Monday, February 1, 2010
Running like a coward, for the door
When nights were cold
fingers felt like pages
Their noses
numb and vibrant To laugh
in freedom
Walking in shadows
shortened They had
mothers Trains stopped for
the children
I fed the
animals Even though
you told me n o t
to His lips were chapped
like mine Mmmmmmmmm!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
"No," means "don't put your hands on my cheek and pretend you love me"
He put his hands on me, even after I begged him not to.
His fingers ran over my limp skeleton, like acid eating away at what was not his to hold.
I wish he could hear me, crying tears of haterd, but he was too distracted with my body, a disposable toy, in his filthy hands.
Friday, January 29, 2010
We leave here the same way we came
-A Course In Miracles
More sad news today....
My Grandma Rose's sister, my Great-Aunt Helen, made her transition back into the arms of Our Father God.
She has battled cancer, one too many times, and her body was obviously tired. She was ready to release her sick body to transition into the next life - free of pain and disease. To be a free Soul, to dance amongst the angels, once again.
She was an important part of my life growing up. Every Saturday, when I was around seven years old, I use to be on a country line dance team with her and my Grandma... we'd even perform at State Fairs and other silly Midwestern-thangs like that. I guess you can blame that early up bringing on why to this day I am still a true cowgirl at heart <3 Even as I got older, she always made a point to attend all of my recitals and ballet performances. I still remember the joy and pride in her eyes when she saw me perform my first lead role in a company ballet performance; as the Scarecrow in the ballet version of The Wizard of Oz. She was like another Grandma to me. I also owe to her the love of having my arms 'tickled' on that one time my Mom was in the hospital [or maybe it was when my Grandma was getting surgery? my memory is failing me right now] and Aunt Helen sat in that awful teal-sterile-waiting-chamber, tickling my arms - for hours- calming my lifelong 'Hospital Anxiety.' When one of her hands would get tired from all the stroking, she'd make me jump in to the seat on the other side of her so she could use her other arm. No one will ever give me the 'sqwigglies,' as I liked to call them, like she did.
Last week when I was home in Detroit, she made a 'turn for the worse,' and ended up in Hospice care and my Mom kept saying we should go see her before I came back to the city because it would probably be the 'last time.' Being the optimist that I am, I didn't want to believe it'd be the last chance to see her, and I didn't make an effort to go say 'Goodbye,' to tell her how much she meant to me, to tickle her arms and relieve her of the chronic pain she was in. I'll never be able to get that opportunity back, and I feel SO selfish. SO guilty. SO mad at myself, for [like fucking usual!] being too wrapped up in my petty self absorbed life to make the effort. Now it's too late, now I can only hope she can 'hear' me, only hope she knew how much I really did appreciate her presence in my life.
I am thankful she is no longer in pain, I am thankful she is free of a body full of disease, a body that no longer serviced the free spirit inside of her. I am thankful she has another chance to be reborn, to dance, to be free and joyful like I will always remember her to be. I hope she is doing the 'Boot-Scootin'-Boogy' into what'ever next life she is moving in to - maybe teaching another angel or two how to stomp her boots like a real cowgirl! I love you Aunt Hellen.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
“One certain effect of war is to diminish freedom of expression.”
Two very influential men have made their transition this week.
RIP Howard Zinn and JD Salinger
Howard Zinn's "The People's History of the United States," and numerous of Salinger's short stories [and of course 'The Catcher In the Rye'] made quite an impact on me during my high school education - I guess you could give them some credit for getting my mental clock ticking. But, now- I look at the assortment of writers, directors, artists, and leaders that we have to pick-and-choose from in our current global crisis - a paradigm I like to call: 'OH SHIT! WE'RE FUCKED', and I often wonder who will use their voice for an honest cause? Who will leave a legacy as great as the revolutionaries who paved the road for us to live such a liberated lifestyle? [but also left us with a big fucking dump to clean up!] Who will get up off their lazy asses and start making a scene?
"Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."
RIP Howard Zinn and JD Salinger
Howard Zinn's "The People's History of the United States," and numerous of Salinger's short stories [and of course 'The Catcher In the Rye'] made quite an impact on me during my high school education - I guess you could give them some credit for getting my mental clock ticking. But, now- I look at the assortment of writers, directors, artists, and leaders that we have to pick-and-choose from in our current global crisis - a paradigm I like to call: 'OH SHIT! WE'RE FUCKED', and I often wonder who will use their voice for an honest cause? Who will leave a legacy as great as the revolutionaries who paved the road for us to live such a liberated lifestyle? [but also left us with a big fucking dump to clean up!] Who will get up off their lazy asses and start making a scene?
"Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."
I know blue eyes get boring, but I'll wear dark glasses all the time.
That summer in Paris I kept begging you to call me by my 'French' name, the one our professor had so affectionately given me when we completed our course. But, you refused. You said it made me sound like a French whore. I think you were just jealous that he gave me a pet name, and not you! But, I told you, just as long as you refused to call me, 'Chloe Vinewood,' I refused to take off my 'ridiculous' sunglasses that you kept nagging me to stop wearing 24/7. But what you didn't understand darling, is that blue eyes - they're very sensitive to light. Sunlight. Fluorescent light. Moon light. You were convinced that I was 'hiding' from the World behind those big shades, but sweet heart, I was only trying to protect my eye sight! And I must have been doing something right because the optometrist said my eye sight was improving. In fact, he said he had never seen anyone's vision improve so much! I told him that I once read a story about this woman who was blind - not just 'legally blind' like I was, but blind-blind, like the people who need to read braille - and she cured her vision through positive thinking. Supposedly every day she would lay in bed and stare at this one corner in her room and tell herself that she could see, and then slowly but surely her vision corrected itself. Of course my doctor laughed at me and told me it was 'impossible,' but I insure you - I have been practicing similar techniques and, what else could be the explanation for my sudden and drastic improved vision? I asked for the doctors address and mailed him a copy of the story as soon as I got home.
One mad brunette at the bar, with her boys...
'He's wailing beer caps of bottles and jamming at the cash register, and everything is going to the beat. It's the beat generation. It's beat. It's the beat to keep. It's the beat of the heart. It's being beat and down in the world, and like old time lowdown, and like in ancient civilizations, the slave boatmen rowing galleys to a beat and servants spinning pottery to the beat.'
- Kerouac
I'm living in NYC c.1956
My favorite way to enjoy Ginsberg is listening to old cassette recordings in George Tysh's room, on the second floor of The Roeper School, sitting in a circle with students who have read books I will probably never understand, breathing in the familiar scent of head shop incense and sipping authentic Chinese tea. America.
The Cocktail Party (1949)
Quite possibly one of my favorite pieces of writing that ever did exist...
-T.S. Elliot
It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous.
Resign yourself to be the fool you are.
You will find that you survive humiliation
And that's an experience of incalculable value.
That is the worst moment, when you feel you have lost
The desires for all that was most dersirable,
Before you are contented with what you can desire;
Before you know what is left to be desired;
And you go on wishing that you could desire
What desire has left behind. But you cannot understand.
How could you understand what it is to feel old?
We die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and convenient social convention
Which must sometimes broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
What is hell? Hell is oneself.
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
Half the harm that is done in this world
Is due to people who want to feel important.
They don't mean to do harm — but the harm does not interest them.
Or they do not see it, or they justify it
Because they are absorbed in the endless struggle
To think well of themselves.
There are several symptoms
Which must occur together, and to a marked degree,
To qualify a patient for my sanitorium:
And one of them is an honest mind. That is one of the causes of their suffering.
To men of a certain type
The suspicion that they are incapable of loving
Is as disturbing to their self-esteem
As, in cruder men, the fear of impotence.
I should really like to think there's something wrong with me —
Because, if there isn't then there's something wrong,
Or at least, very different from what it seemed to be,
With the world itself — and that's much more frightening!
Everyone's alone — or so it seems to me.
They make noises, and think they are talking to each other;
They make faces, and think they understand each other.
And I'm sure they don't. Is that a delusion?
Can we only love
Something created in our own imaginations?
Are we all in fact unloving and unloveable?
Then one is alone, and if one is alone
Then lover and beloved are equally unreal
And the dreamer is no more real than his dreams.
I shall be left with the inconsolable memory
Of the treasure I went into the forest to find
And never found, and which was not there
And is perhaps not anywhere? But if not anywhere
Why do I feel guilty at not having found it?
Disillusion can become itself an illusion
If we rest in it.
Two people who know they do not understand each other,
Breeding children whom they do not understand
And who will never understand them.
There is another way, if you have the courage.
The first I could describe in familiar terms
Because you have seen it, as we all have seen it,
Illustrated, more or less, in lives of those about us.
The second is unknown, and so requires faith —
The kind of faith that issues from despair.
The destination cannot be described;
You will know very little until you get there;
You will journey blind. But the way leads towards possession
Of what you have sought for in the wrong place.
We must always take risks. That is our destiny.
If we all were judged according to the consequences
Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention
And beyond our limited understanding
Of ourselves and others, we should all be condemned.
Only by acceptance of the past will you alter its meaning.
Every moment is a fresh beginning.
-T.S. Elliot
It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous.
Resign yourself to be the fool you are.
You will find that you survive humiliation
And that's an experience of incalculable value.
That is the worst moment, when you feel you have lost
The desires for all that was most dersirable,
Before you are contented with what you can desire;
Before you know what is left to be desired;
And you go on wishing that you could desire
What desire has left behind. But you cannot understand.
How could you understand what it is to feel old?
We die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and convenient social convention
Which must sometimes broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
What is hell? Hell is oneself.
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
Half the harm that is done in this world
Is due to people who want to feel important.
They don't mean to do harm — but the harm does not interest them.
Or they do not see it, or they justify it
Because they are absorbed in the endless struggle
To think well of themselves.
There are several symptoms
Which must occur together, and to a marked degree,
To qualify a patient for my sanitorium:
And one of them is an honest mind. That is one of the causes of their suffering.
To men of a certain type
The suspicion that they are incapable of loving
Is as disturbing to their self-esteem
As, in cruder men, the fear of impotence.
I should really like to think there's something wrong with me —
Because, if there isn't then there's something wrong,
Or at least, very different from what it seemed to be,
With the world itself — and that's much more frightening!
Everyone's alone — or so it seems to me.
They make noises, and think they are talking to each other;
They make faces, and think they understand each other.
And I'm sure they don't. Is that a delusion?
Can we only love
Something created in our own imaginations?
Are we all in fact unloving and unloveable?
Then one is alone, and if one is alone
Then lover and beloved are equally unreal
And the dreamer is no more real than his dreams.
I shall be left with the inconsolable memory
Of the treasure I went into the forest to find
And never found, and which was not there
And is perhaps not anywhere? But if not anywhere
Why do I feel guilty at not having found it?
Disillusion can become itself an illusion
If we rest in it.
Two people who know they do not understand each other,
Breeding children whom they do not understand
And who will never understand them.
There is another way, if you have the courage.
The first I could describe in familiar terms
Because you have seen it, as we all have seen it,
Illustrated, more or less, in lives of those about us.
The second is unknown, and so requires faith —
The kind of faith that issues from despair.
The destination cannot be described;
You will know very little until you get there;
You will journey blind. But the way leads towards possession
Of what you have sought for in the wrong place.
We must always take risks. That is our destiny.
If we all were judged according to the consequences
Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention
And beyond our limited understanding
Of ourselves and others, we should all be condemned.
Only by acceptance of the past will you alter its meaning.
Every moment is a fresh beginning.
I've got $5 we can put in the tank
Sometimes all it takes is an invite for a nightcap at Bua, Bon Iver on my neighbors stereo, street art on Bowery, a ride on a strangers Harley, anything for a dollar in Union Square, and the smell of turpentine on my hands to really get me off.
Revolutions never go backwards
Like Kuhn says,
a 'term' is defined by its opposite
waxing gibbous : waning crescent
each dependent on its counterpart to create the 'whole'
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
I always pause if I can on Fifth Avenue, look uptown with my head in the stars
- Ryan Adams [blackbookmag.com 'Golden Stars on Streets of Piss']
Family first, lovers later
Toes soaked with Earth.
A full moon & a cemetery dance.
Eleonora's shadow.
A bare legged nymphet.
Pages torn from a lifetime of prose.
A bed of sticks & bones.
My hands felt cold,
your words felt dull.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
There's 52 ways to murder anyone, one or two are the same, but they both work as well.
Pleaseandthankyouverymuch
Rule one of sex: a person can do anything for ten minutes if they don't breath in.
"If you think I'm just plucky and scrappy and all I need is love, you're in over your heads. I don't have a heart of gold and I *don't* grow one later, OK? But relax. There's other people a lot nicer coming up - we call them "losers.""
Le langage du corps
I think one of my favorite things about language is that my words can have a different meaning - to me, and to you. And that's the great mystery of the whole ordeal.
Don't forget to cut the salvage
Lestor always told us, a relationship is like how we pull the thread on the muslin : the more patient and gentle you are, the easier the thread will pass through the grain without breaking.
I wish they would have been more patient.
I wish they wouldn't have allowed the initial rush of lust, that always so conveniently disguises itself as the 'real deal,' to lead them to losing themselves in one another; totally forgetting who they were as individuals.
I wish they wouldn't have allowed it to break. Over, and over, and over again! Until there was nothing left to tug at.
I wish I could stop getting caught up in the 'what ifs' of a past I do not own.
I wish my anxious hands knew of one relationship that didn't break, like all the threads, I pull too quickly.
I wish they would have been more patient.
I wish they wouldn't have allowed the initial rush of lust, that always so conveniently disguises itself as the 'real deal,' to lead them to losing themselves in one another; totally forgetting who they were as individuals.
I wish they wouldn't have allowed it to break. Over, and over, and over again! Until there was nothing left to tug at.
I wish I could stop getting caught up in the 'what ifs' of a past I do not own.
I wish my anxious hands knew of one relationship that didn't break, like all the threads, I pull too quickly.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Without faith, we're wasting time
I finally bought a physical copy of Marianne Williamson's 'A Return to Love,' and every chapter is slowly awakening parts of myself that have been frozen since my infancy. I have to read it with a pen/highlighter in hand underlining and taking notes on the parts that speak to me, because I love to go back when I am feeling 'lost' and just flip to a page and read what it was that I was originally drawn to and could inspire me in new ways throughout different chapters in my life.
I really liked this excerpt - it's about having faith - and about letting go. I know I need to stop trying to control the things that are not in my control, but sometimes it is so damn hard! But that's what faith is; 'believing that the universe is on our side, that the universe knows what it's doing. Faith is a psychological awareness of an unfolding force for good, constantly at work in all dimensions. Our attempts to direct the force only interferes with it. Our willingness to relax in to it allows it to work on our behalf. Without faith we're frantically trying to control what it is not our business to control, and fix what it is not our power to fix. What we're trying to control is much better off without us, and what we're trying to fix can't be fixed by us anyways.'
Marianne describes our attempts at interfering with the universe as interfering with our 'support system.' She says, "It is important to respect the laws that rule the physical universe because violation of these laws threaten our survival. When we pollute the oceans or destroy plant life we are destroying our support system and so destroying ourselves.
Internally, the universe supports our survival as well - emotionally and psychologically. The internal equivalent to oxygen, what we need in order to survive, is love. Human relationships exist to produce love. When we pollute our relationships with unloving thoughts, or destroy or abort them with unloving attitudes, we are threatening our emotional survival.
So the laws of the universe merely describe the way things are. these laws aren't invented; they're discovered. They are not dependent on our faith. Faith in them merely shows we understand what they are. Violation of these laws doesn't bespeak a lack of goodness; just a lack of intelligence. We respect the laws of nature in order to survive. And what is the highest internal law? That we love one another. Because if we don't, we will all die. As surely as a lack of oxygen will kill us, so will a lack of love.
I really liked this excerpt - it's about having faith - and about letting go. I know I need to stop trying to control the things that are not in my control, but sometimes it is so damn hard! But that's what faith is; 'believing that the universe is on our side, that the universe knows what it's doing. Faith is a psychological awareness of an unfolding force for good, constantly at work in all dimensions. Our attempts to direct the force only interferes with it. Our willingness to relax in to it allows it to work on our behalf. Without faith we're frantically trying to control what it is not our business to control, and fix what it is not our power to fix. What we're trying to control is much better off without us, and what we're trying to fix can't be fixed by us anyways.'
Marianne describes our attempts at interfering with the universe as interfering with our 'support system.' She says, "It is important to respect the laws that rule the physical universe because violation of these laws threaten our survival. When we pollute the oceans or destroy plant life we are destroying our support system and so destroying ourselves.
Internally, the universe supports our survival as well - emotionally and psychologically. The internal equivalent to oxygen, what we need in order to survive, is love. Human relationships exist to produce love. When we pollute our relationships with unloving thoughts, or destroy or abort them with unloving attitudes, we are threatening our emotional survival.
So the laws of the universe merely describe the way things are. these laws aren't invented; they're discovered. They are not dependent on our faith. Faith in them merely shows we understand what they are. Violation of these laws doesn't bespeak a lack of goodness; just a lack of intelligence. We respect the laws of nature in order to survive. And what is the highest internal law? That we love one another. Because if we don't, we will all die. As surely as a lack of oxygen will kill us, so will a lack of love.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
You gotta lose your mind in Detroit Rock City!
I've been working on a project over break for my upcoming semester... we were suppose to design a sportswear collection based on our 'cultural background,' but I decided since I was a mixture of too many cliche/typical ethnicities that I was going to use the thing that both of my parents had in common 'back in the day' & the one thing that has always personally inspired me: MUSIC! Both of my parents grew up in the Detroit music scene during the 80's and that is exactly what I am using as my inspiration. DETROIT ROCK CITY CIRCA 1980! I am having a blast looking through old photo albums of my mother's and researching the bands that paved the way for the 'scene' that I was apart of during high school. So many laughs and lots of inspiration! Here's a picture of my Dad in his band 'Strand' that is definitely making an appearance on my 'Inspiration'/Mood board. ha ha ha! Thanks Mom & Dad for being such inspirational people in my life, even though we may not have an interesting 'cultural' background you certainly taught me how to be a total ROCKSTAR! xo
Le Baiser de L'Hotel de Ville, Paris
I grew up with this Robert Doisneau photo in my grandmother's house, when she lived in Michigan. I remember always being attracted to it when I would visit her. When she moved to Florida, she passed the photo along to my father, who then hung it in the basement entertainment area of our home. My room was in the basement of our house so I frequented the area where it was on display. I saw it every day. I'd often times find myself sitting on the couch 'doing homework', and then realize I was starring at the photo hanging on the wall, swept away in a day dream; lost in foreign streets of a fantasy world I had built in the fine details of my imagination. Even today, when I think of love and of romance this photo is the image that appears vividly in the movie like memories of my conscious. I wonder if 'it' is as magical as I've made up in my head. Even if its not... [because I doubt it is] I know the love I have to give, is more quixotic than even the most creative of pens could write.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Makers Manhattan de Maison Rose à Rue Cortot
Sarah's hermit of a heart burned [bright.bright.b r i g h t e r]. Reflecting the warmth of his favorite city lights as the bus, she frequently took back and forth from suburbia [aka - Wayne, New Jersey] to her 'city life,' paralleled the skyline so many dreams are lost in. She pressed her flushed cheek to the cold window pane, allowing it to diffuse the fever her body temperature was quickly boiling to. The empty seat next to her mocked the empty bed she so deeply despised back at her studio apartment she shared in the East Village. She sat with her oversized bag in her lap, clutching on to the meaningless possessions that filled it; the little pieces of 'home' she always brought along for the ride, searching for substance in their banality the same way she scanned the streets for a face that responded to human interaction. Sarah's trip back to the city was always this bittersweet. Her heart was torn between two World's, but she loved him and this is where he loved. Passerby's may have described her walk back to 'the cave,' [as she affectionately referred to it] on 6th Street as if she was a giant child and there was an invisible parental like figure pulling her by an apathetic hand. Before she even settled in at home, she'd always meet him at that bar on St. Marks Place, the one that the regulars still smoked inside of, and the bartender was an old man who could probably still remember when the calculator was invented - but, DAMN! Did he know how to pour the whiskey heavy! She'd always find him waiting for her, in the back booth where they first met, and first held hands, and where she first let him kiss her, and where she first kissed him. Sarah loved their personal little alcove, in the 'back room,' away from the busy door that was frequented by foreigners with accents that reminded her of the places she [really] l o v e d. BUT, she loved him, and he was never afraid to take her hand and ask her to slow dance to songs you really couldn't slow dance to. He was years older than her, an intellectual, a graduate, a 'worldly' fellow. He didn't understand her fascination with the banality of the world, especially with the only place she'd ever really traveled to - Paris - he thought she romanticized 'things'. He thought it was a silly, touristy place. He didn't get it. He didn't get it at all. But, that's where she left her heart, amongst the silly-touristy-romanticized streets. That's where you'll find the cleanest parts of her heart.
"What we have here is a dreamer. When she jumped, I bet she thought she could fly."
I write about passion and love that I have never experienced. Maybe that's what comes with being an artist? I'm the dreamer, and the dream.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Splendid Isolation
I fell in love with the way your face lit up as we drove back from the ocean, like you had opened your eyes for the first time to the gallant beauty around you. Windows down, music up, and a full pack of Parliaments to get me home. I couldn't stop smiling as we made our way through the same gapping hole in the Earth that I lost my sanity over seven days prior as my plane descended above the 'West Coat.' Just like a giant cut in the bedrock of LIFE, and we could've been the blood t r i c k l i n g back to where we inherently belonged. Maybe it's just my own sentimental and artistic perspective, but it's that kind of landscape that always sobers my anxious thoughts. Landscapes so grandoise they could make even the nonbelievers fall to their knees in a form of surrender, shouting in to the infinite silence of their heart space: "Thank you sweet Universe, Divine Mother-Father-Everything-God!" Nothing human could have dreamt up such sublime beauty without witnessing creation at its finest first. My hands were numb [as usual!] as we left the rhythm of the metrical tides behind us, but there was a new [e n e r g y] pumping through my stiff limbs. I wanted to reach out with my anxiously cold and clammy palms, to take your hand in mine, to take the initiative this time. But my nerves just refused to deliver the message to my limp appendages. Something more potent than fear radiated into my blood stream and paralyzed my arms safely in my lap.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A miracle is just a shift in perception
"All of a sudden, you're not too proud to ask for help. That's what it means to surrender to God."
5:12 am on Sunday, January 17th 2010
I believe I have experienced my first real miracle.
From this moment forward I surrender my physical body, my mind, my creative talents, my knowledge, my life purpose: as a vehicle to express the love of God that has always been inherent within me.
I will elaborate tomorrow when I am not so emotionally exhausted.
Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank you God.
I GET 'IT'
5:12 am on Sunday, January 17th 2010
I believe I have experienced my first real miracle.
From this moment forward I surrender my physical body, my mind, my creative talents, my knowledge, my life purpose: as a vehicle to express the love of God that has always been inherent within me.
I will elaborate tomorrow when I am not so emotionally exhausted.
Thank you God. Thank you God. Thank you God.
I GET 'IT'
Friday, January 15, 2010
Can't find truth in a house of lies
Need to move here.
Need to wake up with sand from last nights dance on the beach still stuck between my toes.
Need to have messy hair from the humidity.
Need to read a book a day.
Need to do yoga in rhythm with the tides.
Need to make the art that I want to make.
Need a b r e a k.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Sand on my feet, ocean in my hair.
There's this panic
settled in the left side of my chest
I can't seem to put a finger on it
Even the doctors can't come up with a diagnosis
science could never explain this d a n c e
It's like you've sunk your hook between the hollow space of my ribs
a pathetic inbred mermaid
being willingly dragged
in the opposite direction of the cerulean sea.
settled in the left side of my chest
I can't seem to put a finger on it
Even the doctors can't come up with a diagnosis
science could never explain this d a n c e
It's like you've sunk your hook between the hollow space of my ribs
a pathetic inbred mermaid
being willingly dragged
in the opposite direction of the cerulean sea.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Notes to a friend.
It is the light, not the darkness, inside of us that we seem to always be the most afraid of... you're dark yet lovely missy! Embrace the good and the bad, but know that the laughter is ALWAYS inside of you... let it resonate for all the world to see. It's always there, no matter how 'dark' you may feel. The past [and the negative people in it] is just that: the PAST - don't carry it with you, it doesn't define you. If you stop allowing it to have substance, it can no longer tarnish this perfect moment that is right now! & now! & now! Everything you need is always available in the present tense. The past, the darkness, the bullshit will not service you in the present. So let go. 'If you don't reveal the brilliance you are, the world will be less.' You're an amazing person, don't let the narcissistic people in this world ever convince you that you're anything less than A FUCKING BAD ASS!
Wake up tomorrow morning... HELL, wake up every morning and stand in front of that mirror. You know, that mirror that's been following you through this great city adventure... the one that's now unevenly hung above your bedside table. Take the biggest inhale you've ever inhaled. Notice today's scent. Notice the recycling of the early morning air that's been sneaking in through the window you always keep cracked an inch and three-quarters. Inhale the positives and exhale the negatives. Envision them: like black smoke, being stuffed back out that same obsessively measured crack in the structure you call 'home.' Don't be shy, stare at the reflection in that gypsy mirror. Really look at yourself; examine your slowly aging face. Notice what IS, and let go of the assumptions... the 'what could be's.' It's like drawing, see what's in front of you, and let go of the image you've already painted in your head; you'll get a more accurate picture this way. Look deep into those two gapping holes in your face; those huge eyes that always seem to grab the attention of the strangers you keep praying didn't notice your face in the crowd. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then take this opportunity to peek inside. Discover the truth, the lightness, the inter-being-ness connecting you to the present and everyone and everything sharing it with you. Don't be afraid, let the warmth of the moment thaw the pieces of yourself you've been keeping on ice- let them melt away-away-away! SMILE. Smile back at what'ever it is you find in that space, for this is the truth, and truth will always set you free.
Wake up tomorrow morning... HELL, wake up every morning and stand in front of that mirror. You know, that mirror that's been following you through this great city adventure... the one that's now unevenly hung above your bedside table. Take the biggest inhale you've ever inhaled. Notice today's scent. Notice the recycling of the early morning air that's been sneaking in through the window you always keep cracked an inch and three-quarters. Inhale the positives and exhale the negatives. Envision them: like black smoke, being stuffed back out that same obsessively measured crack in the structure you call 'home.' Don't be shy, stare at the reflection in that gypsy mirror. Really look at yourself; examine your slowly aging face. Notice what IS, and let go of the assumptions... the 'what could be's.' It's like drawing, see what's in front of you, and let go of the image you've already painted in your head; you'll get a more accurate picture this way. Look deep into those two gapping holes in your face; those huge eyes that always seem to grab the attention of the strangers you keep praying didn't notice your face in the crowd. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then take this opportunity to peek inside. Discover the truth, the lightness, the inter-being-ness connecting you to the present and everyone and everything sharing it with you. Don't be afraid, let the warmth of the moment thaw the pieces of yourself you've been keeping on ice- let them melt away-away-away! SMILE. Smile back at what'ever it is you find in that space, for this is the truth, and truth will always set you free.
We'll catch a plane to Barcelona, cause this city's a drag
While you were sleeping
I kissed you
alllllll over your p.e.r.f.e.c.t face
in a pattern mocking
the f r e c kles on my bare arm.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Nothing worth anything, ever goes down easy.
'Undeniable' use to be their song...
now 'On and On' seems more fitting.
It makes me cry everytime, still.
I wish I could send this song to them.
I wish music could fix things like it does in my head.
now 'On and On' seems more fitting.
It makes me cry everytime, still.
I wish I could send this song to them.
I wish music could fix things like it does in my head.
I haven't slept in weeks.
I never realize how much I hate being 'alone,' until I crawl in to this empty bed every night.
I hate the new coldness this season has brought.
and I hate the empty left side... the side I now sleep on, just to feel closer to your g h o s t.
I keep trying to remind myself that 'time alone is good...'
but it doesn't make this empty bed feel any warmer.
"If you can't find someone to walk with you, then walk alone for that period in time. It's loving what is. It's being realistic. It's about loving people exactly where they are and letting them be where they are and then when you're guided to say something and do something it'll have some meaning. Then you won't waste your energy in a whole bunch of "hoo-haa"-what'ever, because you think that somebody else is suppose to understand you." - Greg Barette
I hate the new coldness this season has brought.
and I hate the empty left side... the side I now sleep on, just to feel closer to your g h o s t.
I keep trying to remind myself that 'time alone is good...'
but it doesn't make this empty bed feel any warmer.
"If you can't find someone to walk with you, then walk alone for that period in time. It's loving what is. It's being realistic. It's about loving people exactly where they are and letting them be where they are and then when you're guided to say something and do something it'll have some meaning. Then you won't waste your energy in a whole bunch of "hoo-haa"-what'ever, because you think that somebody else is suppose to understand you." - Greg Barette
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.
From : March 27, 2006
With one foot in front of the other,
The journey is that of an unsteady pace.
Every missed step is matched by an even greater stride.
You choose the unmarked path and dive in; right side leads.
Emotional stability blocks the blows to your ego.
It’s all a gamble; a simple hit or miss.
I believe in the fever to set the stage afire.
I believe in the inspiration to illuminate the loose leaf.
I believe in the wind to coil the tune of a heavenly voice
towards my appreciative ears and sensitive heart.
It's your gamble; a simple hit or miss.
A downfall is an opportunity in disguise.
Just one more strike, to set the wet match ablaze
You’d of missed the glory days, without granting it that
“One last shot.”
I believe in the fuel that ignites the fatigued muscles
I believe in the strength of a single dream.
I believe in the drive, the ambition, the appetite.
I believe in the passion.
Friday, December 11, 2009
I embrace the mystery of life...
"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed." -Albert Einstein
Ironically I had this quote written amoungst the notes I was using for the paper I was writing tonight on Kuhn's book "The Structure of the Scientific Revolution," and right when I finished my paper I checked my email and the daily meditation email I receive from Renaissance Unity started with this same quote. Ironic, or a sign? Regardless, it's kind of freakin me out!
Dear God,
Whenever I think I have life figured out, something new and exciting
and unexpected happens and I realize that every change I go through
changes everything.
I open myself to the mystery of Your presence.
I offer my heart as a place for Love to live and grow.
I offer my life as a vehicle for Your peace.
So it is!
Amen
Ironically I had this quote written amoungst the notes I was using for the paper I was writing tonight on Kuhn's book "The Structure of the Scientific Revolution," and right when I finished my paper I checked my email and the daily meditation email I receive from Renaissance Unity started with this same quote. Ironic, or a sign? Regardless, it's kind of freakin me out!
Dear God,
Whenever I think I have life figured out, something new and exciting
and unexpected happens and I realize that every change I go through
changes everything.
I open myself to the mystery of Your presence.
I offer my heart as a place for Love to live and grow.
I offer my life as a vehicle for Your peace.
So it is!
Amen
The Structure of the Scientific Revolution
"I know it's hard to convince you, but life is too short to be writing conclusions for introductions that shouldn't have been written in the first place."
.. and on that note...
The Lexicon to Understanding Our Lovely Kuhn:
Paradigm: 'to show, an example.'
Definition: 'a term that must be defined by opposing terms.'
For example: In respect to its historicity : internal coherence. Arbitrary : necessary. Ambiguity : modeled or articulated. Structure : revolution. Specification : normal. Past : future.
A paradigm, according to Kuhn, is both precedent and unprecedented. It is open ended and exclusive. The paradigm sets the puzzle, gives the answer and sets the parameters of the answer. The puzzle, the paradigm itself, contains the answers it is set to solve in the first place. Failure within the paradigm brings about a new paradigm. The paradigm, according to our celebrated Kuhn, is self destructive and self solving. The paradigm is the model by which Kuhn views the evolution within normal science. Normal science means research firmly based upon one or more past scientific achievements, achievements that some particular scientific community acknowledges for a time as supplying the foundation for its further practice. These achievements can be called paradigms. This movement is not linear or straightforward [like Fleck's structure of self moving history] but revolutionary. The successive transition from one paradigm to another via revolution is the usual developmental pattern of mature science. This revolution starts in what Kuhn calls the 'pre-paradigmatic' period when the facts of the current paradigm begin to be challenged by researches who all confront the same problem in different ways. There can be numerous pre-paradigms existing at the same time independently, eventually a new paradigm emerges from the pre-paradigm competition. To be accepted as a paradigm, a theory must seem better than its competitors, but it need not, and in fact never does, explain all the facts with which it can be confronted. Eventually the other pre-paradigmatic competitors and the previous paradigm will disappear. A paradigm transforms a group into a discipline with it's own facts and books. Paradigms gain their status because they're more successful than their competitors in solving a few problems that the group of researchers recognize as acute. This is when normal science occurs. The paradigm is like a box which researchers try to stuff nature in to. There is no effort to discover anomalies, and even when they occur they're usually ignored or go unnoticed. There is no effort create new theories. Normal scientific research is directed to the articulation of those phenomena and theories that the paradigm already supplies. This tunnel like vision researchers have when in a paradigm is important because it allows for them to investigate some part of nature in a detail and depth that would otherwise be unimaginable. It is not until the paradigm stops functioning that it is possible for researchers to become aware of and recognize anomalies. Anomalies are all known exceptions related to the generally accepted pattern of normal behavior. This period of the revolution can be called crisis science which is when the emergence of a new theory is generated by the persistent failure of the puzzles of normal science to be solved as they should through recognizing and analyzing anomalies. Although anomalies challenge the current paradigm, scientists will not loose faith in the current paradigm without another credible alternative. Often times there will be competing anomalies at the same time, or an anomaly will be discarded after being analyzed but further explored by the community in a later generation that has the proper tools to solve the problem. It is the recognition that the current paradigm is no longer functioning and accepting the emergence of anomalies, even seeking them out that can be called originality. The revolution occurs when the anomaly becomes normal, is eventually expected, and this is the internal momentum that regenerates the revolution. Paradigms seem invisible because the revolutions reflexivity is internally moving as a community and the view of history is nonlinear. The understanding comes at the end, not the beginning. To keep the revolution moving, in all areas of science and art, it is important to have originality. It is important for researchers to see the problem that nobody else sees because that is the internal momentum of Kuhn's model. The community must see paradigm change as progress, as we have seen, this perception is, in important respects, self-fulfilling. An idiot can solve a problem, but to keep the structure intact, it takes 'researchers' to take a new view, and discover the problem nobody else sees and reflexively it can reset the puzzle and provide the parameters and answer itself.
.. and on that note...
The Lexicon to Understanding Our Lovely Kuhn:
Paradigm: 'to show, an example.'
Definition: 'a term that must be defined by opposing terms.'
For example: In respect to its historicity : internal coherence. Arbitrary : necessary. Ambiguity : modeled or articulated. Structure : revolution. Specification : normal. Past : future.
A paradigm, according to Kuhn, is both precedent and unprecedented. It is open ended and exclusive. The paradigm sets the puzzle, gives the answer and sets the parameters of the answer. The puzzle, the paradigm itself, contains the answers it is set to solve in the first place. Failure within the paradigm brings about a new paradigm. The paradigm, according to our celebrated Kuhn, is self destructive and self solving. The paradigm is the model by which Kuhn views the evolution within normal science. Normal science means research firmly based upon one or more past scientific achievements, achievements that some particular scientific community acknowledges for a time as supplying the foundation for its further practice. These achievements can be called paradigms. This movement is not linear or straightforward [like Fleck's structure of self moving history] but revolutionary. The successive transition from one paradigm to another via revolution is the usual developmental pattern of mature science. This revolution starts in what Kuhn calls the 'pre-paradigmatic' period when the facts of the current paradigm begin to be challenged by researches who all confront the same problem in different ways. There can be numerous pre-paradigms existing at the same time independently, eventually a new paradigm emerges from the pre-paradigm competition. To be accepted as a paradigm, a theory must seem better than its competitors, but it need not, and in fact never does, explain all the facts with which it can be confronted. Eventually the other pre-paradigmatic competitors and the previous paradigm will disappear. A paradigm transforms a group into a discipline with it's own facts and books. Paradigms gain their status because they're more successful than their competitors in solving a few problems that the group of researchers recognize as acute. This is when normal science occurs. The paradigm is like a box which researchers try to stuff nature in to. There is no effort to discover anomalies, and even when they occur they're usually ignored or go unnoticed. There is no effort create new theories. Normal scientific research is directed to the articulation of those phenomena and theories that the paradigm already supplies. This tunnel like vision researchers have when in a paradigm is important because it allows for them to investigate some part of nature in a detail and depth that would otherwise be unimaginable. It is not until the paradigm stops functioning that it is possible for researchers to become aware of and recognize anomalies. Anomalies are all known exceptions related to the generally accepted pattern of normal behavior. This period of the revolution can be called crisis science which is when the emergence of a new theory is generated by the persistent failure of the puzzles of normal science to be solved as they should through recognizing and analyzing anomalies. Although anomalies challenge the current paradigm, scientists will not loose faith in the current paradigm without another credible alternative. Often times there will be competing anomalies at the same time, or an anomaly will be discarded after being analyzed but further explored by the community in a later generation that has the proper tools to solve the problem. It is the recognition that the current paradigm is no longer functioning and accepting the emergence of anomalies, even seeking them out that can be called originality. The revolution occurs when the anomaly becomes normal, is eventually expected, and this is the internal momentum that regenerates the revolution. Paradigms seem invisible because the revolutions reflexivity is internally moving as a community and the view of history is nonlinear. The understanding comes at the end, not the beginning. To keep the revolution moving, in all areas of science and art, it is important to have originality. It is important for researchers to see the problem that nobody else sees because that is the internal momentum of Kuhn's model. The community must see paradigm change as progress, as we have seen, this perception is, in important respects, self-fulfilling. An idiot can solve a problem, but to keep the structure intact, it takes 'researchers' to take a new view, and discover the problem nobody else sees and reflexively it can reset the puzzle and provide the parameters and answer itself.
'I' before 'E' except after 'C' ?
I always go searching for the things that will hurt me the most. I've spent so much of my life sick and wounded, that I think sometimes this new found 'happiness,' terrifies me. I'm not sure why I felt the need to go searching for the old Ali tonight, but it happened, the stories fell into my lap. The sickness, the disease, the heartache, the lies, the deceit, the darkness, the past. The past that I can never bury deep enough. The past that rises like the bile I coughed up at least a thousand times too much. The old pain that seems to pick away at the scabs of the new wounds, in just the way I like it. I'm addicted to the past that nearly destroyed me, that could still destroy me if I don't just LET GO. I'm letting go. I'm gonna do it. I'm not just gonna walk on the narrow ledge I've been balancing on for the past five years, I'm gonna close my eyes and dive. Dive head first into all the perfect love I keep trying to stifle. I'm gonna fall down to come back up. Back to the now, back to the present tense. The tense I can never seem to write in. I'm gonna let go and let it write itself.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Baby I could climb down in to your dreams
If a real man like Mat Kearney exists...
I'm gonna find you!
I'm gonna find you!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The rhythm of the heart is the birth and death of all that are alive.
As I was getting ready the other morning, I was voicing some frustration to God and asking him for guidance in a certain situation that I am unsure of how to deal with. I have found myself getting angrier and angrier at someone I truly care about in my life and allowing their issues to affect my well being and anxiety. I have been trying to figure out how to help this person but my anger and frustration has gotten in the way of allowing me to find sympathy and compassion towards them any longer. I have been in the same position they are, but I cannot seem to find the strength to put my frustration with them aside to be the true friend I know they need, the support that I knew I needed at that time. As I was praying to God for guidance, to help me find compassion again, I picked up this book 'Heart Steps' that was sitting on my nightstand and randomly flipped to a page unconsciously. I landed on a page with this message on it...
MY SOUL IS A COMPASSIONATE HEART
I am compassionate. I allow my heart and imagination to embrace the difficulties and concerns of others.
While maintaining my own balance, I find it within myself to extend sympathy, attention, and support.
When they are grieved, I listen with openness and gentle strength.
I offer loyalty, friendship, and human understanding.
Without undermining or enabling, I aid and assist other to find their strength.
I allow the healing power of the Universe to flow through me, soothing the hearts and feelings of those I encounter.
It was quite the perfect mantra to open that book too. I have been reading this to myself every day, trying to find strength in these words, and in myself to allow the healing power to flow through me. I will continue to pray that my friend finds strength within their self to feel the healing power of the universe, to choose a healthier quality of life, because they truly deserve it.
MY SOUL IS A COMPASSIONATE HEART
I am compassionate. I allow my heart and imagination to embrace the difficulties and concerns of others.
While maintaining my own balance, I find it within myself to extend sympathy, attention, and support.
When they are grieved, I listen with openness and gentle strength.
I offer loyalty, friendship, and human understanding.
Without undermining or enabling, I aid and assist other to find their strength.
I allow the healing power of the Universe to flow through me, soothing the hearts and feelings of those I encounter.
It was quite the perfect mantra to open that book too. I have been reading this to myself every day, trying to find strength in these words, and in myself to allow the healing power to flow through me. I will continue to pray that my friend finds strength within their self to feel the healing power of the universe, to choose a healthier quality of life, because they truly deserve it.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
2007
I'm so happy I am not 'this' girl anymore.
I am so happy I found peace.
I am so happy I realized I deserved better.
I am so happy I got out of Michigan.
2007, was a BAD year.
'Photographs Don't Lie'
(found on a harddrive from 2007)
He adored her
He doted over her creative imperfections
Always accepting
and challenging her distorted perception of reality
Her actions were even more unclear than her unorganized thoughts
She spoke before thinking
Speaking the truth regardless of how offensive she may be
She lived by one big contradictive policy
Like she was pressing down on the fast-forward button
Skipping over the “unimportant” parts
But still, she was the only one on the opposite side of the lens
The one that he spent years trying to keep in focus
She was always sliding in and out of frame
pretending to not notice his struggle to keep up with her impulsive pace
He took snapshots of her best and worst features
each one individually
Telling a story all their own
He took it as his responsibility
trying to convince her of the beauty he worshiped
How could she not see it?
The audience…
they loved her!
Her eyes seemed to reflect the fury of the storm brewing in the gray clouds
and he cleaned up the mess left behind
after the flood gates had been released
Attempting to capture the sympathy of his strong arms
She wanted more than the awkwardness of these situations
Paralyzed by the memories of arms that weren’t as genuine
A distant touch that always seemed to haunt her in the most painful way
She intentionally tried to appear unintentionally needy of compassion
Smearing her vibrant palate of lipstick on the collar of the faces and the places she tried to call home
She was only trying to define the things she would soon suppress to the darkest holes of her consciousness
She wanted to take it all in
and let it slowly seep back out
Conserving the air that would sustain the handful of years she had left in her
Holding her breath in fear of disturbing his peaceful sleep
She wanted to give him everything
Her intentions were true this time
She was scared that everything she had had to give
wasn’t much of anything at all.
He questioned her judgment
Lost sleep over her flirtatious behavior
If her provocatively girlish smile did as much for the other hungry bastards
He knew he was in trouble.
“God damn those bastards!” she silently screamed into the pillow beside him
“ God damn those bastards with their untrue intentions! ”
God damn those bastards with the untrue intentions who always built up the walls he struggled to destroy
Those bastards never loved her
or even appreciated her
She wasn’t just some body they thought they could abuse
Using for their own goodtime
Always bringing over her favorite wine
in the dark cobalt bottle
With a name they couldn’t pronounce
She sipped on glass after glass
It was the only way she could even tolerate their ignorance
She could never have enough
She was celebrating the pain of their touch
As their hands became more friendly
burning every precious inch of her innocent body
Their dirty hands mutilating her flawless skin
It was like acid and every unwelcomed touch scared her deeper
than even her sharpest razor could have cut
Those bastards never caught the moments that defined her elegance
showcasing the compassion she was too afraid to see in herself
These were the moments he fell in love with her again, and again
Despite the demons that sometimes got the best of her
Even years later he couldn’t forget those stormy eyes
and the way they darted about the world she used as her personal canvas
He’d leave parties to recklessly hunt through the libraries of albums he hid in the basement of his subconscious for that one photo
that would nurse all the wounds that never healed
Reminding him how far they had come
and even how much easier it was to loose her
The snapshots he preserved in his personal archives
illustrated the person that he gave up everything for
The person he always wanted her love like he did
In those photos her authentic,
uninhibited innocence was captured
In the candid laughter that still echoed in his not so distant memories
In his photographs her true colors were synthesized
despite the black and white of her scripted persona.
She tried so hard to appear aloof
and untouchable
to even him
But he touched her
and only because she let him
She tried pretending she didn't notice
or even appreciate the prudence that was in his delicately strong hands
Secretly and anxiously she anticipated the next time his welcomed hands would penetrate beneath the layers of her clothes
Muting the burning left behind
With every organic blink
he captured her beauty and rawness in a way he would remember
I am so happy I found peace.
I am so happy I realized I deserved better.
I am so happy I got out of Michigan.
2007, was a BAD year.
'Photographs Don't Lie'
(found on a harddrive from 2007)
He adored her
He doted over her creative imperfections
Always accepting
and challenging her distorted perception of reality
Her actions were even more unclear than her unorganized thoughts
She spoke before thinking
Speaking the truth regardless of how offensive she may be
She lived by one big contradictive policy
Like she was pressing down on the fast-forward button
Skipping over the “unimportant” parts
But still, she was the only one on the opposite side of the lens
The one that he spent years trying to keep in focus
She was always sliding in and out of frame
pretending to not notice his struggle to keep up with her impulsive pace
He took snapshots of her best and worst features
each one individually
Telling a story all their own
He took it as his responsibility
trying to convince her of the beauty he worshiped
How could she not see it?
The audience…
they loved her!
Her eyes seemed to reflect the fury of the storm brewing in the gray clouds
and he cleaned up the mess left behind
after the flood gates had been released
Attempting to capture the sympathy of his strong arms
She wanted more than the awkwardness of these situations
Paralyzed by the memories of arms that weren’t as genuine
A distant touch that always seemed to haunt her in the most painful way
She intentionally tried to appear unintentionally needy of compassion
Smearing her vibrant palate of lipstick on the collar of the faces and the places she tried to call home
She was only trying to define the things she would soon suppress to the darkest holes of her consciousness
She wanted to take it all in
and let it slowly seep back out
Conserving the air that would sustain the handful of years she had left in her
Holding her breath in fear of disturbing his peaceful sleep
She wanted to give him everything
Her intentions were true this time
She was scared that everything she had had to give
wasn’t much of anything at all.
He questioned her judgment
Lost sleep over her flirtatious behavior
If her provocatively girlish smile did as much for the other hungry bastards
He knew he was in trouble.
“God damn those bastards!” she silently screamed into the pillow beside him
“ God damn those bastards with their untrue intentions! ”
God damn those bastards with the untrue intentions who always built up the walls he struggled to destroy
Those bastards never loved her
or even appreciated her
She wasn’t just some body they thought they could abuse
Using for their own goodtime
Always bringing over her favorite wine
in the dark cobalt bottle
With a name they couldn’t pronounce
She sipped on glass after glass
It was the only way she could even tolerate their ignorance
She could never have enough
She was celebrating the pain of their touch
As their hands became more friendly
burning every precious inch of her innocent body
Their dirty hands mutilating her flawless skin
It was like acid and every unwelcomed touch scared her deeper
than even her sharpest razor could have cut
Those bastards never caught the moments that defined her elegance
showcasing the compassion she was too afraid to see in herself
These were the moments he fell in love with her again, and again
Despite the demons that sometimes got the best of her
Even years later he couldn’t forget those stormy eyes
and the way they darted about the world she used as her personal canvas
He’d leave parties to recklessly hunt through the libraries of albums he hid in the basement of his subconscious for that one photo
that would nurse all the wounds that never healed
Reminding him how far they had come
and even how much easier it was to loose her
The snapshots he preserved in his personal archives
illustrated the person that he gave up everything for
The person he always wanted her love like he did
In those photos her authentic,
uninhibited innocence was captured
In the candid laughter that still echoed in his not so distant memories
In his photographs her true colors were synthesized
despite the black and white of her scripted persona.
She tried so hard to appear aloof
and untouchable
to even him
But he touched her
and only because she let him
She tried pretending she didn't notice
or even appreciate the prudence that was in his delicately strong hands
Secretly and anxiously she anticipated the next time his welcomed hands would penetrate beneath the layers of her clothes
Muting the burning left behind
With every organic blink
he captured her beauty and rawness in a way he would remember
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
