the sound of old people sneezing

this is it for me, right here. 

metal, brick and wood

Forgive my absence, readers, for I've been living off of the internet radar for a bit. I've been crafting and decorating like crazy and soon enough I'll be posting pictures of my newest creations and getting an online store set up (fingers crossed). I've had a lot of emotional challenges with my work lately, and I'll be setting on a new path in that area of my life soon enough, as well.

Last night was Thanksgiving. I spent it as I would any other day off... except that terrible feeling of loneliness crept up on me eventually, being that my family celebrated the holiday in Vermont. This year I was thankful for love: my ability to give, receive, and recognize it. Sometimes it looms around you for months, years, without ever being detected.

My blood family may been away, but I still got to spend time with people I love: Jessica my closest friend, confidant, and the BEST roommate ever and James the best partner in crime I could've ever asked for. This year is coming to a close and a finally feel like I'm ready to start an adventure worth writing about.

Anyway, enough with the sap, I just wanted to say hello. I miss... this.

xx.

if you build it, they will come.

but if i print the postcards i make, will you buy them?

woolgathering

so i'll sleep,

until i have another nightmare

then i'll laugh, 

until i cry

i'll run away, 

until i get to nowhere

try to live, 

until i die.

.xx.

beak, brine and dirt

what a harbinger of good fortune 

you have come to be

opened my window,

and still, you've only sat upon my sill.

 there was only time for one demonstrative caress 

•

to cleanse the sore, she advised

to rinse, with warm water and salt

eyes gazing up at the ceiling

head thrown back, gargling,

i saw your face over mine

and i spit

•

playing in the front lawn

of this, i have no recollection

i was never a child

only a small woman 

waiting to get big. 

.xx.

I had a dream about being in a very brightly lit version, of a very dark bar I know in my neighborhood. I put my hand behind my back and a shady character I know in real life but a very large bag of cocaine into it and disappeared. I chased after him and gave it back. He came to me again, did the same thing, and said "It's on me." As I looked around the room I noticed every one looked so filthy, playing with these bags of white, crystalized, death. In the dream it actually sparkled. When I noticed my purse vanished, as the crowd emptied into this white hallway, I ran after the group to find a young black and white couple trying to dig through it on the low, I pulled the straps and sheepishly begged them to let go. I fell backwards tugging, my chest collapsed and I was in my bed again. 

How does one get anxiety attacks in their sleep?

crumpled sheets / mounded blankets

Clinging to the edges of the sink, Elisa stood, head hanging, eyes closed. After mustering up the strength to let go of the porcelain, she splashes water on her face. The few vague memories she has of last night aren't really clicking. Who the fuck is that in my bed? The thought alone should have conjured up feelings of panic- but Elisa just shlepped out of the bathroom, down the corridor, back to her room. She's no stranger to strangers.

"Hey," she whispered, to the indistinguishable figure. She walked towards the mound of blankets, and a little louder this time, says "Hey... Umm you're going to have to get going okay? I need to leave for work."

The body stirred and Elisa bent over to pick up the jeans on the floor beside the mattress. As the change emptied from the pockets onto the hardwood floors, the stranger sat up. Elisa turned away, partially because she wasn't expecting such a bold presentation of nudity, but mostly because she wasn't expecting to see a woman.

"Oh... hey," Carolina muttered, tussling her pixie cut as she walked towards Elisa. "Thanks for letting me crash here. I was really messed up when we left the party last night."

The jingling of her belt buckle was not helping Elisa concentrate. What party? At the beginning of the night she'd been at a bar in Midtown with her co-workers, drinking heavily because... well, she was at a bar in Midtown with her coworkers. After that there was a stop at Mullane's on 10th and now she was handing a woman her pants.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me. I don't quite remember your name..."
"Carolina. We met at Jake's place last night... Oh God. Were you really drunk last night? I wouldn't have come with you." The pace at which she dressed quickened and Elisa sat down.

"Uh, yeah, no it's fine. You're fine. I'm sorry. I just don't really remember any of this. Jake is a buddy of mine from college... I knew he was having something at his house last night but," she chuckled, "I don't quite recall actually going. Did we..?" The idea of it all was stinging her thoughts like ice water through her veins.

"NO. Not at all! You offered me a spot to crash because I was a train wreck. I'm not a lesbian or anything, just a lady in need."

Elisa breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't the first time she'd woken up with an unrecognizable face in her bed. The last occurrence had not gone nearly as smoothly; she almost wanted to invite Carolina out to lunch.  Ten minutes later when the door clicked, Elisa listened to Carolina's footsteps descend the stairs and arched her back with her arms pressed against the door. Her lower back and hamstrings were thankful, her pounding head and pulsating innards felt quite the contrary.

How long will I be like this? 


"I have to go work."



Creative Writing prompt: freewrite for three minutes on the cliche "ice water in her veins"

intentions to ease

"Birds are so free. They can be on land and up there." She's pointing to the sky with her cigarette and her eyes are barely focusing. This is not the first time I've seen her this way, and I know it won't be my last- but I recognize her point.

"That's why I keep feathers around me all the time; I envy their ability. I want to be that free." In that moment I was bound to the bar, my drunk friend sitting at it and the prospects of spending some time with the gentleman serving us.

Three of the six recessed lights of my room have shut themselves off and he asks if this is a normal thing. I explain that the prior tenant probably installed the lights from the original, singular light source- straining it's power source, causing this to happen. It's somewhere late in the night and he's watching me from my recliner. I pull my typewriter to my bed and begin to record a bit of our conversation onto a postcard. When I finish, I pin it to my wall. I can tell he's comfortable here and it almost feels like he's the first. I have no expectations; I feel really beautiful in front of him.  Actually, I've just felt really beautiful in general lately, which is probably how I landed myself in this moment at all.

.xx.