry, man. it's getting old.
i've always heard things about it being hard to be taken seriously as a girl in entertainment. i never really bought into that. i don't pull the 'woman' card...
i'm not a know-it-all. but i'm very confident in what i do know. however, i try to be willing to learn more and get better. there is always room for improvement. and i, above all, am hard on myself. to a fault.
but i'm getting the first taste of this. it's not imaginary. and i don't like it at all.
oh, newsflash boys. girl/woman is not synonymous with idiot.
thanks.
stephy's blog / rob bell's tweet was super encouraging. you should read it.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
my heart is broke, but i have some glue.
i'll mend it with you.
i need a weekend with my girls.
and a massage.
i need a weekend with my girls.
and a massage.
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