adventure clothes.

i don't usually comment on fashion.

but for me, it's more about an entire mood or feeling.

clothes help me get into character or discover specific parts of myself.

and since i tend to get a little obsessive (a song, a color, a poet), i'm feeling a little obsessive about my "costumes." especially when it affects my mood so significantly.

so, lately i've been drawn to the following: mixed patterns, oversized sweaters (along with the idea of just being comfortable; tossing out the high waisted pants) and what i've been calling "adventure clothes." or, travel clothes if you will. denim, cotton, faux fur, distressed leather, layers. mix matched. durable. pioneer man. vagabond traveler. gypsy wayfarer. chipewa chief.

maybe it just happens to be the season.

everytime the first rains begin to come, i think about le marais.

i'm remembering the yaounde floods. and sore feet. and my UK ripped jeans.

happy travels.

hope

i like to think of red balloons as my own secret little sign of hope.

you could do the same.

i hope you find hope in the most unexpected of places.

el centro

driving up western at 6 o'clock in

october the sun is sideways to my

left and up el centro i see the purple

moon large and harvest with

orange salt and sky rings,

fingernail wishes

and coke dreams.

the twenty-somethings head

to acting class in 99 seat theaters,

santa monica boulevard and tiny

caves of black boxes and hollywood

agents.

palm tree sunsets and notecards,

aspect ratios with numbers of

birthdays.

late nights getting darker

and say hello to the wet gutters,

the skip to the beat, the boys in the

street.

poor choices but holding hands, head

falling on ever gracious pillow,

hardwood floors to bare feet and

spinning records on an unemployed

tuesday. same routine.

meditating on timothy leary, feng

shui furniture, cross legged yoga pose,

and sketches in the morning.

dark wood on four walls,

cave-like statues and tableau's

spread out length-wise on the bed.

goodbye.

goodbye bed.

goodbye in the mornin' with sketches

and dark wood floor and rolling over

on stiff joints.

goodbye you'll drive away in your

car and i in mine.

to santa monica blvd.

to el centro.

where my dark cave waits for me.

hallows

sunday evenin'

MUSIC & BOOK PAIRINGS:

jane austen's persuasion with tchaikovsky's quartet no. 1 in d.

happy reading to you and yours.

panic. panic.

don't panic.

or definition

i think that we are always looking to label everything. to define words with more words.

i also think

that without labels or definition, we can (maybe) be free to really live in the moment.

and (maybe) love can happen even when you don't say it.

facebook wants me to label all the people in my life but

i'm sorry,

i just can't do that.

maybe

he will sing to me

maybe it doesn't matter

the haves and the have nots

"it's a hard country on man; it's hard. eight miles of the sweat of his body washed up outen the lord's earth, where the lord himself told him to put it. nowhere in this sinful world can a honest, hardworking man profit. it takes them that runs the stores in the towns, doing no sweating, living off of them that sweats. it aint the hardworking man, the farmer. sometimes i wonder why we keep at it. it's because there is a reward for us above, where they cant take their autos and such. every man will be equal there and it will be taken from them that have and give to them that have not by the lord."

-william faulkner, as i lay dying

modigliani

dance

throughout my miserable existence

i haplessly stumbled over

my own big feet.

the demanding daily

issues of life crippled my psyche

and dragged me to the floor.

with cautious optimism

out the door,

this insane wave of focus

and questionable synapse

narrowly escaped

this bleek moment of time.

what, for god's sake, is next?

as i sat waiting for the next

napalm bomb to drop,

i found shelter....assurant shelter,

refuge from the storm.

i sat unscathed,

with his loving arms

around me all along,

as he taught me

to dance in the rain.

-roger criss