Friday, October 29, 2010

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

the little sparrow


There was the walk home. I know it so well I don't even have to look up. Leaves now, that wonderful crunch. The sunny side of the street. Edith Piaf. A glass of wine, stack of books. The stoop.
I remember that song about the music on Clinton St. all through the evening. And lost amongst the subway crowd I try to catch your eye. And then that sunny cottage kitchen where I taught myself how to cook, barefoot and so totally free. I remember bong rips and stacks of Lonestar cans. Smoking cigarettes on the steps, spying on that cute single dad with the toddler. Space heaters. The giant claw-foot bathtub. Stealing the neighbor's lavender. Some of these things are connected. Some songs carry me through life, like a raft. Or a life jacket.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

hail satan!

oh,

how I mourn nothing.

words on a screen
the idea of you
and me
in a city in the rain.

I think I told you
the last time I saw you
that I've always remembered your lips
with my eyes closed.


Sunday, October 24, 2010

in response


She said that I
was the stone and the moon
and that New York is not
a lonely place.

I braided my hair today
I walked around.
Every time
I feel like a feather
half an orange
or maybe a shadow.

Definitely a shadow.




Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Oh, Bali

she's not a girl who misses much

this apple has been abused

that fat bearded man who is always sitting outside of Junior's.

It's getting late
it's trash night
someone is collecting bottles
clank

clank
gin on the rocks
this is so lonely.

Medusa


I just want to have snakes for hair.

The Fury of Abandonment

Someone lives in a cave
eating his toes,
I know that much.
Someone little lives under a bush
pressing an empty Coca-Cola can against
his starving bloated stomach,
I know that much.
A monkey had his hands cut off
for a medical experiment
and his claws wept.
I know that much.

I know that it is all
a matter of hands.
Out of the mournful sweetness of touching
comes love
like breakfast.
Out of the many houses come the hands
before the abandonment of the city,
out of the bars and shops,
a thin file of ants.

I've been abandoned out here
under the dry stars
with no shoes, no belt
and I've called Rescue Inc. --
that old-fashioned hotline --
no voice.
Left to my own lips, touch them,
my own dumb eyes, touch them,
the progression of my parts, touch them,
my own nostrils, shoulders, breasts,
navel, stomach, mound, kneebone, ankle,
touch them.

It makes me laugh
to see a woman in this condition.
It makes me laugh for America and New York City
when your hands are cut off
and no one answers the phone.

-Anne Sexton

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

does it have a title? if it didn't would you name it?



Tonight I remember the sound of a newborn baby's cry.

I temporarily forgot how to spell the word SKY
trying to hide amongst people and diamonds, churchgoers and envelope stuffers.

What are these, my hands?





Monday, October 18, 2010

Life without avocados is probably not worth living.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Friday, October 15, 2010

a tender history

I didn't want to go out
but you can't ditch a friend on their 29th birthday

Driving over the bridge at night is still magical
champagne buzz
headphones
it makes me remember to love this place; maybe the train wasn't running for just that reason

late night half-drunken meal concoctions
tulsi tea for breakfast
warm laundry

Even after all these months I still sleep on "my" side of the bed
but I think I'm getting used to sleeping alone.

chew


If you're born a lion
don't bother trying to act tame

Everything I do
I do for the first time

Can I follow you home and listen to you think
leave my lip prints on your cups
leave my hairs in your sink

wake

and bake

then ride the train. why not?

Thursday, October 14, 2010

thoughts while sitting in a van

headdresses
leaf piles
kids laughing
blueberries
click-clack
the smell of sap
beasts
free food
adventures
lighting
sitting
girls in silly shoes
hot showers
clean kitchens
the smell of a man
bonfires
hand sanitizer
wooden spoons
lemon zest
dog walkers
cottages
patches of sunlight
joggers
real beer
fog
going for it
cream
head stands
bike rides
love
mint tea in my favorite cup
backpacking
my camera
pink nail polish
hugs
flannel
cacti
writing
being me
boats
weeping elms
bees
loyalty
blank slates
farms
sunglasses
cuddling
museums
soup
square ice
crunch
romance

I have a cold.

don't mess with

Melinda. Texans reunite!

Wednesday, October 13, 2010





Everything is beautiful but I can't help it.

live in the present moment. do it.

The greatest achievement is selflessness.

The greatest worth is self-mastery.

The greatest quality is seeking to serve others.

The greatest precept is continual awareness.

The greatest medicine is the emptiness of everything.

The greatest action is not conforming with the world's ways.

The greatest magic is transmuting the passions.

The greatest generosity is non-attachment.

The greatest goodness is a peaceful mind.

The greatest patience is humility.

The greatest effort is not concerned with results.

The greatest meditation is a mind that lets go.

-Atisha

Monday, October 11, 2010


She warned me once she warned me twice but I don't take no one's advice

can you hear me?

report abuse

if you see something, skate something

vodka

cat food and vomit

gyoza

cigarettes

numb guitar fingers

minor chords make me cry.

.





and





songs are like tattoos





You know I've been to sea before
Crown and anchor me
Or let me sail away

Hey Blue, there is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in
Well there're so many sinking now
You've got to keep thinking
You can make it through these waves


Blue,
here is a shell for you
Inside you'll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me




Friday, October 8, 2010

Thursday, October 7, 2010

T




sunbelt
greenbelt
I wish I was traveling.

I miss the desert
I miss the road
I miss glaring sunsets and
backseat pot smoking.

I want to sleep on the ground
bathe in a river

reconnect
forget.



Wednesday, October 6, 2010

good things

steamed broccoli with lemon and butter
my guitar
awesome mail from friends
babies
getting my records back
clean laundry
old letters
books
turquoise
Moonshiner
making lists
late night yoga
long hair
Studio One
being alone
hoodies
blank DVDs
pajama pants
autumn air
Brooklyn brown ale
apples
dirty hands
boots
soul
trust
metal
being reunited with my mixer, rolling pin, and immersion blender

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

maybe I'm better as a fantasy
without skinned knees
and hair that smells like chinatown karaoke bars


Anything

My heart cries for just one little line