Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you. - Hafiz

Hear me out for a second
because I know it might sound crazy
but there's mice runnin a maze
on top of a cake made out of amazing.
And the icing's made of spices;
makes it taste just like daisies--
painted with purple paisleys,
first in circles then in wave-sies.

And there's either six jaguars with one giant eye each
or one giant flower with a lot of fuckin teeth
and I'm just starin at it hopin it doesn't eat me
but I write the story, so why would it eat me.. ?

this shit's crawlin on the ceiling tellin' me
gravity is for jerks
but I been growin' out my wings, see
and I know gravity still works

just trying to put my finger on the difference
between lsd and eucalyptus
koala bears text each other "let's trip this."
been listenin with my fox ears
tryina remember which one is the raven
it all glimmers a little bit different
since we started ravin'

I hate it when people say that love is a sickness
like if we just eat more zinc it'll fix this
and I hate it when people say it's a gift
as if you could pack this up and ship it for Christmas
but it floats around the sky -- it bonds with hydrogen.
and lets the roses live in your skin
that's not just melanin
keeps the world spinnin' and keeps it in key
makes my heart spin in circles 'round the strings on my sleeves

This shit is not an accident, okay? This is not a hoax.
And anyone who doesn't believe in magic has never been to these shows.
Because every single note that I hear somebody sing;
every single snare hit on every other beat, is
just another drop in an ocean where I'm drowning and
the closer I am to my last breath,
the closer I am to me.
So try and tell me there's no such thing as magic
or consider every wish you've ever made already granted.
Universe planted answers in your hands - you have to grab them.
And the tragedy is all of the nay-sayers on this planet
who will never know the way we do that the whole world is fucking enchanted.

i met a girl who will love you til the end.
she questions every spark in her head
because she's seen so many men on their death bed.
but, she'll love you til the end.
yeah, she'll love you to the end.

leaves grow green, heavy with envy.
an army of thousands falls onto the street.
pine trees rise, their needles sigh:
looks like it'll be a cold winter.

"Amidst the attention given to the sciences as how they can lead to the cure of all diseases and daily problems of mankind, I believe that the biggest breakthrough will be the realization that the arts, which are conventionally considered ‘useless,’ will be recognized as the whole reason why we ever try to live longer or live more prosperously." 

—John Maeda via The universe will fly like a bird

better learn to listen to your little heart beatin',
because you're never, never, ever, ever gonna see it.

if pens were knives and clouds were stones,
buried alive i'd bleed alone.
watch the sun rise, she overthrows;
now you can hide or you can roam.

curse this page, naked to the bone
how do I turn ink into gold?
time to make the story unfold:
same old voice, a new shadow.

if all the words were tea leaves
they'd be my skin - just have to steep:
so give my body to the sea,
float in an ocean made of tea.

Today I took out $40 during my transaction at the self-checkout lane at King Soopers; this cash was to represent the last spendable funds I am allowed before my next paycheck. Apparently I blatantly ignored the robo-bitch when she said "Don't forget to take your cash from the cash dispenser,"  then went over to sit at a table in the lounge area and read a book. When I left, I went to my car, checked the cash-ID-card section of my fanny pack and realized I was missing those two sparkling twenty dollar bills.

Somewhat panicked, I power-walked back inside, went to my checkout station; nothing there, of course. The woman at the station across from me seemed to have caught my vibe and asked if I needed anything, then I found a friendly man in a blue shirt and German accent. He immediately said "That was you then, eh? The $40?"  I was so immediately relieved; he let me know how luck I was and I told him how thankful I was, took my money, and went back to work.

Thanks, Universe, for not punishing me for a blatant act of stupidity today.

Consider creativity less like a trait, and more like an attitude.

If I had ten thousand extra hours, I would learn how to paint just so you could see how beautiful you are.

dead meowfive.

the fucking cat brought me a FUCKING dead mouse. on my bed. now I have to burn all of my blankets.

i lack the foresight for under-ripe avocados. here's to remembering them and having awesome tacos in two days.

so here i am. eternally stuck.
dancing on peanut butter.

People always ask, this is the best answer I can give.

Last fall, I started to write an essay about the Firebird on my leg.

I had a lot of words on the subject; too many, in fact - any instance of the question "So, what does [it] mean to you?" is sure to be met with an inundation from me. That's just how I work. I pour a significant amount of energy into finding and assigning meaning to the inconsequential, so when something actually is significant (in this case, a permanent piece of breathtaking art on the only right leg I will ever have), it probably represents years of careful consideration. So I am going to put it concisely, and you can assign meaning yourself, if you wish. Or, you can take it as a beautiful picture, which is no farther from the truth.


Legend says that a single feather from a Firebird glows with such brilliance that it alone can light up an entire castle.

I was raised by a grand piano - cover open -
      one day I chose to sing over it;
hovering hope that the horoscopes were right,
that I'm a bull inside, hidin from sight.

sand castle

This is a challenge:
to all of the talent that i've seen
who passed on a chance to starve for a second
      instead settled for the green
maybe you kept track of the fat cats when they said
how you ever gonna pay rent with paper and pens?
workin for plenty of people with money to burn
while i've been eatin every single penny that i ever earned
but i'm the kinda flower that turns water into words,
the sun into sound; I'm a songbird that burns.

it's a little bit bloody, the cold, crass truth
watch a window hopin' it would open up
and you could dash through.
Forget to mention ya have to crack the glass yourself,
might have to crash;
might have to ask for help.
midnight, hashin plans, sippin india pale,
build an empire out of sand
with a shovel and pale
ever tried to attach a sandcastle to a tree
with just a nail,
a wake of vultures smackin beaks behind your back
cacklin just how bad you're gonna fail?

sometimes your friends will shoot you
with word bullets made of ice.
gotta let them vanish inside you, trust me -
 the grudge ain't worth the price.
not one of us is solid sugar,
so I know the thought has crossed your mind
to be the kinda pirate that kills in the name of cinnamon spice.
monsters will doublecross you
and fool you once, so always look twice -
waltz around false rumors
they lie quick like slick mice

i like it when your eyes get bright
like we spent the night doin lines of cayenne pepper
prepare for flight, sight unseen, blind, we might just
crash this scene together, none better

a grand piano raised me - cover open -
      one day, i sung over it;
hovering hope that the horoscopes were right,
that I'm a bull inside, hidin from sight.

she never gave any reason.
except why not

You got one country song out of me, Nashville.

Tennessee tree-lined highway drivin,
tokin out of apples and splittin them bite by bite.
Spring spilled on me, bloomed through me;
catch him sippin on the apple juice in my eyes.
Wonder if I will float if I sit still
 sink down slow, hands and lips tied.
Butterfly kisses. Color change irises:
a chameleon reads my mind.

And if I'm gone tomorrow
please stay.
You've got a road to follow
I've got a storm to chase.

Can you see my feline eyes fryin?
peekin through the trees cuz the bees been buzzin in time
lost count of the days after i left
fingerless, catchin - no - still stealin my breath
skimmin through the pages in my mind
with blue grey green color change eyes
how'd i find a life that could read my mind,
and a mind that could change my life.

And if I'm gone tomorrow,
stay.
You have a road to pave.
I have a storm to make.

update.

Car broke down a little over a month ago. I am dirt poor. Like, haven't-bought-groceries-in-a-month poor. The cat still eats like a princess though, don't you worry.

Four days after my car broke down, my bike got stolen. Right in front of my house.

I am now front desk manager at a salon. Not really my kinda thing, but it pays well enough and now I get to add manager and marketing to my resume, which I suppose is useful although who the fuck really cares. I am borrowing a bike for transportation and riding ~33 miles every day.  Three hours of commute on top of my regular work day makes for a very long week, and very short nights.

That's right, digging myself out of financial debt by putting myself in extreme calorie deficit. But that's what I get. And these types of challenges are good for me. And my legs will be monstrous.

The end of my personal drought is in sight, albeit just a little farther off than I'd like it to be. So thankful for my wonderful support system, without whom I would surely be drowning. Or starving (but seriously).

When it comes down to it, life is good, and each day glows brighter with opportunities and possibilities. Writing lots of music with J.  I am feeling very encouraged by our efforts in the last few weeks. I truly believe in what we have to offer, so whoever is reading this - be excited. I know I/we've been saying that for a long time. But this is for real. Can't put it off any longer, and won't.

Hope your day is lovely.

I'm sorry I always burn the cookies,
and I'm sorry i spilled the beans.

Take this body --
in it is everything I am.
This is all I can give you.
This is all I really have.

I am home. I am not going to post anything too cumulative right now, just going to let you know how utterly ecstatic I am to be back in Colorado, with my own bedroom, where I can turn up my speakers and dance in my underwear.

I love how many strawberries I can buy for two dollars and I love how perfect they are.

I love that the birds are always out singing,  whether they can see the sun or not

Do you ever run right through a stop sign and feel like a complete douchebag?

Then, do you ever stop extra annoyingly long at the next stop sign, as if to prove to yourself (and that person behind you...) that you totally know how to follow simple instructions...? 

I know you do.

On the west end of Nashville in a cafe called Provence.

My drink, "Sherlock Holmes," and a quiche.




Best latte of my entire life, hands down, not to mention the prettiest. Whatever the dressing was on the mini-salad blew my mind, and the quiche had a fluffiness on par with the lovely summer cumulus clouds in the giant Colorado sky.

Mhm. Heaven right there.

leggo my prego

Sometimes I hate myself for not being on top of my shit. It happens way too often.   Today was going to be one of those days. Today was going to be one of those days where I texted my Love and said “Welcome to the second worst day of my life. I say second worst because tomorrow can only be worse.” Sometimes the fear of the unknown keeps me from trying to learn the truth – how does that make any sense? How is it that a one hundred percent time sensitive situation would scare me enough to keep me from putting on my Pull-Ups and saying to myself Alright, missy, time to get your shit together so you’re not pissing yourself in a minute.  

Now, I imagine I speak for the vast majority of my female peers when I mention that menstruation is at the back of my head most of the time. I am not saying it is looming, necessarily, or that I think about it all the time. I am just saying it is always there, because 1) it is not going away in the foreseeable future, and 2) it is a pain in the ass (and the back and the ovaries and the acne).   

Today marks week eleven in Tennessee for me. Last time I had my period? Oh, fuck if I know, but I definitely have not had one since I left Colorado.

I started typing this story just now and I started with “I got home last night,” then I had to stop myself. I’m homeless. Ha. Anyway, I was sitting in my car last night, listening to NPR, alternating between marveling over stories about Mexican piggy cookies and the Brazilian education system, and considering this rather uncomfortably long and undoubtedly questionable bout of female draught.

I’m just going to say this as simply as possible. There is no way I am pregnant.  I mean. Sure, it might somehow be possible. But there is no way. If you know me or my boo at all, you know that a baby just… isn’t on the checklist for the near future, and I am careful to take the necessary precautions to make sure that my cat is my only dependent. So needless to say if, somehow, I am pregnant, I will be nothing short of fucking pissed. This is why it took me so long to officially freak out – there is just no way. Still, that’s a very, very long time to skip menstruation. And so I drummed on my steering wheel, contemplated my options and gave myself a pep talk in order to purchase my first-ever pregnancy test during lunchtime at the CVS near my office today.  During my morning block at work, I endlessly chugged black coffee and water, hopelessly tried to distract myself with mundane spreadsheets and customer calls. But really, all I could think about was Ohgodohgodohgodohgod what if I’m pregnant ohgodohgodohgod. Then it was noon and I got the fuck outta here, which by the way is not unique to this situation - I tend to leap out as quickly as possible whenever I have the opportunity. Works sucks. We all know.

There is a Walgreens walking distance from the office. I know everyone who works there and could not muster up the courage to take myself through the checkout line and hand the younger-than-me cashier a prego-stick-in-a-box. So I drove to the CVS across the highway, to which I had never been. Turns out it is way nicer than the Walgreen’s, just so you know. I closed my eyes and picked a blue box. The man at the counter was friendly. So was I.

Do you ever have times when you are so nervous and anxious that you just do not even consider putting on the ol’ thinking cap?  Yeah, this was one of those times.  I drove back toward work, knowing that all I needed  was a bathroom. Scratch that, I needed an empty bathroom so that I could scream FUCK! and bawl my brains out appropriately when the blue plus sign turned up on the pee-stick.  I chose a grocery store nearby knowing I could not wait until after work, and I am homeless anyway so there was no way I was going to be in a comfortable or familiar place for this. I parked the car, frantically opened the box (pretty much all of the boxes come with two tests, fun fact), and threw one of the packages in my bag without bothering to even locate, let alone read, the instructions. I sprint-walked into the Food Lion and as I passed the beer reminded myself how much I would be drinking tonight regardless of the result – after all, I had already been drinking this whole time, anyway.

I opened the package and removed the pee-stick. Fuck, I’ve never used one of these before, never held one, never seen one in real life or up close, and fuck, after all of the liquids I nervously consumed all morning, I actually had to pee really fucking badly. This is what I knew from the quick glance I took at the box:

Step 1: pee on one side of the stick for five seconds,

Step 2: look at the little white oval in the middle.

Step 3: blue cross = you’re fucked  OR blue line = you’re free. this time.

And here is where I reveal to you that I am a complete idiot. I picked a side. Literally, in my hasty ignorance, I just picked a side of the stick and peed on it. Then a faint blue line began to appear, which, friendly reminder, means not pregnant. Now, my urine was pretty clear as well, so I figured the faintness of the blue line directly related to the faintness of my piss. I waited for what seemed like three-ish minutes (that was as much as I got off the back of the box…), tossed that beautiful un-blue-crossed, urine-soaked stick in the trash and skipped out of the grocery store texting my wife, trying to reserve my excitement for the fact that I could go hiking tomorrow rather than sit in an over-air-conditioned room at Planned Parenthood waiting for a stranger to poke around my lady-bits.

It is worth it to mention that amidst my utter and complete relief for not having a li’l fetus cake baking inside of me, I still find myself facing the problem that I haven’t bled in four months. And I can’t help but feel like if I would just fucking go into period-mode, I’d lose a good five pounds just in uterine mucous. I hope there are men reading this and I hope that makes them shudder.

So I drove back to my office. I knew I still had one more test in the box, and I knew I would do that one during my afternoon break just to be sure, so I threw it in my bag. Then, for shiggles, I opened the instructions and glanced through them. And then I did a little jump and actually read them. And then

Oh. God. DAMMIT.

You mean there’s a CAP?! On the other fucking end, no less, than where I peed before?! And what the FUCK was the blue line I witnessed, then?  

Fuck. Fuckfuck. fuckfuckfuckityfuckdamnshitBALLS.

It didn’t even count. At all. It didn’t fucking count.  I’m definitely pregnant. It was too good to be true. I sat at my desk for another hour chugging water, planning my escape to the women’s bathroom on the far side of the building so that when I began screaming/crying, it would at least be around colleagues I had never met and may never see again.

I could not take it anymore. I ran to the bathroom and shut the stall. Took the fucking cap off this goddamned time, and peed on the fucking applicatorthing, which by the way turns fucking pink when you’re fucking doing it right. And you know what? I don’t care if it’s gross, I put the cap back on the motherfucker so that I could carry the damned thing back and double and triple fucking check it. And I did double check it. And you know what?

Blue line. Not pregnant, hopefully for real this time.

Cool. I’m down with that. 

* * *

I had this sitting in my Blogger drafts overnight, wary of publishing just in case I had experienced false negative or faulty test or something. It is the next day now, and I am finishing this story the best way possible:

I got off of work yesterday evening and went to Starbucks for some Internet (and tea). Then, after some West End wandering I went to another corner drug store to get another brand of pregnancy test; this way I could do one then to be sure, and then one in the morning (when you're supposed to do them...).

I went to a friend's house for a shower, peed on the stick, nervously watched as I 'passed' again. And then, lo and behold! I started my period. RIght then. Seriously, body? Seriously?! 

I squealed with excitement. Then realized I had no tampons. Whatever. 

Now if only this awkward stress/preteen/hormonal acne would clear up, I'd give Life a high five. She is a hilarious bitch. And she knows how to keep me on my toes.

Some days, you have to hate your monstrous self.  But love yourself enough to commit to slaying that beast.

Have you ever looked at the stars and asked them -
is this gonna turn out right?
Well, pretend that their twinkle is a nod saying, yes,
then let your heart absorb their light.

Geocaching in Atlanta. 

Secret.

I want to tell you my secret, Mystique,

but you have to promise me you will not share it.

Because this secret is alive, it clings to your sleeves –

   every single day you wear it.

It sleeps under your pillow, you see; sometimes it follows you down the street,

     it slithers through your lungs every time you breathe,

       leaps out from your lips with every sigh of relief and

it keeps you walking, heaving, even when the hills are steep.

That doesn't sound much like a secret, you say,

if in fact it’s everywhere…

and I’ll tell you the whole world is made of secrets – they fly right by your ears,

    then through your hair.

So I know there are times when your minds are reeling

  under the piling files of time we’re stealing

     to keep your eyes peeled but your brains from peeling

        to keep your lips sealed that this is art we’re dealing.

I eavesdrop to watch your gears spin – trains and clocks smokin, tock-tickin,

inundate every wall you hit with waves that

 crash and glisten like champagne against a ship

   fresh-christened, I need a fix, but I want to listen.

How is it you make the air drip with harmony and rhythm?

I bear witness as it gets so thick can’t tell how far from me you’re sittin; 

  maybe the crowd is only a cloud – but behind them the sun has risen,

her rays reflect right through you with each note singing, once just written.

I want to drown in the ocean of your sound –

        it’s not enough to just bask in it.

I want to capture it in a locket, clasp it around my neck; wear a mask of it.

I wish I could bottle it up and flask it, sneak sips, get drunk off the taste of badassness;

gladly ask that your mallets and sticks be the nails that seal my casket.

I want to know what flows in the rivers down here

  that makes your blood so thick – always getting thicker;

want to know how it is I landed here and within minutes had brothers and sisters.

I want to know your secrets and

I want to see your teeth, Mystique.

I want to know what makes your eyes get bigger:

is your hunger for speed or is it for sugar,

    and where do you hide the trigger?

It’s as if each of you has a whip, used it to snatch the heart right out of my chest,

injected it with your essence, infected it with redefinition of that old word best...

then you festered, aggressively spread,

manifested in grins that cascade from within me; 

   waterfalls from my pen, words turned to eager plumes of smoke escaping chimneys.

You break onto that stage ablaze as if every day you wake pacing iron cages

   just waiting to bear your aching fangs and tear straight through their faces.

You stain the floor with their adoration

   as if you are the witch doctor – they, the patients.

You take the air and shape it into flames.

You make magic.

          And it is tangible, it is shameless.

You are addictive like nicotine, and you sell even better than sex;

If only you knew how I crave you, my sweet weekly cigarettes

in a patchwork world pieces seem stitched together with maybes, agains, and not-quite-yets.

Fighting for an idea that you cannot even see.

But it is there. You know it is.

It is enclosed within the beads that hang around each one 

of your beautiful necks.

Do you still want to hear my secret? 

  I think you may already know - 

      I am in love with you, Mystique.

And the best part is I am not alone.

All it does is rain here
and all I wanna do is dance
They ask me how long are you stayin?
and won't you give the place a chance?
Now, don't take me for complaining;
I swear I haven't stopped grinning.
But when they ask me where I come from,
I tell them, yes, I tell 'em,
I miss my mountains,
and I miss my man.

After a wonderful night of little sleep, I cuddled up in my blue fizzy blanket and went to a walk in the dewey chirpy morning. Walked along some train tracks, sang into the morning, took note of how the blossoms on the trees are like little pink kisses. Then I met this handsome little guy, and we followed each other. Then he followed me home.

Baking.

I did not bring any kitchenware with me, which has made my usual cooking and baking addiction an obstacle. I did have a Christmas brownie pan in my car, luckily (courtesy of my lovely wife). This trip is proving to be a long exercise in improvisation.

Box of yellow cake mix. 5 tablespoons melted butter. Two eggs. And anything your heart desires - I chose pulvarized Oreos and chocolate chips. 

Mad bangin', as my roommate might say.

Also, excuse my brevity. I am now publishing from my phone.

phoneme drops land in morpheme reservoirs.

I realize I made you a promise for more blog posts. Well, I obviously lied. I do not have an internet connection in the apartment, and have busy enough that a trip to the library or coffee shop has not been high on my list of priorities. The good news is I have been writing... a lot. As I told my roommate, it is nice to rekindle my relationship with ink and paper.

now and again

Once upon a time, there was a single point in the universe where all conceivable matter and energy enjoyed their short engagement. All conceivable matter and energy loved the view, of course. Said look at all this space and isn't it just lovely. I do not know how long they were happily married before the split happened; I do not know if it was a fight or boredom. What I can say is that in one instant, one bang, all of the atoms to ever exist decided it was time to see what else waited out there, to see what they could make of themselves, to find stories to tell. So they scurried over the universe for unknown eternity and not once have they looked back.

Sometimes I pretend that I can steal your breath for a second. I can see where it skips out over your lips, and the moment it jumps back into your spine. Tiny fragments from the dawn of time escape past my hungry lips and down to my thirsty lungs; they sprint through my veins, trying hard to keep up with acceleration of my heartbeat.

You and I, we are machines, taking the time between the greens in our eyes and turning it into the negative space between our lips. We are magicians, turning sighs into sweat and gazes into friction. We have overturned the rocks of old fear to find blooming, fervent frenzy. We are marvels, turning energy into fables.

Music City

Time to catch up. As you may or may not know, last week I decided to toss up everything I knew about my life in favor of a significant change. I decided to take a once in a lifetime opportunity to move to Nashville, TN to perform with Music City Mystique until the end of April. This move is not only a fantastic chance to gain some closure for my seemingly never-ending marching career, but also a chance to really put myself out in front of people in the music capitol of the western hemisphere.

So I packed a basket full of clothes, my half-sized keyboard, my laptop, and other essentials in my car and set out for Tennessee last Thursday afternoon. This was my first long drive on my own. I was apprehensive before leaving, not because I was necessarily afraid of what would happen once I got here, but because I was afraid of actually making it here. My '98 Ford Escort did not let me down though - she never has, and I am thankful for that.

Google Maps estimated about 17 hours of drive time. Of course, being alone, I decided to take my time. No  speeding allowed, and frequent breaks so as to stay aware and awake.

Somewhere in the middle of Kansas it hit me that for the first time in my entire life, I was completely, 100% alone. Other vehicles were few and far between, no houses, no people, infrequent departures from the highway. Just fields and fields of emptiness and a road that went straight for hours. I was completely alone, completely vulnerable to anything that could have happened. If I blew a tire, I literally would have been straight fucked - no phone, no spare (please don't tell my mom that), and of course (fuck Kansas) no phone reception. Somewhere a midst the knowledge of my own possible doom, the sun began to set and I could do nothing but smile. I sang in my car, bobbed my head to the playlist my boyfriend made me, and enjoyed every second of that ride.

And let me tell you, since you have made it this far: I stopped for coffee every once in awhile. And just when you thought that your last cup of highway-side coffee was the worst you have ever had in your life, I can promise you that the next will in fact be even worse. I shuddered my way through a lot of coffee and a lot of water - nothing better to keep you awake than caffeine and a full bladder.

After about nine hours, I stopped in Topeka, KS for a few hours of sleep. I don't remember the last time I have been in a Motel 6, but good god that was the sketchiest place I have ever been. I ran to and from my car, and woke up after only three hours thanks to the paper-thin walls and noisy circle of neighbors.

Left Topeka by about 7AM, anticipating about 10 hours of road time, not including time for stops. The day was uneventful; by about "lunch"time, I found myself driving through more urban parts of the country - St. Louis and all of the people and traffic included. This was not very fun; definitely prefer the rural views and lack of people.

Once all the people were gone though, the drive was gorgeous. I am so excited for spring in a humid part of the country. I was on highway 24 for several hours as I drove through Kentucky and Tennessee, until I came to hill that revealed the city of Nashville to me. I almost screamed with excitement.

I pulled into the parking lot of the school just in time for rehearsal to begin - completely sleep-deprived and hungry, petting the dashboard of my tired car and congratulating her on a safe arrival.

Rehearsal then lasted until Sunday. I could not begin give you an adequate summary of this show and this ensemble, but rest assured that I could not be more excited for the coming weeks. Seriously.

After a weekend of rehearsal I have finally settled down a little bit in Murfreesboro with gracious new friends and located the Panera Bread where I may be conducting a majority of my internet activity.  You can expect a lot of new material and music in the near future. I can feel the inspiration self-multiplying inside my brain, trying to burst.

Thank you for reading. I am sorry this was so long.

I think it's time for an adventure.

post-op kitty

She tried to be tricksy and get the cone off, then waddled over to me like this.

I was amused. She, clearly, was not.

meowmobile

i learned the names of four cats today
not a single human being
a red holed box filled with mews
held by a young voice who only squeaked chester.
he sat the box on the parking lot
so the mews in his box could talk to the mews in my box.
and if the mews became friends for a second
i have a feeling they did not introduce themselves
with the names we gave them.
I hope my cat has a sweet name in mewspeak.
     three guesses what it sounds like...

next to me, identical mother and daughter, one black and one Inky.
lots of cats have Boots, he said
yours does too he said
(I think they're more like socks
     boyfriend says they're gloves for boxing)
so much for this deal on fixing them, he said,
don't speed west on 6th at 7am.

And little sunset-colored

Zuni

 noun \ˈzü-nē\ : a street next to where I finished growing.
(no, she was not pink.)


ii.

i learned the names of four felines
this morning - and not a single human
grey january, cats in boxes each
one pleading for us to stroke them
i always wish the breaths we can see
would spell the words as we spoke them
whisping howls escape pointed teeth
then cloud before irises golden.

iii.

a woman's words, wanton outspoken:
the moon has been tipped over.
this is why the days are warm, 
and the water levels lower.
each pair of ears stitched to a head
 heard these words then tilted
so i caught them in my fist
and hid them.

a moment breaks in ice and space:
it can vanish, or be written.

william carlos williams

to my Wife:

you left your blueberries
in the fridge after a night of
cheap beer and awkward dancing.
now they're mine, bitch.

you can have the tupperware back,
i guess.

Insult to injury.

I respect that you have a magnificent brain, filled with chemicals and magic and processes that I will never understand; I love you for living alongside me, however distantly, struggling with game pieces and feeling largely powerless over them but using your uniquely human capability of reason to make your moves. And so the things I am about to say may sound harsh, but I feel they deserve to be said.

I go in and out of phases where I find myself wrapped around the absurdities floating around the collective brain of humanity. The only way I know to sort out my thoughts is to write them down. My words have earned many labels over the years, and there is no shortage of instances when I have been deemed insulting. If you have ever been insulted by my assertions, then it is time to understand why I am insulted by yours.

I find it insulting the sheer volume of art, literature, architecture, history, and life that has been utterly, gorily destroyed in the name of an arbitrary god. I find it insulting that these acts - inspired by texts that remain unchanged and non-acquiescent to the intellectual development of humanity - are quickly forgotten and written off by entire populations. I find it insulting that human culture is often more comfortable with sweeping pious atrocities under a proverbial rug than approaching them and asserting the need for growth; that when the same small handful of books is responsible for untold millions of mutilated psyches and stolen lives few are willing to admit there might be a problem. I am insulted on behalf of every woman whose child has died in a war wrought over somebody's viciously backwards picture of morality. I am insulted on behalf of every child whose parent has died fighting in wars that, in the eyes of the righteous mercenary, can only be resolved by purging of the heretics and wrong-believers.

I find it insulting that every major religious text was written almost entirely by men, and each one spells it out quite clearly that women do not have a place in society alongside their masculine counterparts; that males are the superior sex and will be treated as such. I find it insulting how many little boys and girls have grown up living a lie because who they love or do not love is enough for a life sentence in the bonds of hellfire. I am insulted how many adults (mostly women, of course) and children alike have been harassed and raped because society is uncomfortable teaching its citizens how to fulfill their natural sexual appetites with respect and love.

I find it insulting how much cultural, scientific, and artistic progress has been observably stunted by religious dogma.

I am insulted that there are millions and millions of people around the world who either refuse to acknowledge or have yet to realize that their core and essential beliefs are based on words that were written justifying alienation, abuse, rape, torture, and slaughter in order to control populations in fear of damnation.

I am insulted because so many people walk along down the street knowing that complete strangers and friends alike, including your and my own loved ones, deserve to suffer for all eternity.

And I am insulted because I am supposed to just shut up and be tolerant.

snuggleplz.

There I was, about to subject you poor souls to a feminist tirade sparked by an acquaintance completely ignorant yet assuredly outspoken on the subject of intimate partner violence, when my friend came over for a jam session. Thank goodness for music. 

Anyway, 

peanuts. not even once.

 I think I am developing a slight allergy to peanuts. Came to this conclusion after having noticed impressive growth in my stomach and asthmatic episodes after the ingestion of peanut butter.

This is sad, as I have ingested quite literally thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No exaggeration, thousands.

So do not underestimate when I tell you that right now, giving up peanut butter is harder for me than it was to give up meth.

Meat. I meant to say meat.

squashsalmonspeakerssweeet.

I have a bitchin' camera now, and should have taken pictures as proof, but you can trust me that I just made spaghetti squash "pasta" (with roasted yellow peppers, tomatoes, basil, and garlic) and salmon, and it was to die for. So everyone out there who is not dining beside me, you probably might as well just die.

Anyway, I spent all day yesterday organizing my bedroom. Here is my new desk setup. I inherited J's old monitors (they are not old at all, he just got bigger ones). Cadence thinks they sound excellent.

[Please, don't anyone die I'd feel pretty damn terrible.]

proof

I inhaled slowly and as my chest filled with new mountain air, a fluttering started in the center of my torso that ended ended at my hips, and in the other direction my ears. I exhaled and opened my eyes; the light welcomed itself back into my body, soaring to the back of my neck then straight down my spine.

Directly across from me I hoped the green irises were floating, begging for another sip. He took a small breath, one meant for spilling quiet roaring thoughts, the hot kind that have been cooking for a few weeks, said,

     "I want to tell you something, but I don't know if this is the time..." his eyes moved to my lips, pupils widened and waited for a response.

     "Well, if you want to keep it in there, that is okay, too. Though I cannot promise that I won't try and guess it on my own." 

"You think you can guess what I am thinking?"

"Not necessarily... I think I can try. But that's more likely a projection of my own thoughts."

"So then, you feel the same."

      My parents raised me to believe that interrupting is rude. So let me make a very important exception: it is often appropriate interrupt a smile with a kiss. 

That night I realized that our brains are selfish and playing us for shivers, and that the fairies darting inside our heads, playing with toy chemistry sets are doing a damned good job. 

Sometimes living is as easy as breathing in, and breathing out. This is how I am sure that love is oxygen.