Feist - How Come You Never Go There

D

10,000 feet above myself and down below a storm is growing and building the way it has been for all of my life. Pockets of hope and pockets with holes. This worn coat covers me and keeps me strangely connected to the threads of what I once wished for each night and realized would never be each morning. But the one thing we are great at is pretending. And this lie we both share has left fingerprints on everything.
To look at someone and not know them, not feel much of anything for them, less sadness and wonder on how they let life slip away so easily, is like looking through them. Years later these tiny spots behind my eyes still see her…not there. This tightness in my chest, this pressure in my past continues to wake me and remind me of the broken and the bent, of the trying and the spent, of the countless letters written but never sent.

RAW

one of the most important people in my life was the feature poet in the RAW art event last night at the Belmont. Lacey read a handful of amazing poems and delivered each one in the way a mother would read a story to her daughter.

Lacey's writings seem to take me where ever she is pulling from...the stars, a scared girl in mississippi, even to the deepest part of a kiss. Her words wrap around themselves and offer a glimpse of the people she has met and the woman she has become.

Thank you for sharing your life experiences with the world. I love you Lacey Roop.

liver alone, cheese with me

one day these moments will be strung together and remind of us of where we begun. that night when everything changed. that instant when I became the same. trace us in your paper sky.

p.s. i ate cheese for her

nickle
cold and fickle

blood home to bone and bone home to skin

now your blood is on my skin
out from beneath yours
your body is hallow but your last breath is swinging in my hair

i hold you until the warmth leaves everything behind
your eyes, your fingers, your heart and now your soul
you become white. frozen. gone.

time has stopped. i died there with you.

"Is this an emergency line?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"What is your emergency?"
"I just want to know what makes an emergency an emergency. What has to happen?"
"Are you in physical danger?"
"Sort of."
"How so?"
"There's a wet spot on my bathroom floor."
"A wet spot? Did you slip?"
"Not yet."
"That's not an emergency. Did you write a note?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"What does it say?"
"'For details, see http://tootallfortinytim.tumblr.com'"
"Hm. That's your blog?"
"It's not my blog."
"Do you have a plan? A weapon?"
"Um, I guess."
"..."
"..."
"What is it?"
"Why, you looking for ideas?"
"Sir--"
"Okay, I know. Don't hang up. I'm embarrassed to say."
"Well, you can tell me."
"I have...a kitchen knife, lots of aspirin."
"Hm. Not much of a plan."
"No, not much. Do you need a good plan to make it an emergency?"
"No. I guess not. Do you need an ambulance?"
"No. Not at this time."
"Well, I'm not sure how to help you."
"Just talk to me."
"This isn't a chat line, sir."
"How long have you been working there?"
"..."
"...c'mon..."
"...5 months."
"Is your supervisor around?"
"She's asleep at her desk."
"Slow night?"
"Every night is slow."
"Hm. I know the feeling."
"So what is it that's bothering you so much?"
"Other people's happiness."
"Well, that's selfish."
"No, I mean, people being happier without me."
"How can you know that? You're just projecting."
"I can hear their inner monologues like megaphones."
"No you can't...silly."
"You sound nice."
"I'm not so nice."
"What do you look like?"
"I've got short hair and black nails and jeans with a rip in the knee."
"Stop it. No you don't."
"What do you look like?"
"Like a freight train, moving slowly on delay, always crawling and rumbling the ground around."
"Ha. I bet you're short."
"I bet you're short."
"I AM SHORT! Oh, shh-- (whispering) I am short!"
"Well then we're both short."
"Do you tag? Like graffiti?"
"No. I can't write on a chalkboard, it gets all small at the end."
"You should try it."
"What should I tag?"
"Write whatever. Write your note."
"I don't wanna write that. What's your name?"
"Anna."
"I'll write 'Anna'."
"I won't be happy without you."
"Shut up."

november

metal
nickle
cold and fickle

put down your promises
pack up your plans for winter
patch up that hole you've put in my november

take these broken bones off my bed
they make pretty stacks of wood yet sickening stacks of red
these walls now drip and drip with every word never said

up in the air, sits my paper moon
she's wrapped so tightly in her smock
so very strong, so very not

no longer the string used to sew her tomorrow to today
for now I am nothing more than the fray
i've become the maybe she hides between her tuesday

buckets of nothing in every corner
baskets of faith hang as a i morn her
begging myself to remember that it is not i that tore her

the wave

the smallest details ride on the surf of the roughest waves. no beginning. no end. only when you are in the wave do you feel the rain, the rush. and within an instant you are standing on the shore watching that one perfect wave dance into a ripple and disappear. it is then that you understand the dawn and the darkness of your fears. it is then that all you've been carrying with you becomes a part of what you have silently asked others to carry. and the pain of knowing summons the thunder and the pain of listening summons the winds. now you're standing on the shore in front of an angry sea. and that one ripple that once pulled away from you has grown into a wave now crashing into everything. before the impact, I ask "what have done with my life? how will I be remembered? what have I given and have asked nothing in return?"

Dear Cuba, I love you and I'll see you soon.

it's true. and it's about time i took a trip. clear my mind, become myself again. explore the land, taste some authentic foods, listen to some amazing music and soak up the culture. CHA! CHA! CUBA!!

my favorite feather

the chair we found together, the bookshelf we bought together. our notes. our promises. the refrigerator covered in photos of a life that used to be...

that pressure in my chest has moved down to my stomach and i feel it moving through me like water that rushes from a hose once the kink is twisted free. burning all the way down. but today is different. today i understand. today, for the very first time, i welcome the unknown. i'm awaiting a new way of living. a new way of turning with the world.

i hate the truth to all of this. i hate knowing i caused her pain and sorrow and doubt. but i love her. i love who she is. i love her bravery. and i love knowing she is free from burden and free from the worry that once burned through her. yet, i am warm knowing that this end that we reached together is actually a new beginning. it is always darkest before the dawn.

although she will always amaze me, twirling at concerts will never be the same. not much will be. but there's still a connection and a love that will never surrender.

you will always be my favorite feather.

escape with a bottle of champagne, two french girls, an italian girl and a serge gainsbourg record

chanel perspex briefcase & bjorg "jewellery"