Sunday, January 30, 2011

All we really want is the truth.

"Yes, we were stupid for disrespecting the limits placed before us; for trying to go everywhere and know everything. Stupid, spoiled, and arrogant. But we were right, too. I was right. How could I do otherwise when the violence of the unsaid things became so great that it kept me awake at night?

All the meat of truth was hidden under a dry surface, and so we tore off the surface with a shout. We wanted to have everything revealed and made articulate, everything, even our greatest embarrassments and lusts."

~ Mary Gaitskill

An author I have yet to read but have discovered from another amazingly witty blog (life is is someone)

Saturday, January 29, 2011

It's just you and me kid.

Yeah, that's all I have for today.

Friday, January 21, 2011

cab ride

I don't want to scare anyone and tell them how I really feel
That's what I'm thinking right now
The cab driver with skin the same color as the leather seat I sit on
Speaks French that doesn't sound like French
I only know it is because I picked up on a phrase
Comment s'apelle he says, and I interrupt his conversation to ask if he just said what's your name
No, he says with a smile
And tells me he said what you doing, neglecting the are
For some reason, I can't give up on the idea that I'm right and he's wrong

I feel the smoothness of my leather jacket and the softness of my scarf
I wonder if my hair looks alright
Then remember that glimpse of beauty I saw
When I looked in the mirror in the hall next to the elevator
I remember that beauty and try to hold on to it

When I arrive, I feel my tongue stiffen
Words I want to say are difficult to pronounce
The band is playing so loud and I have to stand so close to my friends when I speak
I hate this because it is uncomfortable
Even though I brushed my teeth thoroughly before I left my apartment
I worry that my mouth smells of cavities and wish for a piece of gum
I only worry about this when I'm in situations like these
Close talking situations where the music is so loud
Loud and not even good
I don't think the singer has any presence
I am attracted to passion and he has little

More things happen after we leave the club
My friend and I decide on pizza
They serve us chunky, fat slices with grease so thick it drips
I am happier here
There is more space
The walls are made of mirrors and everyone looks at themselves while they speak and eat

On the cab ride home there is not much to report
The driver is nice enough to drop me at my car so that I can get a blanket to sleep under when I get inside
I had left it in my car because I brought it to my lover's house
My lover that uses sheets as blankets even in the bitter months

The feelings return
With the sound of my keys unlocking the door home
The ones I'm scared to tell
The ones that ask why I'm here
Is it normal to wonder?
I still compare my inner workings to those I deem as normal
Even though I don't know what normal is
None of us do
It is stupid to even use that word in that context

What's the point?

Broken everything everywhere
Broken people
All over the world
I feel that it's a sick place and it hurts

The other night when the feelings first began
It was before bed
I was listening to my lover breathe the sounds of sleep
And I, awake, began to think
It made me nervous to feel the weight of such questions

That's where the feelings ended
They stopped when confronted with that word
Almost immediately

And so I will repeat it again
Thinking of the warmth that love creates
How it puts what's broken back together again
I, now free, begin to sleep

you say it all by saying nothing at all.

I truly meant what I said in my last post - a.k.a the letter to my precious blog. I am more addicted than ever to the world of blogging and have been spending a lot of time checking out other pages. I've discovered blogs I've never seen and have added them to my "links" area. This took an inordinate amount of time because I am NOT web savvy and do not understand HTML language easily.

Anyway, I stumbled upon the below prints that concrete & honey listed on her blog. They're by an artist named Therese Sennerholt. (Notice that I'm adding links now to my posts! Yes, my friends, I have arrived).

These prints made me laugh and smile; they made me want to buy a couple for my bedroom as inspiration; they made me think about a couple people I'd love to buy these for. Wouldn't it be funny if for one day only, we weren't able to speak but were instead given posters to write on and a big, ink-filled Sharpie marker? Naturally, we wouldn't have time to write sentence after sentence to those we wanted to converse with. We'd have to keep it brief. These prints would really come in handy, wouldn't they?

For instance. Say this to the selfish a-hole who whispers sweet nothings to you but acts completely on the contrary:

The person who just, like, never changes:

How perfect!

I seem to be dealing with a tiny pinch of anger lately, I think. I don't do well with it. AKA:

Especially when I can't figure out why it's coming on so strong. Maybe I'm just scared of like, everything. Scared to shut doors, scared to feel happiness, scared to be successful, scared to face things I've been struggling with...and the list goes on. But I should remember:

These prints really say all I wanna say, without my soliloquy-esque style. Keeping it simple goes a long way sometimes. So does keeping my mouth shut. I am looking forward to spending time this weekend with those I only want to buy the nice prints for. I want to enjoy spending time with myself too, and letting my mind rest. I am not as awful as I sometimes let myself believe:

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The way we were.

My Dearest Blog,

I just want to say that after months of trying to figure it out, I have finally found a way dress you again in your original template. I tried being fashionable a few months back and I uploaded the *new* templates that Blogger offered and that was a mistake. None of the new looks did you justice! They just didn't fit. You've now been returned to the way you were when we first began our relationship and I'm more addicted to you than ever.

I'm sorry for putting you through that awkward stage. I know it was tough for you and I feel your pain. My awkward stage involved bucked-teeth and huge glasses but this is not about comparing our struggles. This is about you. In my defense, I was just trying to dress you up, make you look your best. But, you're beautiful just the way you are (were) - before I started messing with you and I know that now.

Please accept my apology.


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

aint that the truth.

"I know you will hate me for saying this but it still hurts. Because it never ends."

"It never ends because you never let go."

Thursday, January 13, 2011

just like honey baby, straight from the B

I always thought myself a Van Morrison fan, despite the fact that I knew only a few of his songs. I always felt I would enjoy any tune that included his ridiculously distinguishable voice.

When I began dating B, my love for Van was challenged. He mentioned that if he were to ever get married, he would want a Van Morrison song to play during his first dance with his wife. I exclaimed that I always thought Into the Mystic would be in the running as my first dance song! I assumed that was the song he was referring to and how fateful that would be! Wrong. He asked me if I knew any of Van's less popular music, to which I sheepishly replied, "no". Then he played me Madame George - a song I played on repeat for 2 months from the mix CD he allowed me to borrow that I still have.

If you read my blog at all, you know that I have quite an obsession for song lyrics and quotes. Naturally, the more I listened to Madame George, the more confused I was by B. This song was about a prostitute that all the men love, but cannot love. "Click, clacking of the high-heeled shoe," Van sings faintly, in describing Madame George's sound as she walks down Cyprus Avenue. "The loves to love, the loves to love, the loves to love, the loves, to love," he murmurs beautifully, after telling the story of a man who loves Madame George but must leave her. This was the song that B wanted played at his wedding!?!

When I spoke to B about the song, he responded with saying he had no idea what the song was about; he just loved the way it sounded. This explanation cast light on the first difference I noticed between B and I. It was unfathomable to me that you could love a song so dearly and not have any idea what the story behind the voice was. B was more interested in the sounds of the instruments, the way Van's voice changed. It didn't matter what he was saying. To each his own, I suppose.

When I discovered Pandora a few months ago, I was thrilled to be able to create my own Van Morrison radio station. I knew I would find new songs to love. And I was right. I found Tupelo Honey and instantly adored it. I couldn't wait to see B after work that day and let him know. He said he knew the song and we listened to it on on my phone. More than once. The second time was while we were driving with his teenage cousins to get ice cream at the beach while they played rap music with tons of lyrics that B was embarrassed to hear in front of them. They were loving it. I decided to cheer him up and create a more PG atmosphere by playing Tupelo Honey, to which B smiled, and the kids ignored. They started playing more Nicky Manage rap.

Today I was doing a bit of online browsing on a few fashion sites. I looked at a plethora of dresses, most of which I loved. I stumbled upon a dress called Tupelo Honey dress that I may not have given a second glance to if it hadn't been named after the song. It was a two-toned dress; the top was a sleeveless cream-colored blouse, a black ribbon lined the high-waist and a golden honey colored A-line skirt finished the look. I loved it because I imagined the woman that Van describes in the song wearing it. Then I imagined myself wearing it as my B looked adoringly at me with the song playing in the background. We were walking through fields in Ireland and he watched me as I skipped along the long grass. Oh, how the imagination can get me through the dullest of days.

So far, I'm correct. I do seem to adore any song that includes Van Morrison's ridiculously distinguishable voice. As well as adoring most of the music my B introduces me to. I've shared the video of Tupelo Honey that I played for B's cousins above. Maybe you'll like it more than they did. If not, go listen to Nicky Manage.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Unearthing these roots.

they grow in the most unexpected places.

I felt that I had cut you from me -
so much so that I didn't feel that you were ever there.

it felt to float like a leaf on a blustery day
allowing myself to be taken with the wind.

I was not, for quite some time.

is that it?
Has it rooted me once again to you?

As the year dropped a zero and added a one,
why did I reminisce?

I thought about our love.
It took us by surprise,
took us over,
then took us captive.

you say?

is more like it.
When I look at you,
I see me,
looking back at me.

it surfaces only
when I'm with you.

I wish I knew why.

they are still hanging on,
linking us,
aren't they?

Let's dig them up,
push away the dirt and earth,
look at them for what they are,
and move on.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

another quote i enjoy.

"Nothing quite has reality for me till I write it all down--revising and embellishing as I go. I'm always waiting for things to be over so I can get home and commit them to paper."

- Erica Jong

Just, like, hangin' out.

Have you ever been so excited while eating chocolate or candy that you begin slightly salivating at the mouth until a small drop of saliva drops out onto your desk?

No? Well, I have. Just a second ago.

This happened while I was paying it forward by actually reading other people's blogs and shoveling chocolate covered raisins down the hatch. Another productive day.

In other news, I want to follow up on my little creative writing short-story post from a few days back but I'm not in that type of mood. I'd describe that mood as flowy (which is not a real world, but you get the point) and dark and emotional. Today I'm hungry, have a headache and tired. I wouldn't be able to create anything substantial. I will say that B and I talked it out and I feel much better. And yes, he did reach out first.

Okay...I'm sitting here staring at my nails with specks of plum polish on them and fingers full of red cuts and scabs. I wonder if anyone I come in contact with during the day looks at me and sees my inner turmoil manifesting itself in the form of f*cked up fingers. I'm not going to analyze this thought any further so I'll go to my black, knee-high boots.

These boots were made for walkin' and that's just what they'll do, this Wednesday these boots are gonna walk to go find food. (This little rhyme only slightly works if you say it to the beat of the actual song).

Yeah, not sure why I'm even attempting to write today. Good bye.

Monday, January 3, 2011

When alone, do as the loners do.

Walking to my car, the chilling air tasted faintly of mint. The wind began rustling my cropped hair, jarring it from its perfectly messy style. Thank God for my new winter coat. As I parallel parked my car (perfectly, I might add) I wondered if I would see anyone as I entered. What would I tell them? Would they be able to see the heaviness that I felt all over me? I decided it didn't matter. I needed it.

After being led to my seat, I scanned the menu. "Do you still offer the chili?" I asked.

"Yes, the vegetarian? We do."

"Great, I'll have a bowl please. And a cup of hot chocolate."

As she walked away to place my order, I scanned the restaurant. Couples sat across from me. Old friends caught up over wine and appetizers. The rest of the tables were vacant, and I was in the corner, sitting at a table next to the window; a window that looked out on to Main Street.

Did I really need him? It felt okay - almost empowering - to fly around all day without feeling like it was time to check in with anyone. I returned some clothes he got me for Christmas and bought myself a rose colored vest instead. I took the dog for a walk on a path we'd both never been on and enjoyed the silence of our time together, enjoyed watching her adorable feet pad the hard pavement so delicately.

Why is it that life seemed so serious? I remember years passed, whenI laughed off situations after my then significant other had hurt me. "He doesn't know who he's messing with," I would say to myself, and then vow to find a back-up plan in case my beau continued to disappoint my expectations. But I can't live that way anymore. I don't take commitment lightly. I actually care enough to treat my significant other like a gift I've been given. And when the gift doesn't want to give himself to me at the most inopportune times, well...

Well, then I'm left to fend for myself.

The hot chocolate arrives and I dive into the whipped cream, knowing that I probably have a white mustache along my upper lip. I drink the hot cocoa, knowing it will burn my tongue, jolting me, but making me feel more alive.

Finally, she serves me my chili and I realize I ordered a bowl instead of a cup and thinking of him as I eat only a quarter of what I was given. If he was here, he'd either eat it all for me or ask that we bring it home; not because he's hungry, but because he hates to see food go to waste. He feels bad for it. But he left me without finishing our conversation, and he didn't ask to take me home. He didn't feel bad for me.

I pay my bill and leave abruptly, wondering if we'll speak tonight.

I do know one thing - I will not give in first.