Posted on Sunday, April 25, 2010
not every house is a home
tita jules, uncle ry-ry & emerson
the ladies
kerouac
pookie j
zoe love
cocomo in the sun
oliver nate x
i am one of the lucky ones
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2
comments
Posted on Thursday, April 22, 2010
w o r d s that i n s p i r e
S A U L W I L L I A M S
Spoken word taken from
'W I N E'
I can recite the grass on the hill and memorise the moon
i know the cloud forms of love by heart
and have bought tears to the eye of a storm
and my memory banks vaults of forests and amazon river banks
and i've screamed them into sunsets that echo in earthquakes
shadows have been my spotlight as i monologue the night and dialogue with days
soliloquies of wind and breeze applauded by sun rays
we put language in zoos to observe caged thought
and tossed peanuts and p-funk at intellect
and motherfuckers think these are metaphors
i speak what i see
all words and worlds are metaphors of me
my life was authored by the moon
footprints written in soil
the fountain pen of martian men
novelling human toil
and yes, the soil speaks highly of me
but earth seeds root me poet-tree
now, maybe i'm too serious
too little here to matter
though i'm riddled with the reason of the sun
i stand up comets with the audience of lungs
this body of laughter, is it with me or at me?
hue more or less though gender's mute
and the punch line has this lifeline at it's root
i'm a star this life's the suburbs, i commute.
Hipper than Hypno
Posted on Friday, April 09, 2010
n. pl. hyp•no•ses
1. An artificially induced altered state of consciousness, characterized by heightened suggestibility and receptivity to direction.
2. Hypnotism.
Well, not so much.
In fact, the session was conducted by a new friend of mine who I met through work. She is a busy woman. She works full time in a completely unrelated field, lives in a restored warehouse with her husband, paints the most magic canvasses and has two black cats; one which likes me (the boy) and one which is completely apathetic towards me (the girl). Over a coffee one day, she offered to do a healing & hypnosis session for me. Fascinated with the whole concept of hypnosis, I gratefully agreed.
“So what exactly will happen here?” I asked before we went into her healing ‘cave’.
"… whenever in his imagination a man sees delights, straightaway the vision, slipping through his arms, is gone, winging its flight along the paths of Sleep." (Argive Elders. Aeschylus, Agamemnon 420).
If you want to take a journey down the rabbit hole, email the gorgeous Tia on... inbalancewithtiawoods@yahoo.com.au
Being Unemployed has its Perks
Posted on Monday, April 05, 2010
This is what i did today...
One unassuming egg...
Two googly eyes...
One cheeky grin...
One makeshift egg holder...
One ultra camp head piece...
Happy Easter YOU x
SoMeThiNg SmEllS FiShy
Posted on Saturday, April 03, 2010
double exposure. purely accidental.
Harperdillio & Toblerone
and here we have Raquella in her natural environment
Season 4 has just been released
Tiffany & Tiffany
little miss Emi x
down the rabbit hole...
Gracie Features & Shay Shay Two Legs <3
Mandrew. Meerkat Manor. Coopdaloop.
just add a bit of SALT n PEPA
phyllis. bon juan. bonnita applebum. me loves.
hanging in japantown with the Milledge Idiot & Bon Juan
southern adventures
wategos dreaming
Gracie Features & Shay Shay Two Legs <3
Mandrew. Meerkat Manor. Coopdaloop.
just add a bit of SALT n PEPA
phyllis. bon juan. bonnita applebum. me loves.
hanging in japantown with the Milledge Idiot & Bon Juan
southern adventures
wategos dreaming
The Great Escape
Posted on Tuesday, March 30, 2010
I started to do that thing where I would wake up in the morning and have that pure distaste for work. Even my eyes where in on it. Bloodshot and heavy, they too were against the fact that I devoted the bulk of my waking life to someone else’s greater good. At the sound of my alarm, I would peel one lid open to peep outside. It didn’t even matter what the weather was doing, as I would only get the chance to dance her dance in between my front door and the tram line.
When did things get so mundane?
Routine has a funny way of regimenting the many units of daily life. I had it down to a fine art: I gave myself thirty minutes to get ready in the morning. I would break these thirty minutes up into five minute units of pre-work chores. Bathroom, breakfast, hair and makeup, get changed, clean teeth, grab bag and go. There was no room for error. If a room mate decided to take five minutes longer than usual in the shower, I would be fucked. I would have to go to work without brushing my teeth. No one needs that. But it happens, and when it does, it is the precursor to what will no doubt be the shittiest day ever.
Over the past twenty-five years, I have come to learn that ‘gut feelings’ are indeed a factual method of determining what is good juju and what isn’t. For example, getting butterflies in your belly indicates that what you’re doing is good. This can be taken as FACT. Having mini tidal waves of nausea in your belly indicates that what you’re doing is fucked. To wake up with the latter, is very telling of your daily situation. The question is this: Do you ride those nauseating high seas the best you can for however long you can? Or, do you throw in the towel and opt for a sea change? (Ocean analogies are my favourite).
I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I can honestly say that the bulk of people I know have grown complacent in their current positions. I sheepishly raise my hand to this as I too am a part of this majority.
Well, up until a few days ago I was.
Handing in your resignation is so very unnerving. And let’s face it, for all those who know me, you would know that I am a pleaser. Not necessarily a ‘yes’ woman, but yeah, but no, but yeah, but no. I don’t like to disappoint. And telling your bosses that you quit has a big, fat, overfed ‘D’ for disappointing tattooed all over it. Even calling the meeting to organise a meeting had me in neurotic stitches. I lost my appetite and felt waves of guilt each time one of my bosses would talk about anything that required my commitment or attendance in the near future. But, the time came when I found myself sitting with the two of them at the round table of trust. My heart was racing and my palms were leaving sweaty marks on everything I touched. But at the end of the day, my belly was telling me that it was better out than in. And so the words bubbled out of my mouth, each one weighing a ton, and before I knew it, the date had been set and I could finally see the finish line.
Sigh of exhalation.
In the weeks leading up to my new favourite date, I somehow acquired some pretty horrendous gastro. Bathroom bound and emptied out, I had to call in sick for a couple of days during my last week. With nothing to lose, I decided to be explicitly truthful with my reasons why I couldn’t come to work. They still wanted a doctor’s certificate. Really? There was no way I would be leaving the house in that condition, not unless I was wheeling a port-a-loo behind me. So I did what I do best, I emailed both them and expressed my disappointment that they didn’t trust me enough to warrant these days off, and in an act of good faith, I told them that if it made them feel better, they could write these days off as ‘holidays’ and not ‘sick’ days. No email back. But a few days later when I checked my pay slip, there in the bottom left hand corner: “sick days x 2”. Win.
So now I am on day number three of unemployment. To the wind I throw bags full of caution. This is what I have done today: My first wake up was at eight-thirty. Then read three pages of a book. I fell back asleep at nine. I dreamt all morning until midday. Then I made a traditional hot chocolate by heating milk in a saucepan and adding cocoa powder. I ate muffins with jam on the kitchen bench. I went to take a shower but my room mate was in there and hey, no big deal. I had a take-away chai on Chapel Street which tasted like arse. I hung out in my boy’s backyard with him and a staffy called ‘Harper’. I went to the post office and chatted to the old Mexican man who liked my hairstyle today (a messy up-do which sat a little to the left). I came back home and listened to all of Bloc Party’s albums in sequential order while searching for the ultimate spaghetti and meatball recipe online. Now I am writing this and it makes me happy to know that although I may not be able to afford to eat out every night, I can certainly afford to devote endless amounts of time to all things me. And I know this state of mind and time probably won’t last forever, as rent needs to be paid and life is never static. But while I am here, and while things are still, I will take my time to work out what it will take to stay full.
When did things get so mundane?
Routine has a funny way of regimenting the many units of daily life. I had it down to a fine art: I gave myself thirty minutes to get ready in the morning. I would break these thirty minutes up into five minute units of pre-work chores. Bathroom, breakfast, hair and makeup, get changed, clean teeth, grab bag and go. There was no room for error. If a room mate decided to take five minutes longer than usual in the shower, I would be fucked. I would have to go to work without brushing my teeth. No one needs that. But it happens, and when it does, it is the precursor to what will no doubt be the shittiest day ever.
Over the past twenty-five years, I have come to learn that ‘gut feelings’ are indeed a factual method of determining what is good juju and what isn’t. For example, getting butterflies in your belly indicates that what you’re doing is good. This can be taken as FACT. Having mini tidal waves of nausea in your belly indicates that what you’re doing is fucked. To wake up with the latter, is very telling of your daily situation. The question is this: Do you ride those nauseating high seas the best you can for however long you can? Or, do you throw in the towel and opt for a sea change? (Ocean analogies are my favourite).
I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I can honestly say that the bulk of people I know have grown complacent in their current positions. I sheepishly raise my hand to this as I too am a part of this majority.
Well, up until a few days ago I was.
Handing in your resignation is so very unnerving. And let’s face it, for all those who know me, you would know that I am a pleaser. Not necessarily a ‘yes’ woman, but yeah, but no, but yeah, but no. I don’t like to disappoint. And telling your bosses that you quit has a big, fat, overfed ‘D’ for disappointing tattooed all over it. Even calling the meeting to organise a meeting had me in neurotic stitches. I lost my appetite and felt waves of guilt each time one of my bosses would talk about anything that required my commitment or attendance in the near future. But, the time came when I found myself sitting with the two of them at the round table of trust. My heart was racing and my palms were leaving sweaty marks on everything I touched. But at the end of the day, my belly was telling me that it was better out than in. And so the words bubbled out of my mouth, each one weighing a ton, and before I knew it, the date had been set and I could finally see the finish line.
Sigh of exhalation.
In the weeks leading up to my new favourite date, I somehow acquired some pretty horrendous gastro. Bathroom bound and emptied out, I had to call in sick for a couple of days during my last week. With nothing to lose, I decided to be explicitly truthful with my reasons why I couldn’t come to work. They still wanted a doctor’s certificate. Really? There was no way I would be leaving the house in that condition, not unless I was wheeling a port-a-loo behind me. So I did what I do best, I emailed both them and expressed my disappointment that they didn’t trust me enough to warrant these days off, and in an act of good faith, I told them that if it made them feel better, they could write these days off as ‘holidays’ and not ‘sick’ days. No email back. But a few days later when I checked my pay slip, there in the bottom left hand corner: “sick days x 2”. Win.
So now I am on day number three of unemployment. To the wind I throw bags full of caution. This is what I have done today: My first wake up was at eight-thirty. Then read three pages of a book. I fell back asleep at nine. I dreamt all morning until midday. Then I made a traditional hot chocolate by heating milk in a saucepan and adding cocoa powder. I ate muffins with jam on the kitchen bench. I went to take a shower but my room mate was in there and hey, no big deal. I had a take-away chai on Chapel Street which tasted like arse. I hung out in my boy’s backyard with him and a staffy called ‘Harper’. I went to the post office and chatted to the old Mexican man who liked my hairstyle today (a messy up-do which sat a little to the left). I came back home and listened to all of Bloc Party’s albums in sequential order while searching for the ultimate spaghetti and meatball recipe online. Now I am writing this and it makes me happy to know that although I may not be able to afford to eat out every night, I can certainly afford to devote endless amounts of time to all things me. And I know this state of mind and time probably won’t last forever, as rent needs to be paid and life is never static. But while I am here, and while things are still, I will take my time to work out what it will take to stay full.
Permanent Impermanence
Posted on Thursday, January 14, 2010
For what it's worth
this wealth of hurt
the weight and wait
of a lovers curse
the loss of faith
the endless search
And so it twists
a lovers myth
into eyes
and over lips
clouded skies
these things i miss
did you and i even exist?
I watch it sink
and i reminisce
three times
and still amiss
in silent times
it's noise i miss
a valentine
a stolen kiss
a tailored shoe
that doesn't fit
a point of view
that doesn't stick
And then it breaks
over old mistakes
fragments wait
at your old place
a soft voice
and a softer face
fingers trace
the now opposing space
a hollow where it used to be
a photograph of you and me
a missing gap in a family tree
absolute finality?
You be You
And I'll be Me
Posted on Friday, December 18, 2009
dream
last night i dreamt that the world had started to end. i was sitting in an old beaten up red car with a friend's dog. we were parked next to the sea and i noticed that the waves were getting bigger and the distance between them shorter. then the dog spoke and told me that we shouldn't stay so close to the sea, that we should make for higher ground. then the sky turned to a clouded mess of pink and grey. It started to open up and behind the clouds i saw a black sky ablaze with stars. fear set in. i looked around and there wasn't a person to be seen. i instinctively knew that me and this talking dog were the only souls left. so we got out of the car and started to make our way through the streets. the ground began to crack and i knew it was only a matter of time before i drowned. so me and the dog jump started a car and drove precariously through the abandoned streets. the dog wanted to go somewhere quiet to die. i wanted to go somewhere sacred. so i took us to the house i grew up in and we crawled into my childhood bed. the dog curled up in my arms. we lay there waiting. i could hear thunder above us. i could smell rain. but i felt content. i felt proud of the life i have lived so far. and i felt grateful to be able to choose where i die. so i pulled the covers up above us. and i fell asleep.
Posted on Saturday, December 05, 2009
Branded
bound by print and stitches
fabric tells tales in inches
the rags that turned to riches
Branded
dummies lined up along the wall
draped in threads and standing tall
playing dress up for us all
Branded
minimalistic and exclusive
androgynous and unobtrusive
a metropolis for the useless
Branded
names that never really stick
places that drip with all things hip
modernity is an ego trip
Posted on Friday, October 16, 2009
Beggar
Oh God, not another beggar
streets are full of them in America
I avoid meeting them eye to eye
head down as I empty my pockets of dimes
Always wishing me a lovely day
I burn with guilt as I walk away
Oh God, not another beggar
streets are full of them in America
I avoid meeting them eye to eye
head down as I empty my pockets of dimes
Always wishing me a lovely day
I burn with guilt as I walk away
I have spent over fifty dollars on food today
Oh God, not another beggar
This time we stand and chat together
He tells me the rain is unusual for September
I tell him I’m happy either way
As this is my first time to see this place
“lucky you”
he smiles at me
I put some change into his cup
Quietly knowing this will never be enough
it’s only then that I am able to see
a cardboard sign that reads:
‘homeless. shameless. living with HIV’
penny for your thoughts in NYC
penny for your thoughts in NYC
The Hum
Posted on Monday, October 05, 2009
I am sick of this town
the one with two main streets
a lighthouse that exposed
nothing but my itching feet
I can not handle this city
and its constant hum
streets that teem with people
as hollow as a drum
I can not stand the sight of this house
windows painted shut
I try to get some air
but the windowsills are stuck
I am irritated in this room
the mirrors are too much
I know the air outside is sweet
but my windows don’t open up
I am restless as I try to sleep
too many blankets on my bed
candles burn through the night
as thoughts sink like anchors in my head
I get woken up in the dead of night
by a flutter inside my chest
reminding me that I have a heart
one that beats and one that’s blessed
SHIFT
Posted on Monday, October 05, 2009
Something has shifted
Focus like the finest flour sifted
A point of difference is given
Something has shifted
Blink and you might miss it
Laden with hope like a one way ticket
Something has shifted
Expectations now lifted
Thoughts no longer caught in a box or clench-fisted
Something has shifted
Innards once twisted
Untangle like ruby red ribbons
Something has shifted
Simplicity has insisted
That I take a step back and be in it
Posted on Monday, July 13, 2009
untitled
headache
feet ache
beats too loud
nauseate
sun sets by 6pm
darkness sets in
coldest place i’ve ever been
warmest jumpers are wearing thin
close the door
feel a draught
rising steam
in between
blankets
doubled up
made from wool
but never enough
boiling water
mimics body heat
thawing out numbed feet
ruptured
rubber as i sleep
scolding my skin
an angry welt
the warmest i’ve ever felt
water pools at my back
wasted hugs
the irony
it never seems
to hug me back
Burning Bridges
Posted on Saturday, June 13, 2009
The first thing my eyes saw this morning was the clouds. They were hanging lower than usual- a weightless testimony to the many shades of grey. My blinds swayed back and forth with the wind and the morning light stung my sleep deprived eyes. Another early start to what was no doubt going to be a long day. I sacrificed breakfast and a shower for fifteen minutes more sleep. I set my alarm and pulled the covers over my head. My mind drifted away on each one of those fifteen glorious minutes. It took me to the top of a steep hill where I admired a view I have never seen before. It took me underwater where I swam mindlessly through the greenest seaweed. It took me back home where I could feel the sand beneath my bare feet. Those fifteen bittersweet minutes took me out of my bed and into a sphere where seconds and minutes no longer adhered.
The second wake up is always the worst. You are left with no more options except for the brutality of removing yourself from your eight hour coma and beginning your day.
Clothes, teeth, bag and keys.
The front door slams behind me and the noisy clutter of the outside world infiltrates my senses. An orchestra of mechanical sounds plays out into the crisp morning air. I can still taste berries on my tongue from the night before. A palette numbed by the fruity fermentation of grapes and grain. This liquid sedative disconnects my brain and allows me sit still in the present.
The tram is full with early morning commuters, faces blank with the acceptance of the mundane. Tired eyes and moping faces. Slumped shoulders clutching briefcases. The 8 am tram is the bleakest of places. It is the busiest place and the most desolate place. Human beings attempting to run a rat race. I make a silent pact with myself to never become monotone. A peak hour reminder that there is hot blood running thick through my veins.
I walk up the steps and into the building where I work. I devote thirty eight hours of my week inside these walls. I make my way to my desk as Nick Cave pours his brooding lullabies into my speaker clad ears. His voice, like oysters, is an instant aphrodisiac. How one man manages to convey the entire catalogue of human emotion in just one melody baffles me. If his voice was a liquid, it would be the most burgundy of wines. A sound that stains your ears with such beautiful agony it leaves a mark long after the words have been sung.
I have three new emails. Two new facebook messages are automatically relegated to the trash bin. The last email remains opened at the top of the list. I stare at the name for longer than I intended. I tick the little white box next to the name and a black tick appears. I drag the mouse over to the delete icon but I can’t bring myself to remove it, not yet anyway. Indecision wraps its heavy arms around my neck. I feel flushed and agitated. I feel curious. I decide to open it. Heat rises up into my cheeks as I anxiously wait for the screen to load. It has been over a year now and yet it feels like another giant moment of truth. One step forward and three leaps back.
My eyes skim the page and take in the enormous amount of text. I scroll down and see the words that seem to go on forever. I take a deep breath and force myself to begin at the beginning.
I know I probably shouldn’t be writing you this email. How are you anyway? It’s been ages since we’ve spoken and I find myself thinking about you a lot. How’s Melbourne treating you? Heard it’s been savagely cold down there, I bet you’re missing the warmth?
His words unravel me all over again. I can’t help but to cast my mind back. I remember the night he took me up to the lighthouse. I remember how cold it was up there. I never think to take a jumper with me. It was freezing, but I couldn’t have felt more comfortable. We sat on the railing that overlooked the sea. Beneath us, trees knotted together until their roots gripped the sandy shore. Every few seconds the beam from the lighthouse cut a golden line across the crisp night sky. There we sat, fingers entwined, losing all track of time.
Everything has been really good up here. I’ve been really busy with work and a few little side projects. Did I tell you about my next project? I think I already have, but it’s taking all of my time right now, even on weekends. I haven’t been out much though. Just finding it all a little hollow and pointless right now. I’m sure I’ll come back around, but for now, I prefer to lay low. Been thinking heaps about everything. I can’t believe we haven’t spoken for this long.
All this time apart and yet we still manage to weave parallel lives.
It’s like he never left.
I imagine what he would have looked like when he typed this email. I imagine him sitting in his chair at work, tapping nervously on his keyboard. I imagine his straightened back as his sits upright in his seat. I imagine his perfectly even collarbones and the delicacy of his fingertips. I imagine what his face would look like as he cradled thoughts of me inside his head.
I know there were times when I seemed unreachable. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let myself go back there because it was so raw and you just have this way of bringing it all to the surface with just one sentence. I didn’t want to hear your voice. I am so sorry for how it all played out. You know I didn’t mean for it to unfold the way it did, especially to you. Anyone but you.
The night he came over plays out in my memory like a silent film. He was on time for once. I heard the knock at my door from my bedroom upstairs. I was sick from it. I knew something wasn’t right but he kept me guessing right to the very end. About an hour before he was due to come over, I took a swim in the ocean. I prayed to whoever was listening to grant me only one thing…clarity. As I got changed that afternoon, I recall choosing clothes that I don’t really wear that often, as my foresight told me that I would no doubt associate those threads with this fractured moment in time. I opted for an old pair of pajamas. They were comfortably unfamiliar and entirely disposable. I made my way downstairs and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I remember thinking that whatever will be will be, just be honest and leave nothing undone.
I can’t believe it’s been over a year. There’s been so much change in between then and now. I feel like I have culled so many unnecessary distractions in my life. I have made a point of it. I hit a wall a few months ago and decided to strip it all down and start again. It’s been pretty tough. Feel like I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. It’s like I had these people I knew who I would associate with, but only under particular circumstances. I guess I’m just coming to terms with what is real and what is fake.
The first night he ever stayed over, we lay centimeters away from each other, talking until one of us finally gave in to sleep. We never touched that night. And yet I have never felt closer to another person. When the morning came, I felt a kiss placed upon my cheek. As I heard the front door close, I rolled over and took in the scent of his hair on my pillow and drifted back into the deepest of sleeps.
I heard that you came up here recently. News like that doesn’t take long to spread through a town like this. When I heard you were coming, I kind of freaked out a bit. I wasn’t ready to see you yet. I’d seen pictures of you, I saw how happy you looked, how content you looked, how good you looked…I couldn’t do it to myself. You always hold up a strong front in testing situations, and I just knew I couldn’t get behind that kind of armour. That entire weekend I made sure I stayed in. I could feel you were back. The town felt different. It felt like home again.
I am suddenly acutely aware of all the sounds around me. I can hear the photocopier behind me spitting out pieces of paper. I can hear three different types of phones ringing. I can hear people typing all around me and I wonder if anyone else has noticed how cold it is in here today. And despite all of this, I wonder why my palms are sweating and why it feels as if I have been teleported back twelve months in time. I don’t recall stepping into a time machine at any stage this morning. And yet here I am, emotionally regressing back to that space again.
Are you happy down there?
This question stops me in my tracks. Happiness for me right now is anything outside what I felt back then. If happiness is the polar opposite of being miserable, than yes, I am happy. But this newly gauged happiness is half the shade of what was felt back then.
How can just one person make you so euphorically happy?
It is the greatest confliction when your heart still chooses to love the one that couldn’t love you back.
I feel a slow sinking feeling in my arms and legs. I am going under again whether I like it or not. All I ask for is clarity.
You know I can’t lie to you, so I won’t even try. I need to tell you some things that you’re probably not wanting to hear. I have to let you know what’s been wading around in my mind lately.
I love you still.
The beat inside me quickens. I can hear the drumming inside my ears. A beat that I can no longer control seizes my body and throws me into an entirely external rhythm.
I still love you.
Something melts inside my chest. A reservoir of pains unwept.
I am still in love with you.
My eyes retrace those last few words. Vulnerability silhouettes each one of his words. A strange contradiction presents itself- one of adamancy and vulnerability. Nestled in the afterthought is conviction.
But to a lover scorned, these are merely words.
I watch the ink set into the paper as the last page of his email is printed out. I hit delete. I fold up his words into my pocket and for the rest of the day I pretend that nothing out of the ordinary has happened. I retreat into autopilot mode so I don’t implode. I go through the motions of my day like a cardboard cut out of myself. Beneath the mechanical two dimensions I am churning.
The threads keeping me together throughout the day begin to unravel the minute my feet hit my bedroom floor. The only thing that will deliver any comfort right now will be a scolding hot shower and the longest of sleeps. Steam fills the bathroom and I can no longer see my own reflection. I am looking at something that I can not see, but I know for certain that it is there. The beat rises up again. It drums inside my ears and threatens to escape out through my chest.
I turn off all the lights and curl up underneath my blankets. The only thing welcome right now is sleep. I wait for it to come and get me, to take me away from this day. Each time I start to drift away, I see those typed words as a plain as day. I am still in love with you. I blink down hard so they will disintegrate back into the ether where they came from.
Sleep eventually silences my mind. For hours I lay still in an unflinching trance. I look down onto my defeated body. There on top of my chest sits a dormant volcano, ashen at the edges and the centre as black as coal. It crumbles at the lip with each breath. Ash floats weightlessly through the air, getting caught up in my messy hair. I wonder how I can still breathe under all that weight. I wonder if I will ever wake up.
In the dead of night I have a dream. I am lying on my back on a boardwalk, looking up at the night sky. I can feel the weathered strips of wood along my spine and my fingertips trace its natural grain. Starlight illuminates the canopy of the midnight sky. Waves break over the pylons beneath where I lay and I can taste salt in the air. Beside me is where he lays. His hand is entwined with mine and he is telling me a story from his childhood. I feel as if I could lay there listening to him forever. He leans over and whispers something in my ear.
Each whispered word gets pinned to my heart.
In a semi-subconscious state, I once again hover above my body. As I examine my sleeping face I notice something stirring in the volcanic ruins of my chest. It starts out small, but then it grows out of the darkness and into the light. The most perfect red roses bloom right in front of my eyes. Crimson petals litter the devastation that was once my burnt out chest.
I am now indifferent to the wreckage this perfection grew out of.
The morning light begins to break out of the night sky. I can feel myself stirring. I roll onto my back and rub my heavy eyes. I can still hear waves breaking in my thoughts. I sit up and kick off my tangled sheets. And there at my tired feet, are crimson petals that smell like the sea.
Piece by piece, we rebuild the bridges that have been burnt.
Two Nights
Posted on Saturday, June 13, 2009
I want to get drunk tonight
I want to let it all go tonight
I want to be mindless and free from the burden of foresight
I want you to take me out tonight
I want it to be you and me tonight
I want to see what you see in me before the morning light
I want to sit with you tonight
I want to laugh with you tonight
I want you to set me on fire as this liquid makes me higher
I want to get out of my mind tonight
I want to release my cares tonight
I want to walk through the streets like I’m walking the beat
I want to disconnect tonight
I want to free things up tonight
I want nothing but absence as I drown in this absinthe
I want lose track of time tonight
I want ignore safe frames of mind tonight
I want to shed skin as the numbness sets in
I want to be brave tonight
I want lips to touch tonight
I want the magic that comes when everything seems undone
I want you to remember me tonight
I want there to be no one else in your head tonight
I want your arms around me as we hide from the daylight
the melancholy
Posted on Saturday, June 06, 2009
Static beneath my feet
Restlessness before i sleep
Emptiness as i retreat
The great divide between heart and mind
Pausing to catch my breath
Irritated in this dress
Should have stayed longer in retrospect
Why did you come outside?
Could you tell i bit my words all night?
Blinded by such a sight
I look inside and see damaged pride
It was a contradiction at its best
As i kissed down another's chest
Seduction laced with bitter regret
An aftertaste of sweet distaste
So i commit to memory the details of your face
Those perfect lips and how they taste
And into you i pour my faith
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