mezzanine.

there's all this light coming through the cracks.
worry makes you see things differently
and it's absence makes something new of the imperfect.
but it desires me in the worst way
singing me to shipwreck
caught between scenes
waiting backstage
and it seems like an eternity
speeding up and slowing down
waiting for the line
waiting for the cue
waiting and ready...
and wondering if you're actually ready
don't overthink it.
but, one more time.
there is the right moment
and there's this terror that you just might miss it
so, in these moments, the trap door proves to be a lift...
and you're carried up higher and higher
bird's eye view.
i've forgotten it again
so focused on the cue, on the scene on that inciting moment and my performance
my perfection
and obviously lack, thereof
that i've missed the big picture
i mean, i've lost the whole plot
sometimes the playwright needs to have a word
just take you up to the mezzanine floor
and remind you of why it was written in the first place...
and you sort of settle down and come alive
noticing all this light coming through the cracks

start again.

iTunes - New & Noteworthy.

xbox / Microsoft music - recommends.

New single is out now! Spread the worrrrrrrrrd.

the mean reds.

Dear Diary,

It's a super chilly Saturday after Black Friday after Thanksgiving. I chose the Christmas station on Pandora for the first time this year. Anything to do with Christmas before Thanksgiving is simply unacceptable in my mind. But, now that Thanksgiving is over and the remnants of the delicious feast are sitting, waiting, beckoning from my refrigerator, it's perfectly fine to put on those Christmas carols to deck the halls of our new place. Yes, I moved... AGAIN. My whole body is screaming at me with contempt, however it is overshadowed by the lovely feeling of having a lot more space in a one bedroom townhouse. Hooray!
Parker and Marley seem to love it, as well and retire to their respective cozy spots completely exhausted from racing up and down the stairs a billion times a day. Apart from a couple of finishing touches, I'm happy to say that everything is unpacked and in its right place in record time.

My mind however, is wrecking havoc on the rest of me. I've had some pretty astounding dreams over the past couple of nights - a sign that my imagination is in rare form. This can also be a negative thing when my mind decides to play God and resurrect scenes from the past and play them over and over. It also enjoys reading between the lines and getting very creative with worst case scenarios and conspiracy theories... or in layman's term, it loves to worry obsessively. This leads to anxiety.

I haven't had anxiety in a very long time.

But, on this super chilly Saturday after Black Friday after Thanksgiving, I am ridden with it like some sort of impeding outbreak of influenza. The people who really work my nerves are REALLY working my nerves. The things I've let go of have leapt back into my hands and stitched themselves round like gloves. Too tight gloves. The kind where my fingers feel claustrophobic. Uncomfortable like having to hold it in the car on a road trip until the next exit... which isn't for another 20 miles. Antsy. Like a dog in a cage waiting for it's beloved to come home. Even worse, how Marley must feel in that same predicament whilst Parker is free to roam around the new wide open space. (He's earned it, believe you me.)

Sometimes I wish that the mind WAS in fact a bit more like a computer, so that I could select certain files and delete them. Not only delete them from the original folder, but from the trash bin as well. But, the memories are here to stay. The scars from the wounds you've all but forgotten about are noticed on those random days... and all of the trauma comes back with it. And you wish that grace, mercy and forgiveness would outrun all of the nonsense and memories and the lingering pain. You wish that you were better at it all. But sometimes, the past comes back up like a flash and it just still hurts a bit. And the flashback makes you freeze... makes you shake a little... makes you panic... makes the simple tasks unbearable.

Lame.

And so, diary, this is where today has brought me.
However, I'm not having it.
I have too many things for my mind to be proactively creative about...
Rather than worry and fear.

letters from jamaica [part deux]

from a poem she saw on a wall in - 

I am a deserving woman.

"I deserve better.  I deserve greater.  I deserve to set standards.

I deserve to have requirements.  I deserve to have goals.

I deserve to have aspirations.  I deserve to be earned.

I deserve to be pleased.  I deserve to be fulfilled.

I deserve to be loved.  I deserve to be cherished.

I deserve to be at peace.

I deserve to be restored.  I deserve to be renewed.

I deserve to be exalted.  I deserve to be uplifted.

I deserve to be called by my name, not out of my name.

I deserve to be respected, I deserve to be protected.

I deserve to feel special.  I deserve to be appreciated.

I deserve to be admired.

I deserve to be desired.  I deserve to be praised.

I deserve to be remembered.  I deserve to be seen as worthy.

Treat me as a Queen, because I deserve to be Me.

A woman who knows her value

Will always demand her worth..."

burberry festive. [hello magic]

and i love it.

halloween.

parker the dinosaur.

marley the squirrel.

Me & Carl (aqua teen hunger force)

happy halloween!
mission completion.

halloween. [the wheels in my head are turning]

Well, good afternoon!
It always comes out a bit better for me than good morning ever did. Though I love mornings, it's the actual saying that feels a bit strange whenever it comes out of my mouth.
I have also noticed that there are some days my handwriting is better than others. Whenever I have to fill out something at a counter, it's horrid. I don't understand. It's almost as if I don't recognize the letters I am making. Seeing as I've always had rather nice, albeit ever changing penmanship, this seriously bums me out.
I miss writing creatively... I miss poetry. But, sometimes it would seem my life isn't quiet enough to create rhythms unless time is set aside. At work, there is music playing almost constantly... I sometimes wish I could just turn it off for a while.

On slow days, I find myself scouring the inter-webs for blogs and new interesting instagrams to keep my mind occupied and to keep me inspired. However, I'm noticing there is a fine line between inspiration and envy. I'm also realizing that while I fully appreciate the high fashion//artistic//fun aspect of pointed nails, they absolutely freak me out. They look good on ya though. Do you boo boo. I also wish I had an ipod touch with a camera... or that tmobile would carry the iphone. Sorta. maybe not. I'm good with the touch.
Know what I miss? My blackberry. I really really do. I can see myself as the person who has both smart phone and blackberry.
Know what else I miss?
The feeling of being included with people who deeply care about me.
I miss my girlfriends and time well spent with them.
I miss being somebody's baby.
I miss my family.
I've also got a serious case of the wanderlust. As usual, this is met by an equal desire to be very settled and have a home.

I am a walking contradiction. But, it works somehow.

And on that note, I can't wait to get home to my little family of puppies.
And to catch up on this season of gossip girl on demand.

Good day, friends.

je ne sais quoi...

After warming up for a day or two, it cooled down quite nicely this morning. It was chilly, just the way I like it. It forces me to pull out of my sleepy fog and rouses me to start the day with a little more umph. A bit more energy. I'm ready to seize the day, rather than be dragged along by it.  Anyway, it all started when I took Marley out this morning. A strange longing for more time to devote to something... but I wasn't really sure what it was. Maybe to spend a little more time with Marley to get her trained to be a civilized dog who actually walks on a leash without dragging you along. (Much like a sleepy start to the day, I suppose)

I walked into Starbucks to continue my morning ritual... and I felt it again when I noticed a couple sitting at a table sipping their coffee slowly and talking. There were others, busy at work or having a morning meeting over their morning drink of choice, and maybe a little breakfast to go with it. I was on a bit of a time-crunch, as per usual in the morning, on my way to work, unsure of the unsettling feeling. But, I pushed those thoughts out of my brain, and started mentally skimming my to-do list. I was even looking forward to getting my day started, but my mind began to wander as I passed some new apartments available for lease. "Wouldn't that be nice...", "I'm sure they're amazing on the inside..." "It would be great to be so close to work, though I would miss the commute..." "It may not be the best place to have 2 dogs..." "How much ARE they going for anyway?" "Did I make the right decision on my apartment, now?" Thoughts like that. I was still distracted when i turned off of 8th Ave, onto a side street... and there it was again. Like a hunger pang in the soul... This feeling like I should be making scrambled eggs right now and planning out my day... For the babes or for the hubs, I'm not so sure, but this doesn't make sense. I don't have a husband or babies. However, I do have so many things to go over, fonts for an album... so many emails to respond to... phone calls to make... places to go... I saw a woman running down the street and felt a little jealous.  I should be going on a run, rather than trying to find time to...

I spend so much time doing some things that I'm pretty good at, but at this point in my life, it's leaving me feeling so very unfulfilled... and under-appreciated. It sucks up all of my time and energy, leaving so little for me to be creative or productive in the things I was meant for... 

But those things don't yet pay my bills...

And neither does this, actually.
And always being a lot of dollars short is really wearing me thin.
Always being to tired to engage or to do out of the ordinary things is getting really old, as well.
Knowing I have to be up so early...
Going above and beyond and still stressing out about rent...
Round and round and round it goes.

Catch 22.

I want out of this cycle.

I want off of this carousel.

But, there is only but so much I can do.

Keep pushing and wait?

Persevere.

There's so much that's good. But, something is missing... a certain... I don't know what...

dazed and confused

yes.

under construction.

brick by brick
the contrast is rather lovely
rather moody, if gray
perfectly seasick, yet nothing at all is in sway
i can't quite put my finger on it.
but, i'm not so very sad.
don't worry your head about that.
just lingering. just waiting.
anticipating.
and being quite present.
it takes time to unlearn the lifetime habits
the mechanisms of defense
and disarm them instead
and now the mind reels
with creativity
with marvelous things
not fear and dread and self-loathing
i'm happy just to watch today
to keep still
the progress is impressive
but much left to go
undaunted
just revel
brick by brick
and away we go

can we please talk about this?

Kanye // Chanel.
because, i'm going to have to say, yes.

lookalike.

weight of the world. [lifted.]

It's the most wonderful time of the year! The cooler weather tends to draw me indoors, and I start to hibernate a little. I can't seem to get enough candles... my house smells like pumpkins, apples and spices... and bergamot tobacco. It's funny, because all of these scents remind me of growing up and exploring downtown Fredericksburg. And, this year there's a fireplace to add to the mix... exciting! Today, I've got on a sweater and a jacket. Now, all we need is the color change, which, in Tennessee is never as brilliant as that of Virginia, but it will suffice. (I do, however, still want to get to central park when leaves are at their peak.) All I want to do is sleep a little longer, cook - er, be cooked for, make seasonal treats (i.e. - pumpkin cheesecake truffles... glorious.) write, listen to music, take pictures, read good books, watch good movies (even scarier ones, y'all. i don't really understand.) take really long walks/run, drink wine or coffee or homemade hot chocolate, and be surrounded by candles... and love. lots of lovely love. Ironically, I also get the wanderlust pretty badly. I have this strong desire to be organized, to get everything set up just so. So, as much as I love to be home in my cozy nest, I tend to be incredibly productive and inspired when the autumn and winter come round.

At the same time, I feel like I can begin to enjoy this season, and perhaps life in general a bit more than usual.  Or maybe it's that I'm coming into a place of contentment... a rest in the chaos.  Because, there is most definitely in need of a lot of resolution... and I've made some difficult choices, and I'm hanging in there. But, I'm seeing some positive change, if ever so slowly in me... in my heart... and best of all in my mind. I've decided not to hide anymore, and it's super hard coming out of hiding. I've never had such a hard time telling the truth... but I'm glad I have. It scares me that I may have hurt some people who are closest to my heart... it scares me that I'll have their understandable disapproval. But sometimes what I feel is the right thing won't make a whole lot of sense to everyone. And it's taken me twenty-some years to realize that it's ok. I love my friends and their concern, but sometimes I have to go in a certain way that I believe is right for me at a certain time. I didn't realize how much of the weight on my shoulders was because of this... and it's been lifted. Who knows where this road will lead... But, I'm happy to be inspired. I'm embracing these humbling times. I'm soaking it up. It's good to rest a little inside.

to whom it may concern.

I am stuck between a rock and a hard place.
I don't like it.
My grandma always told me that a lie was an intent to deceive. There wasn't a whole lot of little white lie gray area for her. And, I appreciate that these days. I think it's done me pretty good. Besides, I'm a really really bad liar. But, right now, I feel like a liar, and that doesn't make me happy. It's more an intent to keep some information hidden, for now because I cannot take the amount of disappointment that will be thrown my way. So, I've gone silent.

I feel like I've needed people more than ever to just believe in me, or to just listen without those stern looks... or worried faces. Just some love and some hugs. I'd just like for someone to walk in my shoes and see things the way I see it. I'm real thankful that there are a couple of people stepping up to that challenge. But for the most part, it isn't the way. And as one friend said, in response to my very cryptic description of the situation, "you can rapidly feel like an island."

On top of this, I'm absolutely scared out of my mind that my decision was wrong. Mostly, I feel pretty bled white from the whole situation. I feel taken advantage of. I need to say something, but I'm not sure what to say... I'm not sure what to do. I'm not sure how to move from here. And so, I'm frozen in silence... overthinking from the moment I wake up until I lay my head down at night, and wake again in the middle of dreams, to sleep, to wake when the alarm goes off.

Meanwhile, work has picked up... and my list of responsibilities feels like it's growing on the daily. I have thrown myself headlong into this and into moving, so that I can't really feel much else. Sometimes, numbness is a beautiful beautiful thing. That is, until it wears off, or the deep melancholy is awakened by exhaustion.

So many little lovely things are in the pipeline. It's just a matter of time... of waiting. It's a matter of trying to find enough extra nooks and crannies of hours in the day to be productive. It's a matter of holding it all together. It's a matter of not growing weary in well-doing... It's a matter of perseverance.
But I'm ready for resolution. I'm ready for breakthrough. I'm ready for the end of this season. I'm in need of some release.  For the joy that comes in the morning after a dark night of the soul.

Bring on the sun, please...

They all move in the same way. Back straight, long easy strides. He wears a smart looking suit, but not in black to keep it casual. He stands to take inventory of an area of construction, and effortlessly moves his open jacket away, revealing a perfectly tucked dress shirt - hand placed on the hip. It reminds me of faculty members from my school growing up.

Boredom allows the mind to wander a bit, and think of things you wouldn't normally. I get kind of frustrated by moments like these, because most often, there's so much that needs to be checked off my "to-do list" and the present situation limits me from doing any of it. I am confined to work, or waiting on this or that... and my anxiety grows with my list of unticked boxes.

I am most definitely in one of life's waiting rooms right now. The kind without many interesting magazines, sketchy service on your phone, mind numbing info-mercials on the tv (if there is one) and no books whatsoever in which to dive. No paper, no distractions, just you and that "calming" color of paint on the walls and time ticking slowly. There is something to be learned in it, for sure... and I intend to soak it up as fully as possible. I also know that on the other side of this waiting room, some wonderful things are processing. Like a good home-cooked meal, it's just gonna take some time.

However, living in the tension... it's tedious as hell and there's nothing but temptation on all sides to give up. There is some sort of perseverance mantra ringing in my ears, and I'm going into some sort of trance, at this point. I will be honest here, and say that I'm tired of having a sore throat... and talking over enlarged tonsils. Yes, I do still have them. I'm tired of shouldering the responsibilities of others... of hearing the engine in my heart revved up to redline... of loving between a rock and a hard place. I'm weary of holding my tongue. I am weary of my love being taken advantage of. I'm tired of my energy level being on empty constantly. All I want is a couple of days to meet with friends and have coffee, eat good food, drink red wine... smart conversations and all that... laugh til my face hurts. Go on an adventure with my partner in crime... and maybe a little romance? Oh and a walk and cuddle with muh babes (dogs. )

I love those weeks when about 5 new albums come into your life and you cannot stop listening to them. Cannot. STOP. But it's the little bit of a comedown that stinks, right after you've learned them.
Boredom wanders in... and... you start noticing that those men in suits often move the same way.

prelude to the falling.

It's coming. But, it's taking it sweet time. Sleeves start traveling slowly down our arms. The material thickens. Wardrobes changing like the leaves on the trees. The blue of the sky wanes to a delicious vanilla. An extra hour added to the day to become enamored with the earthy tones and the dried fragrances. Naturally, we pull close together. And if you're alone, it's the loneliest you'll feel. This year, my favourite season will bring along with it a new space... a new invitation for me to make a little house a home. And perhaps soon some brave heart will also make itself at home next to mine. And we'll glow like embers in the fireplace I've always wanted...

My heart is unraveled. Fingers stretched out with palms upward. The object of my affection released. The love pulsing just as hard to an empty space in my soul. Clinging to a promise that it isn't wasted. And so I wait... this is when your love is put on display.

this is where it all gets beautiful.

it's about to be so good.

the fifth.

fall in through the ceiling

search the rooms for meaning

when the rain has made no sound

upon the walls

the pulses pound

and common decency has died

the funeral march has long since gone

and i don't feel the urge to cry

nor can i seem to shuffle on

all of these feelings bleed

the knife has twisted

i'm the fool

trying to keep my hopeful heart

within a world where minds are cruel

ungrateful hands just steal and beg

manipulate the veins for more

and taking love in vain

and we're just left here on the floor

crumpled up like dirty clothes

when we know we're worth far more

than the sound of brokenness

and the crash of slamming doors

and the hoard of snide remarks

and remorse only if caught

conclusions jumped to in my brain

wisdom waxes and it wanes

play the scripts over again

try to find myself to blame

and hyper-ventilate to sleep

from the nightmare wake to weep

remind myself, as i'm bled white

in all the small things, to delight

lord, i'm weary of the fight

turn these violent wrongs to rights

i'll write it down and read it back

let it sink into the cracks

calm me down, don't let me fall

sliding slow down the painted wall

calm me down, mend this heart

reconstruct what's come apart

sunday.

I walk into the bathroom and am surprised when looking in the mirror. Surprised at the welling up of tears glazing my eyes and my feeble stupid attempts to hold them in. I woke up with my eyes nearly swollen shut… how much more is left in those ducts?! But, it is Sunday. I think every week for at least the last 4 or 5 weeks, I have said, out loud to myself at some point or another, " I hate Sundays." I'm not entirely sure it's true. I think six days of the week is my capacity to quell the grief. I can hide it from the world for six days… and on the seventh day, I need a rest. The bandages fall off, like the adhesive will no longer hold. Right around midnight the panic attacks begin, and I'm in bed hyperventilating, praying to just fall asleep. Sunday morning is the hardest day to pull myself from the white haven of blankets and the warm of the dogs. If I make myself get to church, it begins sooner than later. I sit alone in a room full of people. I look around and find familiar faces everywhere, but they'll not notice I'm there. I'm not there to be seen. I'm there to unfold… to be unfolded. And sure enough, some invisible blanket wraps round and I'm hidden behind some veil of grace. The silent room is permeated with a story being unwrapped for my soul. There is sweet relief here. I am met by this strange feeling of release mingling with failure. I thought I'd done so well. Come to terms. You know, all of those therapy sort of phrases we Westerners use to explain that which we really know very little about…. The human heart and it's strength… and it's frailty. Today, he said that it hurts so deeply, when you love so deeply. I've heard that before, but it brought comfort in hearing it again. Unlike most Sundays where I'm happy to unravel in the shadows in movements of worship, I wanted to leave. It doesn't matter, though whether I stay in bed or head to church, those hands will find me wherever it is that I may be on Sundays. They will find me and unwrap the bandages. They find me and clean my still gaping wounds. Ever so gently applying some soothing balm. They take care to gently wrap them back up. And I fall to a million pieces. I am absolutely alone, but wrapped up by this invisible presence.

It's the quietest day…. and I break again and again and again.

I long for the days when the heaviness is gone from my heart. On Sunday I'm able to weep for the great weight. On Sunday I don't have to pretend it's all ok. Homesick for family, for loving souls who will wrap me up in their arms where I can disappear for just a little while. I long for resolution or for deep sleep. What would sleep do, though, but leave my wounds unattended to and allow some cruel reprieve… only for the pain to intensify the moment I am once again conscious. I have never been so tired… so utterly exhausted. I have never reached such a depth in the seas of sorrow. So I suppose I've never loved so deeply. And I have never been so full of hope in such a dark night… yet I've never felt such agony in waiting for the sun to rise.

recurring dream.[i also ate lots of cheese]

I have recurring dreams that usually have something to do with swimming competitively. I mean, at least once a month.

Last night's dream began as most of them do with the swimmers on the blocks... as you do. Take your marks! (I did, like a cat waiting to pounce.) I love the look of an Olympic sized pool, so blue, so still, stretching out in front of you, waiting to be messed up like a clean bed with fresh linens. I'm waiting for the buzzer... for the reflexes to snap and dive; instead, however, I heard a splash. False start. Clearly there would be a restart. But, there wasn't. All in a matter of fractions of seconds, so and so takes off in a sprint, the buzzer goes off, we all glance at each other, realize the officials are just letting this all go amiss, and one by one we dive in. I was one of the last off the block, and it almost seemed like I really woke up in the water, all Inception style and whatnot. I was trying to remember what stroke I was supposed to be doing, unsure whether it was butterfly or free-style. I nearly did a flutter-kick which would've gotten me disqualified, but I remembered, butterfly, managed to pull off a not so good streamline, nonetheless, and dolphin kick for my life!

I was so frustrated to be off to a bad start...

...or dead last.

I took my first stroke and I was already exhausted. It felt impossible. I was way in over my head. But I kept moving.

I kept pulling... hard.

flip.

turn.

There are those moments when you're digging deep, pulling out every ounce of energy you really don't have. Like that weird tingly feeling before passing out, and your insides are turning to mush, and you think you might be sick, and at any moment your arms, legs, heart, body is going to cave no matter how much you tell it to MOVE! A feeling of being so heavy and weightless all at the very same time. The cool water felt hot, and it was a struggle to keep the breathing pattern, tempted to breathe on every stroke. My ears were ringing in the crash of the water, but my eyes are fixed on the wall.

And the next thing I know, in my peripheral view, I'm moving past each person and end up at the front of my heat. Wait, what?

Then, came the split second calculation of whether to glide into the wall with a kick or to do one last stroke. I'd rather not underestimate with a glide, so I pulled. The middle of my forearms ready to collide with the wall, but I managed to control the impact. I take that first breath, and look around, realizing I'd finished first!

But, instead of the adrenaline rush of winning and wanting to do a happy dance or fist pump, I felt overwhelmed with emotion and just wanted to cry tears of relief, mostly... and maybe some sort of happiness that I hadn't given up. The race started unfairly... I was exhausted from the moment I began. It looked impossible to even place at all... I would've been happy to finish. But, I finished... and finished strong. And in the end, it didn't matter how crappy it started, because the result was in my favor. I didn't quit. And moments like that make me want to cry... it's so beautiful to reach the other side of a deep struggle. When the outcome is good, in fact, better than expected. When you can say, it was all made good... that redemption won out in the end... it mattered... no more disappointment.

I didn't even realize just how much I feel like this in my life right now until writing this all out. I'm tired of being strong. I'm absolutely exhausted in every way that one can be. I feel like I'm teetering over the line of giving out, no matter how hard I push. My mental, emotional, spiritual, and even physical muscles are starting to spasm... There's a ringing in my ears... the roar of the waves around me... But, my eyes are fixed. I'm not entirely sure where the finish line is, but I keep moving. One day at a time. Keep pulling one day at a time. Hoping the outcome will make it all worth it... that love and redemption does win.

undertones.

It's really the only time I sleep well...

But then again, there's an excitement pitter-pattering

Like an undertow pulling my dreams along,

a bit closer to the surface of consciousness

Because I don't want to forget the feeling of nearness

And I'll wake a little annoyed with the alarm clock

A little annoyed with the daylight

Because I wish it was the middle of the night, and it would just hold a bit longer

I don't want this moment to slip past

Nothing is promised, and I sure cannot predict the future

But I hope, oh how I hope

Like a tiny little bird bravely singing in the witching hours.

He's bathed in morning light

And it's my favorite part of waking up early

Handsome in one of those classic ways that isn't really based on opinion

Pupils dilate, and there's the swell of the strings in the orchestra

Gentle crescendo

I have to hold my breath

It's all that I can do not to let the words escape

So I slip out quietly before I'm pulled in to his undeniable gravitational pull

pull

pull

Slip away into the tasks of the day

So hard to close the door

And hold it down

And hold it in

But it's undeniable

Coursing at such great speed just beneath the placid surface

but in the still of the night it sings

like a tiny bird in the witching hours...

echoing through the heart valves

each pulse...

sometimes tender

sometimes strong

sometimes raging

sometimes a desperate cry

and sometimes only a whisper

always singing

always true

"Oh how, I love this man."

lento.

slowly but surely it wakes you up

the drowsiness draining from the cup

slowly but surely you're all aware

of the emptiness; of all that isn't there

and it beats with a throbbing like native drums

and it tells you to get up, just get up and run

but frozen like waters in northern lakes

can't stop the crash or find the brakes

and when least expected it wraps all around

hold your breath, don't move, don't make a sound

lest you chase it away, lest it up and leave

and the rising and falling;

the chest will heave

dearly beloved, replenish the wine

dearly departed, i'll tell you it's fine

and the tears flow out with the blood of the vine

in the tender release of all that was mine

pale thin line. [get up or lay down]

if you were very still, as a child in a classroom

trying so very hard to listen and didn't fidget...

you might hear it.

you might.

the sound is almost imperceptible.

but you'll see it...

just a vivid white line trailing behind a piece of chalk.

i like the way the dust spills just outside of the hardened line,

like a whisper of rebellion reminding that it isn't ever one or the other.

it might seem so, but really it mostly isn't.

one side feels incredibly wild and open;

wide and deep and ripe with the magic of the woods at night.

the other side is a bright city

pulsing.

and you enter the city limits speeding

like some raging pain recklessly driving

leaving track marks

and soon you're disappearing in plain sight

and dancing around the room through the sway

you find it and put it in your bloodstream

and before you know it,

it seeps through your pores

this coat of protection

and right there the pain stops

your mind races to lovely things

switch. on.

off.

on.

off.

on.

it's all the same.

quand meme, darling.

and like bathing in a delicious apathy.

dirty feet and hands

couldn't care less

just languid little happy life in a goldfish bowl

and they think you're at your most beautiful then, don't they?

when you take the form of some gypsy and disappear

it's fascinating living as a ghost

eyes hollow and always, always smiling

all wrapped up in clean white sheets

but dirty and black eyes and skinny like a model

it's all ashes and blood and bones and smoke

and some broken song

go faster

go slower

it doesn't matter, just keep moving.

one will catch up.

just move until the pain or the painkiller wins.

one will win. they always do.

and you'll stop moving. you'll just cease.

it will go terribly wrong and it will cease.

and the pain will engulf you like a black hole.

so crawl back, if there's time left on your side to that jagged little line

on the other side...

it's something so beautiful,

but it hurts like hell
the magic of the woods at night is met with the terror of the unknown

and you feel every single pulse

every single memory

every single one

even when you sleep

wide awake singing hymns in the middle of the night

looking fear dead in the face while it shakes you

walking straight through some valley of the shadow of death

and it's never quite the way the words sound

pure suffering

and clinging to some invisible hand of hope that most often

feels like nothing more than air

but you keep moving

you keep singing from inside where you believe

just move until that love wins
because it always will.

and peace is the pulse
and healing invades

and then the morning comes...

act i - it's ok

the curtain rises

and the performance is award winning

and i'm so lost in the role that i've convinced myself

convinced myself

i'm going mad

counting down for doctor's visits

because they make medications

to tell the storm to be still

to make the roaring a little less loud

because i'm not certain of walking on water

and i'm not certain of sailing this ship

those in the know put their cards on the table

and turn them

turn them

turn them.

i waited to hear whether to keep the bridges in tact

or to simply

burn them

burn them

learn from them.

i'll not lift a hand to strike

i'll not allow my mouth to curse

i'll not wish an ill

just the turning of will

just the opening of eyes

just the healing of wounds

and as you walk up from the basement

your prayers will multiply

and you'll see me waiting

on the other side

absence.

i lost my love.

so, i'm kind of working that out.

in the meantime...

my best friend is getting married.

and last night i was dreaming about planning her wedding with her and other girlfriends.

i was also obsessed with having the recipe for and indulging in a bushwacker from 3 crow. i mean, obsessed.

i'm working on a new musical project... i like movement. even if it's slow, it's far better than doldrums any day.

i've also realised that after all this time, i'm beginning to find my voice. as a result, i'm almost anxious to re-record a bunch of songs.

you know what's funny? much of the time we long so desperately to know the future. we want to skip to the end of the book, or at least the end of this section just to make sure that it turns out ok. but, the thing is, that most of us who are truly in love with the story will have to keep reading it all the way through no matter what. and you'll find yourself wondering if the outcome will change, because the build-up is so incredibly delicious... it is as though the author is begging the reader, if you will, to keep hoping when the story is shrouded in mystery and doubt.

God, give me style and give me grace... and put a smile upon my face.

can you hear it?

here i am.

in a white room with four walls...

and i'm scrawling with all of my might

covering every inch with everything that i am

and with everything i can find.

the ink is the blood

blood is the ink.

i'm searching the dictionaries

exhausting the concordances

red-lining the engines

studying the history books

pouring over the greatest poets

in the tongues of men and of angels

fingers fumbling over the keys

chord after chord

inversion after inversion

translation after translation

to explain the depth of sorrow

to explain the measures of my love

to give rhymes and reasons

to throw open the windows on our story

to let the sun warm us again

to hear the ocean roaring freedom

to make you hear my heart sing

to turn your heart back...

crying out till my lungs are sore

releasing all i have and more

to awaken the dawn with all of its hope

to light the stars

to remind you...

can you hear it?

all just to make you feel my love.

come out from your hiding.

sometimes you can't tell the truth,

because you don't know the whole truth.

and after a very long time of blindness...

i saw it.

i told it.

those are the truths that set you free.

their weight is enourmous. and often they cut like a samurai sword.

but that weight leaving your shoulders will make you drop to your knees and weep...

because you've been set free.

but if the timing is perfect, it feels so incredibly wrong.

all of these walls are being demolished.

i can feel all of my bones cracking, just to breathe.

and love filling up the empty spaces.

i don't want to be alone. so i cling to my phone for a voice on the other end to accompany me.

i wish i could turn myself inside out and empty all of the pain

the sadness.

and make me whole again.

psalm 56:8

You've kept track of my every toss and turn
through the sleepless nights,
Each tear entered in your ledger,
each ache written in your book.

i had every intention of sitting down to write, but realize i have no earthly idea of what exactly i wish to say. i'm exhausted. it's early, and i'm ready to crawl into dreamland. the dogs are sprawled out on the bed, and i wonder if they're absorbing my sadness somehow. or maybe they just really like sleep a lot more than they used to? but i'm pretty sure, they're being awful still... happy to curl up near each other and near me. parker is looking especially pink this evening. i'm wondering if dogs sunburn? and i'm sure it would've happened on a day at the lake, not a drowsy day at home?

i think we've all got some kind of separation anxiety. just wanting to be held. to be near. to hide out and fall asleep. easily tired. content just to lay still and stare off into space.

but it doesn't actually make any of it go away.

i'm just tired.

and the world is full of sad songs and cynicism. why add to it?

i mean, i'll say it when i feel it.

but for now, the dull ache rages on. and if i'm quiet enough, and laying down curled up tight enough, it won't explode into the searing kind of pain that courses through my veins...

just when you think it's feeling a bit better, it will sink in just a bit deeper.

you'll feel the sting of the threads sliding through the walls of your heart.

you'll feel them exit.

it was all so tightly wound in the fabric of my being.

and now it's being unwoven.

just don't fall apart.

rescue is coming.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;

he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.

sunset and lunacy.

The sunset was crazy. So red and the sun so incredibly bright. On fire.. like a camp fire sliding down the wall of the sky.

I don't remember what time it was. I'd been off work for hours and I wasn't hungry so it really didn't matter for some reason. Running errands. Trying to go unnoticed. Trying to ignore the glances. Strange how much the tiny heels on these sandals actually cause the legs to wobble. I was waiting in line. Watching the familiar tapping of the palm on the scalp of the customer being served. Girl's got weave. If you didn't know, well, now you know. I miss my long hair. I say that at least twice a day. I wonder if my coworker is right, and I can actually get extensions that look awesome? I'm too low maintenance. I wonder if it would make me feel like a million bucks, though. Like a few inches of hair would make me feel a bit more like myself or something. Silly things girls think. All the conversations were mumbles and hums. I kept catching clips and phrases, something about being able to count, something about switching to self check-out lanes, and employees searching for elusive cigarette brands. Drawers opening and closing. The shelves did look a little barren, this evening. I don't smoke, but I kind of thought about it for the first time. I mean, other than those cloves way back. You know what I mean. I wondered if it would actually take the edge off. I wasn't really going to buy them, though.

So, it was my turn, then. I felt awkward answering the question "How can I help you?" I wanted to use as little words as possible. I don't remember saying anything, actually. If I did, maybe three words. I stood there just watching the wall of Marlboros and it took a moment to realize my vision was blurred and that I'd been staring at the same carton of marlboro reds for at least 30 seconds. A long time, when you're standing on your own, processing. I don't even know what I was feeling, other than weightlessness. Just floating. Half there. Completely sober. Feeling absolutely stoned. Noticing another box on another shelf. What is the rhyme and reason to the stocking here? Back and forth. I wondered if I thought hard enough, if I might see something appear. I could've sworn I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye. I considered getting food, at this point, but I couldn't fathom anything tasting remotely nice. I didn't notice anyone standing behind me, well except for this woman who was fascinated by the payment fees posted on the desk. She stood next to me and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I was suddenly aware of space and my personal space being filled up with a stranger. I glanced and saw some men passing, and felt their looks passing, and I didn't want to be alone anymore in the grocery store. Great. This is going to be cake. I felt the dull ache in my chest. Thanks for the reminder. I noticed the girl, working… her facial piercing and faint shadow of a mustache on the upper lip. Or was it just a shadow? Am I drawing mustaches on faces in my mind? That's just weird. Maybe I'm about to go crazy. Like the sunset… just combust into flames like a campfire sliding down the wall of the sky.

until my heart believes you... [sermon on the mount -rob bell]

Blessed are the losers, those at the end of their rope, the spiritual zeros, the bankrupt, the pathetic, lame, the out of it, those without a trace of good, the morally empty, the pathetic. Blessed are the quiet ones, the shy ones, the unnoticed, the wall flowers, the average. Blessed are those who live with the nagging sense that they aren't getting their slice of the pie, that they aren't in some profound way, keeping up. Blessed are those who can't seem to get it all together, who can't seem to get on top of things, who constantly feel like they fall short, because God's world has plenty of room for them.

Blessed are you when you ache because the world isn’t how its supposed to be. Blessed are you when you come to the end of yourself. Blessed are you when you get frustrated enough to throw up your hands and say “God, I can’t do this.” Blessed are you when you can’t make the tension go away, no matter how hard you try. Blessed are you when you run out of will power, ideas, self-control, hope, fortitude, and energy because it is in that place, in that space, in that pain, in that ache, in that longing, in that desire, in that awareness, in that hunger, and in that thirst, that Jesus announces, God is with you.

Blessed are those who don’t have it all together.

Blessed are those who have run out of strength, ideas, will power, resolve, or energy.

Blessed are those who ache because of how severely out of whack the world is.

Blessed are those stumble, trip, and fall in the same place again and again.

Blessed are those who on a regular basis have a dark day in which despair seems to be a step behind them wherever they go.

Blessed are you, for God is with you, God is on your side, God meets you in that place.

truth.

the truth will set you free. but sometimes it puts you in a cage.

you could lie and put on that face, that fake one.

and those in the know will see through it.

but you care and you spill it all.

you tell the truth.

for love.

for freedom.

and here comes the dead weight.

the shackles.

you'll pay for your honesty pound for pound.

pretty piece of flesh.

all because those eyes could never lie.

all because you think before you speak.

and in this economy of saints and sinners.

well, all sinners, elevated to saints

by bowing low

and telling the truth.

and i'm supposed to be grateful for the lashes

but it's not so simple.

and i'm in too deep.

pretending it will all be ok.

well darling, it won't.

and the madness bristles the hairs on my neck

and darkens the hollows of my eyes.

and mocks the purest of intentions.

all the good that you tasted will be

snatched.

right.

up.

just to remind you.

the truth will set you free.

whatever in heaven or hell that actually means.

love lamenting.

my peripheral vision isn't all that bad.

and i caught a glimpse of that look

the one where you really see me

the one where you mean it

the one that whispers, you're my one and only

and there's no thread of doubt

no pulls

no tears

i don't have a lot

but my heart is good

and...

and...

i'm helpless here.

frozen.

the words are ready to pour

but they're stopped like tears against the back of the eyes

the petals tight tight tight in my chest

and all they want to do is unfold

fill the room with fragrance

make the room come alive with color

like the wind blowing the pages of a book

the words begging to become thought

to make a sound

it's like springtime in here

so many beautiful things aching to burst open...

but i'm frozen.

fearful of the onslaught of a relentless heat

or the frost

that i cannot scale the walls

that the hands of rejection will choke out the song

abandoned.

oh my love is wild and reckless

my love is strong

my love is greater than all the fear in the world.

and i have put it in a cage.

i have made a god of the fear in me.

and become a barren creature folding inward

instead of unfolding

and reveling in being the one and only

in your eyes.

scrawling madly on the walls

i can't shake the heavy blue

sitting on my chest like an elephant

saying over and over and over again

songs and chants of dread

painting the walls of the padded room red

at least they are in my head.

they'd instruct you to call them quickly

they'd say it's a state of emergency

and so i went to sleep instead

praying the heart would beat dead

oh but i'm wide awake

and the cruelty of memory refuses to break

hold on to the covers as though dangling from a cliff

and just what would happen if i loosened my grip

but all you can feel here is sick

sick

sick.

and all of the words like exploding red brick

go back to sleep.

wait for unconsciousness to pounce

wait for the racing heart to slow

slow down, please.

i looked up and watched the clouds merging.

billowing like smoke from some angry volcano

or making shapes for some sweethearted child

i don't know.

it just depends on how you see it, really.

i waited my whole life for this

and it broke me.

it broke me.

Hidden in plain sight.

Make your way down the streets that lead to Broadway, and at the same times of the day, you'll see them. Different faces, different stories, different names, but all part of the same sort of brotherhood, if you will. Walking with long strides, content to be outside... content to be moving somewhere. The baggy pant - sometimes solid, sometimes striped, a t-shirt that's been hidden most of the day by the double breasted coat draped over their arm or folded just beneath. The brow a bit more furrowed when on the way to work, from the bus or the commuter parking lot or the ride, cause the parking doesn't come cheap. The demeanor,usually a bit more at ease on their way home from another day...

They were always there before, and I'm sure they'll be there tomorrow and the day after that. Maybe it's just that I fell in love with one, that I see them... the cooks in this music city that loves its food, working to make a living... Working to make a name... Working to make something good... Working, just the same. In bistros, upscale, dive bars, corporate, private owned... in a closed kitchen or open kitchen... hidden in plain sight.

ra ra rocket!

love on our arms...

jailink.tumblr.com

a storm's-a-brewin.

Leaves are blowing in waves down the sidewalk... undulating like a Chinese dragon. The dust at the construction site is billowing. The front door has just blown open, like an angry ghost has come in to settle some unfinished business here. I can feel all of my nerve endings standing at attention... waiting with some urgency for it all to just break loose. Everything gets so incredibly still inside...

I'm flooded with delicious peace.

If only I'd carry this response with me in all situations.

It was my birthday.

Older than I'd like to be with having only come so far.

But, let's keep in mind that my perceptions are flawed.

Let's also keep in mind that control is an illusion.

I learn so much to find out I know nothing.

You will give all that you have, and sometimes it will seem as though it amounts to nothing. As though every ounce of sacrifice is spat upon and wasted. It will seem as though your heart has been broken, healed and re-broken and wrung of every good thing it can muster... of every courage... and of every facet of a love it isn't capable of, in and of itself. And it will be handed back to you, sentenced to solitude like some ruthless criminal, when in fact, all you did was love... wastefully, extravagantly, with reckless abandonment.

Our greatest fear is being told that the lie is true.

Because it would be better to have never been born.

And then you see that it's all the great liar would want...

for you to stop...

for you to cease to exist...

for you to fall silent...

lay down and die.

but this kind of love... it's got a passion that will chase you to hell and back...

just to show you.

just to let you feel it.

taste it.

see it.

and when everything has fallen... breathed its last breath... and is pronounced dead.

flat-lining.

that kind of love is all about resurrection.

And so, let it come for us, and invade the skies of our hearts like an unstoppable storm.

Leaves are blowing in waves down the sidewalk... undulating like a Chinese dragon. The dust at the construction site is billowing. The front door has just blown open, like a holy ghost has come in to settle some unfinished business here. I can feel all of my nerve endings standing at attention... waiting with some urgency for it all to just break loose. And then everything gets so incredibly still inside...

sometimes...

Sometimes people are beautiful,

and everyone but them can see it.

morning ramblings

One of the things I do like about waking early, is the way the morning illuminates things. Everything is glowing in this cool white light. I'm fond of the stillness in the house... the slow, deep breathing of my loves all tucked in their places. Every morning my heart explodes with gratitude... and I wish they knew how much I love them. The depths of it all. It's in those moments, I am equally glad to be awake, but wish I could crawl back into the cave of blankets and soak it in a bit longer.

It felt like 7am. There's a feeling in the air when the day is fresh and new. And it's a bit more silent when it's on a Saturday, and the majority are still asleep. The music playing from the coffee shop made it sound a bit like a film Mancini scored. I felt under-dressed, suddenly. As if on cue, there was the appropriate juxtaposition of drivers laying on their horns and the screeching of wheels and brakes. That moment where you're sort of waiting for that awful collision sound, but it never comes... just goes back to the early morning ambling along as though nothing ever happened.

singing to me in my sleep.

this song started playing like a soundtrack in my sleep. i woke up and wrote it all down this morning...

where's your gold?

keep looking off shore

and all your friends

you can't find anymore

all the waves

took 'em out to sea

all the colors

are starting to bleed

you won't drown

but you won't swim

and that old tide is coming in

to take away

a thousand sins

and sink all of these battle ships

show your face

when the sun is high

and the lines have burned their way

down from your eyes

and the sweat on your brow

cold and thick

the memories held there

you can't forget

you won't drown

but you won't swim

and that old tide is coming in

to take away

a thousand sins

and sink all of these battle ships

revealing

We've all got something.

I guess it's what we do with it. Whether or not we can acknowledge it. Whether or not we learn to manage it.

It could all be so very wonderful. It's got all the potential in the world to be such a delight... such a good story.

Instead, it's just a ____ fight.

Half of the time, I think the madness comes from the fact that we choose to be ungrateful spoiled little brats in adult bodies. Riding around on our high horse, playing a goddam victim with our arms full of double standards. Going home to our house of mirrors... our phones set on self-portrait... always asking, "how do I look? how do I feel?"

Unappreciative.

Spinning in circles pulling everyone who'll stick around into our self-absorbed orbit of

"Please, please me."

All the same, I wish I knew the antidote.

I'd take it.

And wait for it to absorb into the bloodstream.

Take a few moments to make amends and allow the healing to really begin.

And then just be at rest... while in motion.

My heart is in full swing.

And none of these "But, are you mine?" wonderings left.

None of this questioning my place in their hearts.

All of this doubt and mistrust.

of love...

of destiny...

of everyone...

of self...

of GOD...

all of this over-processing.

all of this thought.

my mind is ever-provoked to thinking and analysis.

Shadowboxing.

Waiting for the next blow.

tightly wound.

And so, these loose ends shouldn't be tied,

and i'm pulling them ever so slowly.

unraveling.

revealing.

every single night's a fight with my brain.

transmission.

everything hurts

aches

creaks.

like it's all haunted

and it's hard to explain.

i've never wished that i could just turn myself inside out

and empty this.

the nausea, the waste, the fears and the pain

emptied.

and i find myself going silent

because the able bodies

have deaf ears.

and so if i could find the words to pray

if i could find some sort of translation for the jumbled mess that is growing

growing

growing day by day,

the words dwindle down to

the simplest of pleas

"come through for me.

come through.

come through."

bled white.

i will own every word of this.

don't you go getting scared or let your judgements get the best of you

or me.

that heavy shadow was making impressions on my passenger seat as i drove.

telling me the same old kinds of things.

a little disoriented. a little out of context.

distortion at it's finest.

and you really believe your death will do the world a great service

but the sound of breaking hearts and tear-wrecked faces...

well, that just keeps you alive

alive with your breaking heart and tear wrecked face.

hooked up to the great machine.

as soon as i pull my body from the covers in the morning...

my mind is at the post

one footfall to the floor and with a shot it is off

like some great champion horse from the gates of the derby

and i, the jockey, still wet behind the ears

inexperienced rider saying...

"oh my god, just hold on."

and all the world flies past as if it's being yanked by the gods

the scenery on a treadmill

going far too fast

and inside of my mind it's all so real

so vivid

as real as the day is blue

and i can't quite come to terms with the facts of the matter

i remember when he'd say that i made him a hyperactive mess

i remember how it felt with the pet names

the songs and mixtapes

like it's all become shrouded in smoke

and it's nearly impossible to see the truth

but the words are building up like molecules of water behind the three gorges dam

and all of the emotions that have grown attached

and all of the memories

and really, i think it would be best if you just sat down in an easy chair

on an easy street

in a quiet part of town

and just listened to it spill from me

before the stars fall from my eyes forever

before the streams run red.

and move.

move for me this time.

act on my behalf this time.

fight for me.

before the stars fall from my eyes forever

before the streams run red.

before my heart is bled white.

cross it and hands on bibles

oaths and promises and pinky swears

i'll not break them.

but i'll speak the truth

before it breaks me.

the fourteenth day of june, in a place of madness.

what pretty little dolls we are

in our new blouses

buttoned to the very tip top.

so very old fashioned...

in order to go along with a new fashion

in front of a backdrop of sleaze.

eager girls gapingly insecure - pretending to be women

throwing themselves at all the passing men

with their batting lashes and the clever disguise of friend

confidant

pulsating goodness

when they are everything but.

and why are the lads so oblivious to the fact that they are ripe with nothing but disease

their hearts full of a cancer

seek and destroy.

it's us versus them.

but it really isn't, is it.

funny how life goes.

karma never quite pays out equally

hearts don't break evenly

and the good hearts have to fight to stay hopeful.

oh what a madly disappointing place.

wedding belles.

Tis the season...

Most of the weekends at the salon are steadily filling up with bridal party appointments.

It seems like at least once or twice a week, another lovely girl checks out at the front desk, and her stylist congratulates her on her recent engagement... or she books her last highlight before the Special Event Stylings for her big day. All of these girls with glistening eyes and glowing faces...

They come in all shapes... all sizes... all varieties of kinds of beauty... and every single one of them has a man who thinks she's the most beautiful woman alive. Every one of them has some romantic story and a ring of varying shapes and sizes and carats and colors gleaming from their left hand. Every one of them has a man who wants them to have their last name... who wants to do life with them, beyond a shadow of a doubt. This is the woman that someone cannot and will not be without.

And as overwhelming as things can be...

As crazy and hectic as the planning may become...

As stressed out as she might be...

It's all really quite beautiful and exciting.

You can see it in her eyes.

You can see it on her face.

Rosy cheeks. Every one of them.

They are adored women.

there is so much I want to accomplish and achieve. So much I want to see and learn to be.

But, I've always wanted this.

And I sometimes find myself tearing up wondering what it's like...

Wondering when that will be me?

think pink.

i'm gonna have to say... this is real cute.

you know, those moments...

So many things to say...

but it's too early to say anything just yet.

My heart is so full of thanksgiving.

I will say that i'm feeling quite restless...

but i'm learning to be content in all of this.

Trying to make a habit of finding the bright side, you know?

AND learning to embrace myself a little.

A friend of mine had some really wonderful things to say about me, the other day. i think when people say kind things to me, i literally take a few moments to etch it in my heart someplace... and i'll never forget them. ever. so, i was thanking this friend for the kind words and things and he simply says -

"those words mean nothing if you don't believe them."

baby stache bash.

distraction of the day:

selleck baby




one of the best things i've ever seen. still.


i can't even...

these things i can't explain.

years of laments poured out.

countless tears wept...

bitterly.

wept faithfully.

wept without control.

without consolation.

begging for your hand to move.

for your words to be heard.

interminable darkness looming and threatening.

clinging to the invisible repetitions

on the end of every stanza...

do not be afraid.

and every space the weight of the word

wait.

and we resigned ourselves to the rhythms of the days.

the seemingly endless

seemingly hopeless days merging with nights merging with days...

and time has flown

and yet crawled by.

like a man limping, each step with searing pain.

and you remember the longing that will not fade away.

and you offer your bit of courage and your last bit of faith

mustard seed telling the mountain to move out of the way.

and these things i can't explain...

the moment when you think you've gone stark raving mad

obviously seeing things...

because you could swear that there is color creeping into the sky

but to be tricked into false hope...

well, you'd much rather die.

but assuredly it spread and the wings could be heard

the wings of the morning.

and it's undeniable now, the delicious palette of the morning star

and the answers are coming softly

all in plain sight

more beautiful than your anxious head could've ever pictured it

the dream coming true

the desire fulfilling

the hope rising

the prayers answered

the weight lifting

muscles easing

and suddenly you're trembling, almost terrified to believe

afraid it's all a mirage

afraid you've been had

and it sinks in...

sinks slowly down

and all you can do is weep.

weep with thanksgiving

out of the deepest gratitude

and you cry harder than you did when it all began

because these things i can't explain.

because...

redemption.