we need a woman's touch

i take tea at three

phantastic

friends

hey, folks.

i've updated my blogroll to your right.

weeded out the links of people who

don't really post anymore. and

added some people who do.

poetry, scribblings & other

musings on foxtrot uniform charlie kilo.

cute crafts and inspirations

via sincerely, ames.

collage art, paintings, melancholy journals

and travel memoirs on pocketful of posies.

comics with dry humor from artist/graphic

designer extraordinaire stephen bobbett.

and don't forget the importance of the

fashion blog (my guilty pleasure) with

chronicles of vogue and what she should have worn.

some of these lovelies have been kind enough

to feature my poetry series vid, (found here)

which i love them for.

in other news, i am thoroughly obsessed with the following:

sweet dreams chamomile mint tea,

the let it bleed album (specifically "gimme shelter"),

playing dress up when i can't sleep (often),

looking at laurel canyon bungalows on craigslist,

red wine spritzer with diet 7up (a criss fav),

getting my hair to do THIS someday,

putting creole spice on everything,

old theatre textbooks.

au revoir mes amis.

m'aimer tendre

au revoir, l'été! aucun plus de soleil et le sable.

oh, my love

happy 70th birthday john.

aleksandra

this is allie.

this is where you can see her beautiful art:

aleksandra zee

burnt pages

i put classical music on the record

player to make me smarter,

and books in my bed when

i sleep, too. polaroids fall out

of jacket sleeves, remind me

of the past; and of the future

too. no more caffeine and no

more whiskey. just tea and

wine and conversations over

jazz. walking around in dark

stockings on the carpet and

hoping the telephone will ring

hoping for good news from

somewhere. orange poppies and

pink dahlias and landscapes,

borders and treelines. dried

bouquets and photos that didn't

turn out, growing my hair out.

long sleeves and lawn leaves

and bed lamp and my bed with

books under the covers keeping

me company. burnt pages and

ages of dreams and memories

bleeding and seeming to know

something i don't. looking forward

and back and always the past,

kissing his butterfly eyes and the

hair on his neck and always the

australian bracelet keeping me close

to him rests on my wrist and says

its okay, i love you.