o, brother

something i edited for brother. enjoy. 

hometown blues

shoppers always. the end of christmas doesn't stop it. avoiding recognizable faces. private secret cigarettes and holding them downwind. busying my days to make the time go by faster. doubt le film. shoppers never ending.  je souhaite book writings were cohesive never cohesive but. walmart. bookstore. maps. poetry out of this pen doesn't come i can't move back here. je n'ai pas les amis ici. solitary. grandma's jewelry grandma's urn. video art and beauty urging spilling. commonplace; strangeplace. shoppers again. j'ai besoin un café. slow texts i'm learning a new phone. lists comme ça. spritz. come hither. distance and not seeing faces. o my heart hurts. mani-pedi ma mère. one day of laughter. to sprint quickly. technology and connection, barely. but it's not good enough. forcing this pen to paper, insisting it make shapes. 

christmas list

i've found the thing.  two parts vodka, one part kahlua, float some cream, serve in a christmas glass with little trees on it...and hand it lovingly to my mother.  two shots of whiskey, one for dad, one for brother ryan.  fill crystal wine goblets with a healthy slurping of valdeguie (gamet beaujolais) for his fiancee and myself.  surround table and play aggravation til your side hurts with laughter, play the christmas mixed cd he made me.  the texts from shawn every 8 - 13 minutes not only comfort or fill with joy, they also bring on hilarious taunts from the rest of the family who insist on knowing what he says and that i recite exactly what i respond.  

-patience, and sweetness

-japanese homeless

-photographia

-boxes

-fuck the man

- he borrowed

-vegas church

-tei

-30 albums

-twine

-bed frame, re: stacks

-importance

-applications, compilations

-stars LA doesn't have

-no smoking

-poetry

and this. because of the traveling neighborhood. and they think it is important. and so i also think it is important. though, i have a funny feeling, i would think it is important anyway. 

the beckoning of lovely.

it's incessant the lists

^ technicalities

^ rachael & jack daniels

^ tarkio road

^ "the hustle and bustle of planetary life"

^ distance

^ wings

^ music salvation

^ beaujolais

evening list

& les miserables

& tigers

& adam sandler

& 80's dance

& american apparel

& purple, blue

& mix tape

& the wasteland and others

& one two three quatre

& via

& search for a new, perfect journal

*tangerine

*loux

*scout

to whittier

                                      happiness shared.

                              i keep seeing berkeley 

                                               in these hills

                                                  as we drive.

                                       the damp bay sky

                               coming to us from far.

                         low cielinged on one side.

                    and paris spelled like perris.

o deeper

my life and words and laugh and sad come from 

                 my people so please don't send me away. 

i wish i was a deep thinker. i like deep thinkers. 

quiet mysterious people who rarely speak but then 

open their mouths. oh holy books in their eyes.  they 

sleep in large clouds. they rest in small cups. lights flicker

binderwhisper o coming from their hair. darkness

from their. hands. the sad sweet kind. momentous but 

quiet in passing. makes me feel light. i know they're heavy. 

i know they're burdened. i don't envy. they don't get it.

(neither do i) that's why they deep thinkly. their ideas

are finite and sad. or imaginative and freeing. we become

curiouser.                                more wondering.

                                  forever unknowing.

the whole scrappy jumble of thoughts deeper. 

list, list

*playhouse

*marijuana

*my paychecks

*stairs

*customers

*what's her name

*un mal a la tete

~coffee

~twice, daily

~journal

~parliament

~texts

~hope

( a petition ) by Shawn Morones

Wake me up, with
quesadillas and Bob Dylan.
Can every day be a Sunday?

I am requesting the month
of June, and no filters after dark.

The days do not know what they are missing
I have visited the future, and it is good.
But Spain can wait.
Maybe tomorrow.

And with shorts like
these, who really needs
air conditioning?

I am showered. Because you are attractive.
Do not deny the foothills.
I am appealing to sensations.
I am petitioning God for
quesadillas and Bob Dylan.

-Shawn Morones

the life of hunger

we find what is necessary and, like fools,
let it go. drown out voices saying,
"you're brilliant" or "beautiful," "smart,"
"worthy" or "it's o.k. - keep on" (her)

"these are hard times," he says "and i'm learning"

saddened, scribble limericks on
denny's paper placemat coffee edges
and a c'est la vie grin
mug to mouth, and tear on cheek

look for hope in her eyes.
count out quarters, pay the waitress
jingle pennies in your shoes
we smile because, it's funny.

sometimes yes, my head sinks low
but as it falls i see my hand holding his
and i notice: we're laughing.
and there's enough gas in the car to

get us home. and nick lives down the street.
sell off my clothes to pay for rent but never
ever my books. and i've told myself i can't
write like anyone but me.

there's no food on the table
but i've always had enough.
hunger never hurt me as much
as missing the ones i love.

it's good to keep lists

-hairscut
-draft
-necessary
-importance
-filled pages
-illumine
-boyfriend clothes
-just getting through the day

*kayak
*layovers
*rabat, tangiers, douala, constantinople, birmingham,
quebec, salamanca, dubrovnik, split, bangolan, stuttgart

could these be mastercard commercials? almost.

i'm still looking for the right title

it's december thirteenth, late,

three shooting stars and smoke break,

two two two it says on our door,

short grass i've never seen before.

our magnolia trees sit high above,

the moon shines bright on them.

glowing bits of leaves-

like fireflies watching me.

alone, not lonely.

no. 'lonely lonely that is me' she says,

and i repeat. 

three three three. 

i wish on the third-for four; one more.

and on the first two, wonderful things for 

him and me. treats; to flee.  fame, friends. 

a wish to bring me home again. to blend, 

a trend. notebook, paper, pen. a stage; 

reclaim. passions, love, healthy worries, 

friends again.

and each time i turn away, a chance i missed another one.

and each time we go there, we can't be here.

and each time you're with this person, you can't be with that one.

each time you're in LA, you can't be in paris. 

and each time you're happy, you can't be sad. 

and each time you yell, it's impossible to whisper. 

or sing, or be silent.

each time you leave, you'll miss somewhere else.

and each time you despise, you can't possibly adore.

two two two, the number on our door. 

each time you write, you can't own that loathsome block.

shaking, a breeze, tobacco, speed, rock.

orion, the ink splattered sky.

one two three, is all that the sky tonight

would give to me. one two three four.

 four. of course there were four.

but fourth was never seen by she.

i think of those who have it worse than me. 

more listing, and not really writing

~imovie

~tape jam

~hope clan

~cold

~blinking

~tobin & christian

~chords

~hunger

~SHIFT

a growing reading list that never ends. i hope it never ends. and i finally received the positive feedback i needed recently. its just that simple. holding out for december 15th and some news.

it's good to keep lists

-headache
-grandma's ring
-andrew
-chili pepper christmas lights
-bass
-wait, waits
-cross legged
-tv movies

writer's block

c'est tous.

from these walls

a place i once lived

my house

i live in a small place, only big enough for a little girl. it is like a doll house. it is in a garden. a shady, green and magical garden that has overgrown with enthused abundance. it is secluded. the garden is full and beautiful and has been there forever. there are more flowers near the house which i tend to myself. it is warm and sunny here and the light always floods in the windows in glorious shafts that crinkle my white curtains. further from the house it gets shadier and there are tall, sweet smelling eucalyptus trees and spanish feather trees and the ones with the thick trunks and low branches for reading. there is a patch of daisies in the back. they were my mother's favorite and mine too. i sit in them and weave them into the edge of my sleeves and sometimes i feel a little ladybug dancing on my shoulder. a ways off there is an old swing of wood and strong twine and every couple of years you come and have to fix it just like every couple of years you have to repaint the house. we always laugh and have a grand time and sip sweet tea and nibble the sugary bread that crumbles. the fountain on the side of the house doesn't work and i can't remember it ever working. there is a layer of moss and water for the birds. there are some stretches of beautiful green shaded grass a number of paces from the house of the left side. that's where the picnics always are...in those hidden areas. brought in a basket and eaten on that huge soft quilt i use for everything. my friends come over sometimes. we forget our worries, eat lots and laugh too much. the warmness of the sun overflows to the warmness of ourselves. we lay on the soft quilt and hold each other, giggling, and the daisies tickle our noses. and its perfect.

-22 march 2007 lyon, france