So the wind...

Did I mention the wind. A surge of temporal butter that swept over the all of us and there goes another umbrella and again someone stumbles over a fallen branch.

The wind that day.

She brought in secrets and rough blankets to cover over yesterday. Things that once were became rearranged to be here again. She though of clever tricks too. Shoelaces of razors and candy that dissolves to powder before the sugar can hit your tongue.

The wind poured heartbeats into people's mouths so we all spoke in pounding and one man couldn't help but go around town singing songs that he'd never heard.

I sat, tucked behind the ears of a beautiful moment, and I watched with eyes on my elbows the majesty of the today wind and tomorrow maybe someday.

hottt chocolate

with whiskey. Is soooo fiiiiine. Especially this hott chocolate and this whiskey. Delicious. Fanks Gilly.
Cock.

first batch

So. For some reason I was reminded this morning of my friend Becca. Becca worked at Espresso Royal in Ann Arbor on Main Street. One night, just as she was getting ready to close up, a bandit came in and held her up for the money in her drawer. Gun in the pocket and everything. Now, most people would very willingly give up the contents of their cash register. Becca, however, because she's a super hero, said she couldn't give him the money in the till, but she'd happily give to him the contents of the tip jar.

What a bad-ass...or a complete idiot. I go back and forth depending on the day.

Last night was fantastic. Everyone should listen to and love The Blow and Mirah. Granted Mirah didn't put on the bestest show in the world, but I still have a large place in my heart reserved for just her. The Blow kicked it up to 11 for sure though.

I slept in too late today. But it was very delicious. On my walk to work I saw a very tall, thin woman walking with her son. And it was crazy because she looked just like my friend Jan (aka Fattie) and the thought of Jen walking her son to school made me realize that shit goes down and soon enough she could have kids. And hey, maybe I will too. Apanda might as well. The future is crazy that way.

Puff Pastry Petites

Are the devil. I would like to here and now apologize to my wonderful friends who brought me to Dosa to eat delicious food and on whom I totally bailed because of those damn frozen treats. I was just so hungry! And I couldn't stop eating them. And then all that Indian food. Oh god...I had a stomach ache all frikken night. Goddamn puff pastry petites. I think they gave me nightmares. Anyway- this morning I feel fine. But the thought of how many of those things I ate still makes me feel a bit queasy.

Anyway. That's all from me.

It is 10:35

and I am excited about having a little bit of time to set my life straight. Yay for the openings of plays that thereby free up your Saturday afternoons.

On the bus today I sat across from two guys with the suits and the backpacks and the name tags and the bibles. It made me wonder, as a loud high school girl talked loudly about sex and drugs a few seats away from us, what do those people think about in large groups? Do they pray for us? Do they feel pity? Hatred? Or are they simply wondering whether or not they remembered to put their wash in the dryer? Another thing I always wondered about is the whole sex thing. Like, if they saw someone they found attractive, do you think they would purposely avoid them or would they use the whole Jesus thing to try to get some digits? The whole thing confuses me- there are just so many layers.

Plus, in addition to, furthermore and consecutively; It was my birthday yesterday and I have found that as I get older, the ages I reach seem to be younger than I had always thought them to be. For example. At 16, 18 seemed so much older, more mature, together, sexier, adult, etc. At 18 I still felt like I was 15 except the government could pretend to count my vote. Now that I am the ripe young age of 23 I still feel like...well, like I'm 15 except with additional things that I should have accomplished and life goals I should have already figured out. Sometimes I don't even really feel like I've left home. I still have this expectation of "growing up" even though all the evidence I have gathered seems to indicate that it's one of the bigger lies we've ever been told. Which is actually kind of a nice thing (that growing up is a lie, I mean) because still feeling like a 15 year old is pretty fun. And if I actually lived the way I expected a 23-year-old to live, I don't think I'd be nearly as happy as I am right now. And I'm pretty fucking happy.

Well, that's enough from me. Goodnight moon.

The thing about myspace...

...is that once you delete your account, all record of you vanishes. So, before my account was successfully deleted, I got three messages from a old friend and only one of them was I able to read because soon after the messages were sent, the profile was deleted and the other two messages were lost forever. Now I have no account either (happy day!). Is it true that you have to have one in order to comment on my page? Please respond.

To the past, with love...

...I saw you once in Cleveland. You were getting out of your car and I was getting on my bike. We looked at each other and I rode away. Trying to pretend that I didn't recognize you and failing. I felt rude afterwards and remembered evenings of discovering Nick Drake and Iron and Wine and that painting that you had by your bed and every so often I look at my arms and remember that "legs are too utilitarian" but arms - arms are beautiful. You once told me that you wanted me to end like "Lost in Translation" and so, I suppose that means all that we'll ever get of memory is that little pinprick that won't let us forget. A stumbled-upon blog here, a false myspace account there. Poetic, to the extent the cyber-world can be...poetic and intimidatingly frustrating. Then again, maybe the frustrating part would be running out of things to say. I still remember you with wings. And a mother whom you loved.

Thank you for wishing me well. I hope that you are too.

things i want

eric satie music, yoga mat, yoga class, mattress, excellent travel coffee mug that i can put in my bag and that won't spill, more sea shanties and union songs, a theater company, a big art studio and lots and lots of canvas, to sleep in.

And so it was...

...that I left behind the world of Myspace. Boldly shouting out behind me that "I believe online social networks make us lazy in our friendships and I believe they only function as a method of procrastination and I'd like to waste my time more constructively." Or something to that effect. I took a cab home tonight (after being simply horrified by the neon "57 min" that flashed at me from the MUNI stop) and the cabby started singing along to Stairway to Heaven. And I should have started singing along too because then it could've been a glorious symphony of awkward social moment.

I have been finding recently that I desperately want to watch such movies as "French Kiss," "Circle of Friends," and the like. I am tired for sleep.

It is now 2008

There is a mattress on the couch in my living room. Flower is passed out. The Christmas Tree lights are a-twinkling. And I'm not sure whether or not I want to watch a movie. Back in Cleveland the bad ideas of 2007 were sent to their final resting place with Rabbis and Puppets and snow storms and here I'm not sure if the bad ideas are to end, or if maybe they're just beginning. Hopefully a little of both and the bad ideas that are to come will bring me entertaining stories. I'd very much appreciate a positive change in president. I'd very much appreciate if all religious fanatics decided to return back to their holes in the ground and leave the rest of us to enjoy the lives that we have been able to put together for ourselves. I'd appreciate travel. And love. And friends. And creativity. Art. Music. Picnics. Bike rides. Adventures. Etc. Etc. Etc. "And let me tell you that motherfucker's dangerous."

I have tricks up my sleeve. and I am smiling mischievously.

grapefruit is better with brown sugar

Esther heard soft exclamations from her parents as they scuttled around here and there, grabbing keys, opening doors, starting cars, driving down streets. The house grew uncommonly quiet and the silence seemed to crawl up Esther's spine and twirl her hair with slow, terrifying movements. Esther pulled the covers tighter to her chin. She closed her eyes as tight as she could and repeated over and over, through trembling lips "fall asleep, just fall asleep." As she balanced on the ledge that separated sleep from waking, Esther saw her grandmother walk into her room and sit at the edge of her bed. "Let's see here," muttered the old woman who had died two years before. She began to pat her hands down her body, as if she was looking for a lost pair of car keys. Her fingers, which seemed too many for each hand, climbed up to her wrinkled face and began to scratch at her eyes. To Esther's surprise the fingernails started peeling away layers and layers of skin which her grandmother calmly put into the pocket of her grey shawl. The woman peeled and peeled, murmuring things like "mhm, quite" and "just about there now." Finally, she said "Oh good, we've arrived" as one of her twenty fingers wiped away a thin layer of murky water. Almost instantaneously the woman's eyes began to shine bright like halogen lights on the moon. She reached into her pockets and brought out handfulls upon handfulls of the skin she had peeled from her eyes. She held out both hands to Esther; "See," the woman radiated, "just like onions." And she started to laugh. Without knowing why, Esther began to laugh too. "Yes," she giggled, "like onions." The two laughed and laughed and the grandmother began to throw fistfulls of the shredded skin into the air like wedding rice. The confetti skin sumersaulted and began arranging itself into a smooth, milky ladder in the middle of Esther's room. The ladder went up and up until it broke through the ceiling and into the sky. "Come on," said her grandmother with lamp eyes. "Let us fall through the cushion of the earth." And with that the woman threw off her shawl to reveal the body of a brown newt and with her twenty fingers and fourteen toes she climbed the stairs through the roof. "Yes, let's" Esther muttered and she settled futher into her warm pillow.

strange....

http://www.landdog.blogpsot.com/


who knew?

Mixed Tapes

So I'm listening to a lot of mixed tapes recently. And almost all of the ones I have are from boys. which is interesting. even more interesting is actually listening to the lyrics. Cory's new tape seems to be able "the one that got away." Lucas' tape seems to be all about lovers leaving. So my question is: what do mixed tapes mean? Are they like little musical letters? Are they totally un-related to things? DO people not realize that they put more into them then meets the eye? I can't decide. And I doubt it really matters. It's just an interesting thing...people and how they relate to music.

Speaking of which, I feel like something is wrong with me. I'm not as "into" music as I've always been. I was listening to the new Radiohead album and realized that it was only the second time I had listened to it, even though I've had it for a few months. I remember when Hail to the Thief came out, I was the first person at the record store and I listened to it nonstop for what seemed like ever. Maybe it's because I don't think In Rainbows is as good...not sure. When did I stop being crazy about music? Maybe I just have to find a new good band...

Alright...here I come Trader Joe's.

HEY

MOBILE WHO ARE YOU?

There are no words...

...that can express my complete awe. How it's possible that I am the one person who is in this building right now and preparing for the holiday party is beyond me. It's really amazing. I wish I was in a band. That would make all things well.

to forget?

I just wrote an e-mail to an ex-boyfriend of mine and the e-mail was returned to me...david is no longer accessable via that particular e-mail address. I don't really know why I was writing in the first place. I guess just because I was thinking about him and hoping that he was doing well. I know he's not really the type to keep in touch and would probably much prefer that I not contact him, but I thought I'd be selfish and do it anyway. When I got the delivery failure notice I was a little weirded out, I guess I still am. I've never been very good at letting go or forgetting. I don't mind losing touch with people, but every once in a while I like that people remember each other and send a little energy to a person they haven't seen in years. So to know that this opportunity was rendered impossible is a strange experience. How can you just have a person slip from your life forever. Is that what you do now? I guess so. But I think it will take a lot of getting used to.

To Mobile

I do not know who you are...I don't think. and when I go to find out who you are, blogger will not let me see your profile. How mysterious. But thank you for making comments. My heart, she is warmed.

In other news:

Scumble, the cat is sleeping. Cheesy Spanish music is being played while my sister studies. I took a lot of Santa Fe pictures today to prove to the Brazilian Nanny that my sister is getting that they're not White Slave Traders. I almost went on a train ride...but could not in the end.

Too many things are happening that I cannot fix!

It is late and I am tired

But for some reason I cannot fall asleep. Though my eyes are heavy heavy heavy. I'd like to sleep. I really would. But there is something about the size of this bed that is preventing me from doing so. It's technically not particularly large- the bed in the room I sublet is larger. But it feels so expansive tonight. I've tried making it less so. I've stretched out my arms as wide as they will go. I even rotated myself sideways to take up more room- but to no avail. There is a gaping, empty eternity over at the other side of the bed and I can't help but think of all the different ways it's been filled. The backs that I have fallen asleep to. The way someone else fits into your dreaming and the impossibility of covers when you get close to someone else's skin. How you find a puzzle piece in the other person's body and a separate one in your own and the game becomes how to somehow fit them together. I suppose it is a lonely night. How can it be anything but when you remember the people and realize that there are many you'll never see again. Is that not strange? A person whose smell you can conjure up on sleepless nights...gone from your life story now. Not that it's bad-people leave for a reason...just strange. And so that is what I find in my mind right now. At 1:30am. I can hear the pipes in the house speaking. Scumble, the cat, has positioned herself in the perfect place to inhibit me from stretching out my feet. Old scenarios play and replay themselves in my head. Names reemerge. Faces melt into one another. Places become mazes of time and Cleveland seems like a wilderness of forgotten promises. I'd like to fall asleep now. Wish me luck.

Ba Ba

I cannot believe that it is already December. Holy cow.

Lest we forget the magesty that is cleveland