blast from the past

justin powell walked into my bar last night.

ma cousine et..

please say hello to danielle von braun under "art &.." with her baby kitten love page. a freelance art director in new york with her own illustrations and fashion photography by jamie nelson. enjoy.

friday

_stacks of records
_overwhelmed
_sheets
_juggling
_tea
_chug
_selling
_overwhelmed again
_i need
_help, please
_i need help

late in the backyard, talking

"i'm feeling so romantic right now." she

"that's the perfect time to put pen to paper." me

"sometimes i just like to say it out loud." she

see them all glowing in the windows

i can't seem to get better.
i can't seem to curb hunger.

we are putting all our things in boxes.
and throwing old things in the garbage.

we are painting the walls a vanilla color.
and covering up what this year brought us.

i am doing the crosswords now and reading
about obama and art museums in paris.
(i am trying to be smart)

i am learning about hinduism and soaking
in plenty of t.s.eliot. but i have no journal.
(rats!)

i peeled polaroids off the wall today with
sticky fingers. and i put them in a shoe.


i am loving you, now. not here.
oh those handfuls of dear ones.

i could really use some blank pages,
and good ideas. i could really use

a typewriter, backstage west, gas in
my car, camels and a little pat on the back.

perhaps, just, burn a candle,
for me, or whoever you know needs it.

we could burn candles for each other,
always. and i'd like to walk at night

and see them all glowing in the windows.

just me and my suitcase,

a woman's gotta do, what a woman's gotta do.

non, pas rewombion pour moi

i'm usually the one who is true to my word.
i'm usually the one who does what she says
and fulfills her promise. punctual.
(oh, not today)

they drove away, and i, i had to stay here.
and. i chose to stay here. and.
it is killing me.

oh heavens, i thank ye recession.
for doling out fine hits that burn
the throat and the heart, too.
throwing us into choices, and making
us absent for the real, good, important
places. people. hearts. oh,

how the weekends start to change,
(some days) when you are getting
older. and braver. because braver
is not always braver like you think.

but brave can be staying here.
when you want to leave.

brave can be writing a check.
when you don't have the means.

brave can be responsibility.
when you want to be free.

brave, to me, is lots of things.
its hard, oh so hard to be brave.

a dream

it's like it's news or something

i just think god is confusing. ("god! you are confusing!") i just think people are confusing god and me. on purpose. at work today, i stood behind the bar and said to myself "what if we got really busy today?" and then we did. on any old run of the mill tuesday. this was nice since i need extra money this month and went on vacation last week. but i don't know whether i prayed for a busy lunch shift or it was the power of the human mind..some determination and fate. an answered prayer? or the stars aligning? is there a god? yes. but not the god you and i think of. one outside something any human could wrap their mind around. oh now, i need to sit down, it's all too much.

in other news, heather busse's wordpress page is now available under "never yawn...". it's called evening pages. it's rather wonderful. she's a talented writer and is heading to london in the fall for grad school.

i just got back on sunday from a road trip with shawn and attending my brother's wedding. we hopped from big sur to the winchester mystery house to bar hopping in san francisco to lounging poolside at my parents house to a ceremony in the forest and getting in some really overdue quality time with my crazy family.

poetry and the sort has been running a little dry. its move in/move out time so my priorities are filing old papers, painting scribbles on my wall and working any extra job to come up with rent+deposit. the time will come soon enough for alone time and writing.

til then, adieu.

i wandered

on balmy seas and pernie schooners


"if i'm gonna travel the coasts, i'm
going down to the coast i covet."

1001 rules for my unborn son

carrie helped me find this.
i especially appreciate numbers:

78, 111, 200, 229, 233, 241,
245 & 308 - 310


"every time i see and adult on a bicycle, i no longer despair for the future of the human race."
- h.g. wells

for me, for you

i'm just trying to write things down.
whatever happens, happens.

may tenth two thousand nine.

i'm very very hungry now.
warm socks. and.
sweaters. and.
a fever. and.
i have many bruises.

paper and boxes and things.
and bags and fabric. and.
my back hurts. and.

the girls. are. and.
we're home. and.
together. we. and.
he. and.

human touch. and.
need. and.
the lights are off. and.
oh, heavens. love.
i like this thing we've
got. sure.

i'm very very hungry now. and.
i'm very very tired now. and.
auburn strands of hair. and.
he's getting hitched. and.
no one loves you like i do. and.
c'mere. and.
oh, and.
yes, and.

on the road

, big sur
, fever
, katie
, blanket
, beers
, lists
, maps
, mystery
, nuptials
, pome

500 days of summer

you are very, very vibrant to me.

shall i part my hair behind?

may 8

i am jealous.
but i have my good days too.
and days off. and parties to throw.
and i'm becoming the mother, but
i want to be the girl who has fun.

and i still want things like london
and other things like zambia.

i have my good ones, like magnolia
trees and shared bottles and staying
up late or staying over and lovely
people who are excited and enraged
and vibrant to me, they are vibrant
to me. oh, thank you. you are vibrant
to me.

needlepoint

i am fooling everyone.
most people. into thinking
i know something about music
(hehe, well let's not tell them).
oh, it's so evil, but i will
do it anyway. it will pay
the bills someday.

panties, pretty things.
sheets, dirty; and lovers.
the weekend.

gypsy rings on fingers.
guitars and strings and
the way hair falls on a back.

scribbling scribbles on my
wall as usual. and picking
up the phone because i am
her friend.

in two-thousand eight

a day late in fall.
lying on the bed,
we listen to rain on
the tin roof.
echoes of voices from
the other room.
when day slips into evening,
and dreams slip into waking,
we fall fast asleep.
i reach out, your hand as if to shake.
three quick squeeze
to tell you that
i. love. you.
to tell you that,
while clock ticks,
of this something,
before time runs out,
because
i loved you in
two-thousand eight.