23 March 2017

Words from Our Dream Sponsors: Houzz, The Daydreamer's Escape from Doomsday

Thursday is For Dreaming of Good Plumbing
I am procrastinating. I am all revved up to do the work. But sometimes I get sidetracked into dream bathrooms and end up on the best place on the internet for decor dreamers who are unfortunately not do-ers of master remodels et al but have devoted hours of careful planning in my head and sharing on Pinterest and collaging into my little art journals.
On an upswing this early morning, and have been coming up with all kinds of brilliant ideas and plans and projects and stuff...organizing email, getting new extensions, software, and apps. Reorganizing furniture. Making systems for systems that already work.

My brain does have the information organized. That truly is what most of writing is. Gestation! Okay.
I am hyped up enough to share this lady's soothing and satisfying staring-into-meditative-space-moment-of-zen (whilst facing your monitor or talking client).
Time to stop typing and satisfy this stall tactic and get to the work.
I hope it fires your neurons and wakes up your brain and satisfied you on thid third day of Spring in the year of our tenuous lord, 2000andSeventeen.

Happy dreaming. xx

02 March 2017

I Still Believe in Lloyd Dobler





Of course, I probably turned away and broke the hearts of too many versions of him over the years. Pick the nice ones, even and especially when it's terrifying. Timing is everything.

21 February 2017

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised








08 February 2017

International Clash Day

"You have the right to free speech," they say.

"As long as you're not dumb enough to actually try it."

15 August 2016












MONDAY POEM DAY

like ray carver's daughter (reprise)

"you're grown-up, now, and lovely.
you're a beautiful drunk, daughter.
but you're a drunk."
-- raymond carver


when the world falls apart,
you settle like dirt
to the earth of your life.
what happens, dad,
when the world falls apart?

i drink like a fish, daddy,
and i know you were not
like yeats, you never wished
me plain. my eyes burn greenand dark, and nightly, i
pour myself into poisoned
waters, embracing snakes
wrapped round my waist
like a dress of sinuous death.
i don't want to wreck

this liver so tenderly built,
don't want to break
these bones cast
in the milk of love,
don't want to wring dry

the red river of blood
that has become my heart.
but i have, again, fallen apart.
my insides tear paper over and over
like a quiet rush of trees.

05 December 2015

Hello, When We Were Young. Adele.

{Adele | Hello}

"When we were young, and free...We'd forgotten how
it feels to have the world fall at our feet."

_____________________________

{Adele | When We Were Young}

"Let me photograph you in this light in case it is the last time/
That we might be just exactly as we were before
 we realized/We were so scared of getting old it made us restless."

"I'm so mad I'm getting old
It makes me reckless."



10 April 2015

The Man, Book Her Prize (Prelude)














The Cuffs Still Hold


The cuffs still hold.
Found a blister on my small
Wrist this morning,
Laughed.

So sentimental and predictable,
But unless you've felt the
Hard metal shackles so tight
Even the chain can't be seen;

Unless you've felt that honestly,
Your delicate wrist bones might
Break if the steel shining holds
Your body inert a minute more.

So no joke. You'd rather your
bones and hands broke, useless,
never mind the pain, because

Oh the shackles fall fast to the ground,
Your shoulders let your arms go slack,
Yes, this metaphor is atrocious, but
It wouldn't be, whether honest or not,
If you've felt the time do you in,
The cuffs a killing, cunning thing.

No. This wouldn't be a sophomore
Metaphor. For only the imprisoned,
literally mostly, know how that heart
Soars and whimpers, when, bones
Broken and shackles fallen--oh
Them feets don't fail me now--prefer
Them broken, useless hands, and them
Broken, useless wrists, prefer what
Once upon a time might have been
An unfathomable, please-kill-me torture,
And feel nothing but the unsteady
forward on weak wobbling calf legs.

After
the stonewall turns trees
And you ask one more time if you can leave,
So what's a meadow for? The unsteady calf
Released. Free. Only a prisoner knows how the
uncertain heart dives deep and flies high,
when your bird-like bones are broken everyone
and you run, free. Only the jailed really
Know what it's like to be free.

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Dear Republican Party

First in a series. Hopefully.

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