stayed up 'til 4am
packing
and wondering why the sleepytime tea bear can sleep
but i drink the tea and i scamper around a house full of boxes.
i'm pretty sure that midnight motorcycle rides are important in the maintenance of youth.
my hair is all tangles
and my nerves are all undone.
perfect.
i swear,
all i do is wander aimlessly for hours without even leaving my body.
go from this.
from here,
the sun wakes warm and golden
and sets your hair aflame.
from here,
a triangle of light on your thigh,
half covered.
from here,
summer can be over,
i have this morning.
(lots of new audio posted)
another day of waking to water,
of listening to beautiful music and stepping in puddles,
my socks swelling like a phonebook left in the rain.
i have fireplace anxiety.
(i can't wait to sit in front of it with a mug of coffee and a book)
stopped to smoke on a bridge,
my yellow umbrella hooked on a tree
and noticed how much i love the way raindrops cling
to leaves
and how much i love all of it, anyway.
saying old news to keep things neutral,
"for literary activities and the passage of life's evening." --Thomas Mann's permit to take refuge in Switzerland.
lying in bed while the rain drips
down.
feeling excitement
so intense
that my feet jump beneath the covers
to be in puddles in soppy sandals.
where did all this come from, why aren't you out in it,
the rain is cold, not like the coast, this isn't the coast.
you're in the mountains, child,
soon you will be scraping frost from windows
and cracking thin layers of ice like creme brulee.
"random" describes a limit of perception,
the paper birches undress,
the year is passing,
my eyes are twinkling for the weather.
now, dance.
i am signing the lease on the house that i so very much wanted. and i got to hang out around the creek with a friend today. (i have this song in my head on repeat)
bueno.
i have been singing
and creating new stained paper and varnish based pieces
to keep from crossing my fingers.
the humidity is wrapping its clammy fingers around my locks and fills the air with its sticky breath.
i'm feeling quite reclusive and content in my cocoon of art, herbs and music, and have been listening to a lot of cozy folky stuff. (but when am i not?) it feels so good.
i am moving, soon.
september calls.
man, i love Gillian Welch.
i hear her voice and i just want to go dance and sing at the top of my kentucky lungs.
but people are hippies if they dance in fields by themselves, says one.
what would be a better place to dance but among wildflowers--they're wild! they dance, too.
we move with the wind and we sleep by the sun.
or if i just want to space out, thinking, i go this way, out a window from the lungs of smokers, and hold their yellowed fingers.
but then we pull back.
and remember that i am an ever-moving being.
like life and fire and the way we live when we think no one is there.
and then there's always this.
