dear friend of recognition

you know me too well
a slight movement tells you my story
shares with you my dreams
sings to you my every fear

you walk with knowledge of who i am
of what i want
of what i need

and when my sun feels the clouds
you hide behind the trees with me
joining me in my puddled water
breathing in my thickened air

you could walk in my shoes
and your step would be as mine.

i need to ...

start

NOW.

the wait is over.

and NOW is here.

good times.

the notion that emotions are contagious has never been so apparant to me. A small duration of the summer held a slumber for me. As it did for everyone around me. Im not sure who it started with, but it spread. And now with good cheer, we are all, as a group, in a good place again.

 

so raise your glass to the people around you that bring you to a higher place. You owe them at least that much.

 

note to self: smile + remember the yogurt.

 

FINALLY!!!

THE CHICKEN CO-OP WEBSITE!!!!
I will keep you all posted to our CBS two-seconds of fame!

not stealing...

... just borrowing an idea so i can build our living room pendant lamp.

http://www.voosfurniture.com/#/lighting/binder-light 

To the unforgotten

I felt a familiar connection to him, like a brother. Sure, I once had a crush on him, but that passed with endearment. He was so beautiful. Wickedly charming, and naturally warm.
"Thanks for coming" he'd tell me when I'd make the drive out to huntsville.
I knew the value of his thanks. That alone, made the sadness I felt leaving him there bearable.
I suppose there is a certain romanticising who he was. He didn't make it passed the age where his actions were unacceptable and lame. Young and rebellious and lost. He died that way.
I've always liked to think that he meant to die, in a drug induced euphoric state perhaps. That at that moment, he was at peace with himself.

Happy birthday Mario.
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

night terror

One of those things that I always seem to underestimate. Its illogical that I do, since I don't take my vivid and very lucid dreams for granted.
This time the man in black came at me. Gun in pocket and head down. Pushing me against the roll down store gate and pulls the trigger. It happens rather quickly and The fear is as real as the joy or passion I feel in better dreams. . I wake up in a cold sweat and the feeling that someone just used my stomach as a punching bag. And my naseau rises with the short breath and spins.
Toss
Run
Puke

Fucking dreams, sometimes they're just cruel.
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

sappy susy

bah.. the idea of going home has got me all upside down in emotions. i love nyc. but i love my family. my familia alanis. the pride i feel knowing i belong to such a loving family. such a happy family. my parents did something beautiful in raising us. all different, but all loving, all holding this unconditional love for the ones let into our lives.
im not bragging, but counting my blessings as i realize that i am dearly loved by so many and that i can love them all in return.

count to three

the point of decision can be a scary place.
not making one soon enough is scarier.

im petrified at the moment.

Yo! Short stuff!

Its something I've always enjoyed. Being small. My legs stil dangle off chairs, as they did off the blue plastic chairs in gradeschool. And the smell of my hair is more often smelled than my neck, that's the reason I sprtiz the top of my scalp with my favorite fragrances. My mom taught me that. then there's the knowledge that noone will take my harsh words seirously, but take my smiles ten fold.

Cheers to being small and being me.
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

Limbo

at the will of the seeker

its weighed by simple questions

standing in dark shadows

patiently it awaits my calm

 

pounce, scratch, bite

it begs for my confession

at tooth and nail

i crawl away

 

... knowing it will come again.

 

 

 

Voila! the boom box.

Finally had the time to minimally color edit the emages of the stereo credenza. i think its hot!!!

 

AND... it allows our office to jam out!

buck up

he asked me if i had a good cry over it
i dont cry about these things i responded
i repeated these words to myself as i wept
the beige pillow stained with eye make-up

i told myself again, like id told myself before
buck up and move the fuck on.

sometimes, i talk a big talk
but i forget how small i really am

love note

there's a love note that begs to be written, spoken and confessed. it lingers at the tip of my tongue and it dances at the weight of my feet. It comes and goes from hiding, but ceases to not exist. its a pesky thing, taunting me with its trips to nowhere land, that place of denial.

hmmm...

in looking and trying to hang old artwork (to inspire/remind myself that i may be slightly talented) i found one that had this scribbled behind it.

"Poor little people they run in shame
They play about the candle flame
and to my sweet satisfaction
they continue with their paltry action"

Now I'm not sure what this meant. I have an idea, because, well, its pretty shallow, but i was sixteen when i wrote it. I dont remember writing it. or thinking it up. i dont remember beig this person or even remembering using hte word paltry (must have synonymed it, when i thought simple words couldnt be as eloquent).

Above all, and simply, I like that I wrote it and that I still have it.
cheers to saving a few things here and there.