Friday, December 30, 2011

7,000 wednesdays

that word looks
as unfamiliar as

mad libs
make for great


Friday, December 23, 2011

one minute left til tomorrow

sometimes, when i feel like everything in the world is smashing to the ground, i don't know which way i can climb down, and that my brain feels like it's trying to claw its way out of my skull...

i talk to some of my friends and realize that everyone is bat-shit fucking crazy. and it makes me feel like i'm actually pretty okay.

merry christmas.


Thursday, December 22, 2011


the new year is once again upon me.

they are going by faster and faster, things don't ever seem to stop moving around me, i myself have seen how much i have moved over the course of the last ten years...

and i still want more. i see all of these beautiful things in the future... i see a new career focus and a new lease on life and love... i see my metabolism slowing down and my crows feet gaining momentum against the corners of my eyes.

i have seen love come and go, i have witnessed an entire career slide out from underneath my feet and replace itself all taped up back in my palms, i have experienced friends and the loss of friendship in the same...

another fucking year. still smiling, still standing, still swollen with hope. 2011 got me out of the rut of 2010. 2012 will be what catapults me into a whole new world.

merry christmas to you and yours, who, or what, ever they might be.


Monday, December 19, 2011


and while it was tiring, i absolutely loved every minute of it. every dirty, offensive, un-PC second that it had to offer.

now it's time for sleep, and work.

yay. :)


Sunday, December 11, 2011

a carrot for the horse

that was my problem.

i saw potential.

one day... you're so much more... it will come...

hm. that's the issue with potential. it's not a real thing. it's like an "i'm sorry"... until something is proven it remains that single statement. potential means nothing the same way that saying "i'm sorry" over and over remains redundant.

you are what you are until you decide not to be it. so seeing "potential" is about as valuable as seeing a hundred dollar bill on the other side of bulletproof glass. the goal is so close you can almost touch it, see the little red grains floating on that minted green paper... but you are still a broke sap wishing you had that bill in your pocket instead of dangling in front of your face.

oh, well. i guess that's how we learn what we don't want, isn't it now. recognizing the difference betwixt potential and drive. ones a pipe dream, the other, a highway.


Monday, December 5, 2011


"The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses -- behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights."

this just made my day SO much more beautiful.

thank you, to whoever said this.


without a 5 year difference

congrats... she's really a beaut. let's hope the tragic downfall of your character will not supersede your ability to keep her for longer than a month.

i could say i'm bitter about what happened betwixt us, i could also remark on how i feel like it's all your fault and you never did enough and you cheated on me and lied to me and made me feel like i was the ugliest girl in the room cause how could you ever treat me that way when i had so many other offers i turned down on a daily basis and i could express that you never worked hard enough to get a job or keep one or buy me anything that was over the 5$ value meal price at wendy's...

but i was a drunk, and you were a kid, and now you found a pretty girl who's not one of my friends or ex-students to love and really, i'm happy you have. i hope you will take your mistakes and mine and run with that knowledge, so that you can have a relationship with someone that's not totally destructive and temporary. we were never meant to be, nor were you with the girls that you chose before, and i could tell always that there was something under the surface you held for this girl, so... go.


just don't fuck it up.


Thursday, December 1, 2011

that's not how your fucking name is spelled and you fucking know it.

one of the things that bothers me most about humans is the sense of entitlement they can achieve if they think about themselves too much.

you are not the best dancer of the group. you have missed my rehearsals in the past because you just didn't give a shit. and you do not know the intensity of my schedule, so you can shut the fuck up right goddamn now.

it's a shame you will never read this, because i just don't have the energy to let you know that your schedule and your life is no more important than mine, dear. i hope someone else will clue you in, because i simply could give two shits about you.


Monday, November 28, 2011

turkey totalis

i had to say goodbye to my grandfather, for the last time, on friday.

it's so strange, to walk in to a place knowing it's the last time you are going to see someone. knowing they're not going to last the three week span until you come home again for christmas, the most times you've been back in a couple years to your hometown, much less a couple weeks.

i prepared myself for the worst, for the "walking skeleton" and "brittle-boned" man that my parents said couldn't even turn a door handle to get out of his bedroom...

it wasn't like that, because he couldn't get out of bed that day. he was too weak from the meds, to fucked up from the morphine patches he's started wearing because of the pain in his esophagus. so he just laid there on his back, head propped up on his hand backed by about four pillows (how very rubinesque, i guess), his wolf-blue eyes sliding in and out of our conversation. anything more that two sentences was too much for him to pay attention to, anything more than two words was too painful for him to say.

and that was that. i tried to make him laugh, telling him he didn't have enough pill bottles surrounding him, because making people laugh is the only thing i find i can do in situations like this, like death... it's like my brain just shuts down and the sarcasm sets in. but at least, he smiled. i had written him a letter, so i gave it to him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him i would see him when i came back for christmas.

we both knew it was a lie. but i think that's what he wanted.

i went outside and sat on his back lawn, overlooking a lake. well... not so much a lake as how it is described in the real estate booklet about the senior citizen development they live in rockwood, florida, more so a retention pond that overlooks the highway in the distance, but. whatever, they're old. they can't see that far anyway. i thought maybe it would be nice to buy him a cigar or tobacco for his pipe, sneak him away, and let him have one more smoke before he goes.

what must that be like? wanting one final puff of a pipe when you know it will be your last? hell. the man hasn't eaten solid food in months, maybe he would just like some of the turkey his family was able to enjoy without him the day prior... how could i be so delighted with thanksgiving repast when he was lying there, beginning the morphine "dreams of death", as they so lovingly call it...

it just seems so selfish to live when he's dying like this. and even though i know that's what he wants and it's the circle of life and all that other bullshit hallmark-card feel good quotations -

this life is so fleeting. even when someone dies a chronic death like his, someone who dies for years and years before they actually get put into the ground... it reminds us that this life, will in fact, soon be over. sooner than we think, and harder than we may feel it will be.

my thanksgiving was of celebrating my life, no matter which way i twist it. the goodbyes were just the evidence of that.


Saturday, November 19, 2011


things look so pretty
at 5 am, dripping
in lost pearls of wisdom
and waxing poetic...
the clear things like
"i miss you" and
"i wish we still talked"
are all the more clear
but still i know
better. 5 am
is 5 am everywhere, no
matter what time it is.


Monday, October 31, 2011

the cuff

ugh your genius bores me
i thought
may be the ghosts behind your bones
but it turns out
that livid feeling
is the bones behind your ghost
you talk pretty things,
that people sew into corsets
and other fancy
and glamorous things
that people want;
but i saw the sad in your eyes
and i know the
pedestal all too well...
it's lonely.
step down and swallow
before you turn into
something somebody forgets.


Friday, October 28, 2011


i'm too cliche to write, today.

everything i've typed and erased is forced. my head is swimming with too much to figure out what advice i need to give myself, so i'm just not going to give any.

the show will get finished.
i'll make it to work on time.
my grandfather will die.
i will go home for thanksgiving, too.
christmas will come and i'll get that sad cold in my bones.
i'll stilt for a parade or two.
next year will be here tomorrow.
and so on.
and so on.

no advice. just stick to the schedule and life will happen as it should, i guess.


Wednesday, October 26, 2011

queen of hearts


but i have to, so i will.

but, universe, know this:


that is all.


Friday, October 21, 2011


give me things i can't see; give me the words in between the lines. give me this, give me that, give me the dashed sentences in between "see jane run"... i don't have a good frame to work on, it's clumsy and it's frail, i would think it's more of a whisper or a web, than let it be a frame. after all this time and after all this life you would think that i would know...

eh. i don't.

my frame has grown weak with winds, and words just fester, swell.


Wednesday, October 19, 2011

danny boy

i went to get a drink last night at a bar down the road from my apartment, just to sit quietly and let the long day of work and a stilt gig melt away...

no such luck.

as soon as i sat down, i got accosted by a drunk, foul mouthed dude in a dirty black polo shirt. he was rude and obnoxious, slurring to the bartender if they had any beer that was "kind of like blue moon, like you know, the one that's served with an orange?"

upon coming back from the bartender's suggestion that he look at the list on the wall behind the bar, and as said bartender was so graciously bestowing my whiskey-wine punch, he said to me, "well, i'm not going to buy you a drink, anyway, you never even told me your name. it's not being cheap, it's being fru- fru- frugal...", in between hiccuping what appeared to be beer bubbles that were just foul. just fucking awful.

it took seven minutes of him trying to have a conversation with me before i excused myself to go have a cigarette. seven minutes of inane gin-babble about how he quit his job and how he had been drinking all day and about how the neighborhood is nice but it's filled with too many "guineas" (which, i didn't know this but, it's okay for him to say because he's irish and the irish are allowed to say slurs like that to the italians cause they're enemies and everyone knows that)...

i had half a mind to kill myself while i was outside so i wouldn't have to walk back in from the silence of a cigarette break and hear his stupid, sloshy voice again.

i don't understand why people just can't leave me alone when i sit by myself at a bar. i have no desire to talk to you... and just cause i'm alone doesn't mean i have no friends... it means i probably just don't want to be around anyone at all, in general. otherwise, i would probably be around someone and not sitting by myself at a fucking bar.

it's not flattering to think that out of anyone at that bar that drunk, googly-eyed little irish man could have chosen to talk to, he looked at me and said, "now there's someone who i will have things in common with."

gross. i can't bring me anywhere. it leads to nothing i want. all the time.


Monday, October 17, 2011

cold war

"now hang me up to dry
you wrung me out
too too too many times
now hang me up to dry
I'm pearly like the whites
the whites of your eyes"

bone on bone
sounds like paint 
chipping off the side
of a house.
if i could wring
the you
out of me, we'd
be all set, then.


Thursday, October 13, 2011

the great lawn

ah, the damp underbelly
of fall, yellow leaves
sighing their way to the
concrete, somewhere
deep in central park.
three falls round
and i'm still here, still
beating, in this
tiny apartment slash town
and, from what i can tell
it's impossible just
to slow down, just
for a minute or two.
the sunsets and
walks and
smiles and
lovers and
dancing and
whiskey and
painting and
waiting have all been
the cold
under my feet, these
three falls round,
one foot in front
of the other, in front
of the other.
central park awaits my re-entry,
as i bait
the carrot in front of
my horse, to lure me back,
to say good-bye.
the first fall round
was too hard
on my bones.
but by
the last, i
think my
walk in the park
will be much lighter
than the first, saturated
concrete and all.


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

what's en VOGUE? fluff.

i made the mistake of buying a VOGUE magazine before getting on the train after work yesterday evening. after thumbing through about 150 pages of ads, i came to the first article. seriously. i paid four dollars to look at pictures of models that are thinner, prettier, and more fashionable than i will ever be. i was searching in my bag for zoloft before i ever even got to the editorials.

when did magazines become such an inherent vehicle for advertisements? i mean, i know the lifeblood of the magazine comes from the investors of these companies selling their products, but, c'mon.

estee lauder.
louis vuitton.
estee lauder.
banana republic.
dolce & gabbana.
bottega veneta.
dolce & gabbana.
david yurman.
guess by marciano.
marc jacobs.
miu miu.
donna karan.
st. john.
ralph lauren.
ralph lauren.
ralph lauren.
bally switzerland.
tiffany & co.
7 for all mankind.
hugo boss.
hugo boss.
jones new york.
laura mercier.
bottega veneta.
dooney & bourke.

this is all before i ever reach something that has anything to do with the editorial recaps of what the magazine will be revealing to us. this is page 86 of the magazine.

when did things become so engrossed in fluff? these advertisements, they're really not even advertising anything at all. most of the pictures are taken of, like, a shoe heel next to a made-up eye of a model. has nothing to do with anything. you can't see the full shoe, or the full make-up of the model. it is an ad run for thousands of dollars in a magazine that is known all around the globe advertising nothing having to do with the product they're aiming to advertise.

is it art? oh, it must be art. it is a fully abstract photo kind of advertising something that has kind of something to do with fall. it kind of makes me never want to wear the partial shoe in question. not that i would ever be able to justify spending 1800$ on a pair of heels, ever. if i ever became wealthy enough to consider that option, i should probably just be adopting children like angelina jolie. at least it may save some shreds of my withering soul.

but it's everywhere, this fluff. it's sadly what art has to do in order to survive - get fucked. that magazine wouldn't survive without the hundreds of ads pumping hundreds of thousands of dollars into VOGUE. and what's ironic about this specific fashion magazine, one of the oldest and most stapled of the many that are out there, is that so much of the content is geared towards people invested in the arts. yet no artist i know, of the underground performers, the people who start these trends because of their freedom in themselves and of the corporate ties that would shackle them into dress suits and ties... none of these artists could ever afford any of these designer prices.

mainstream media doesn't help, neither does the american obsession with celebrity. what used to be an inaccessible lifestyle is now offered to the millions of americans who want to be included, albeit the fact that exclusion is necessary for a product to be wanted. and yet there it is - splashed on the pages of VOGUE, the clean lines of a miu miu heel, retail price, 850$.

that's my rent. to buy one pair of the shoes that are supposedly going to make me fashion forward in the fall is the amount is costs to LIVE IN MY APARTMENT. insane.

maybe i'm jealous that these people make enough money to buy these really beautiful things that i could only dream about. but maybe i'm pissed that the work that myself and all my friends do inspires the designers of these beautiful things is being used as a vein for their pockets.

for now, all i can do is read the two hundred pages of fluff and scoff when i uncover a single column article on the "new wave wing's of desire", feathered earrings and extensions a woman in california now makes for her jewelry line for appx. 300$.

i bought an even cooler one on the streets of brooklyn from a real-live street artist for 10, and i can also make them for myself for about that much as well. that designer is making a killing on chicken feathers. and she should be ashamed.

but it's art, so it's okay, right?


Monday, October 3, 2011

found time to shine (finally)

there was too much
in the corners. the scent
of cat dander and
dead skin cells resting
on chipped paint and bruised
paneling was too
much, too
present. hours of
hands and knees and
scrubbing and (please
don't think this is
about my floors, now)
withered hands, pruned
by pine-sol-water, and
no more dust. no
silvery strands of spider-spindle
or finger-printed walls.
erased the traces
and opened spaces, i
guess picasso would even
be proud.
fall is here, again,
and my mind feels so
it squeaks.


Thursday, September 29, 2011


fall is here.

i, for the first time since i moved from atlanta, have made a life-altering decision. i'm breaking up with ballet.

not everything about it, i still want to take class and love the art and above all i want to teach and own my own studio... but i can finally say after years of being bound to it, i am not a ballet dancer. i'm not - i haven't been for a million months. i walk around in a shell of what i used to be, and every time i say it out loud, i believe it less.

i want to teach.
i want to be married, i want to have kids, i want to do all of these things in a town that will allow me to do so without bringing my cat-claws to the table. because i'm tired; i'm tired of this lifestyle.

i don't want to keep living with my head barely above this new york water. i love this city, i do. but at what cost? does everyone who's an artist and not willing to brand their name to their ass struggle this much? are we supposed to love the struggle because the fleeting moments of beauty are too precious to ignore the fact that we can't afford to have things in our refrigerators besides soy sauce and a jar of pickles that your ex gave to you as some sort of compliancy gift?

i talked to my manager last night after we closed, just the two of us and a rat scrambling around on the floor of my restaurant. over wine, he asked me, "what is going on with you?"

to which i could only say, "i'm done."

i'm done. i'm done with men who think it's okay to slide by doing only the things necessary to retain a garden that grows one vegetable. i'm done with wanting to be prima assoluta... i have my memories and pictures from when i was young, vibrant, and at the top of my game. i'm done with needing to be this maintstream, famous person.

i just don't care anymore.

i want to have my own studio and give my love for movement to others... i want to study gyrotoniks and become a trainer... i want to have children and live in their moments and grow old with someone who can teach me how to be a better person all the time...

i'm lucky to have found the things i have in the past couple months. i feel like i have found my heart, which is quite possibly the most elusive things that i have been searching for, for years.


Tuesday, September 27, 2011

oella avenue

a thought occurred to me,
which was,
"maybe i should write you a poem"
and then when
(as i'm doing it)
it happened
i realized, "oh,
wait, i write you one
every day"
with my skin, no
matter how often you
get to feel it
and no matter how
many hiccups i have
it still all means the same:
me, and
it's a painting, a


Sunday, September 11, 2011

the 11th sucks forever, thanks

to everyone affected by the attacks a decade ago (oh my shit, it has been that long, hasn't it), i can only say i'm so sorry for your loss. i was in college, in tallahassee, forever away from the devastation and destruction it caused this city i have grown to love so much.

i saw a movie a friend was in, about walking the city at night. the videography was stunning; the city was a character in the movie, millions of lit eyes staring out over the rivers and streets and it's inhabitants inside it's walls. it's lonely sighs as the night wore on, forever locked in the mystery of romance and intrigue of possibility for it's people.

this city is it's own person. it has provided the idea that things are possible since the dawn of it's first buildings and watched the years progress in it's rocking chair, watching over us like a cotton-soft grandmother drinking mint juleps and reminiscing of her past. i feel safe in this city, and i refuse to allow the disgusting decisions of a group of heartless religious sheep reshape that.

those people that tried to break new york and america by their cowardly actions of kidnapping innocent people on their way to family, business meetings, or vacation will forever get what is coming to them, in this life and after. one day, they will feel the towers coming down on them and the fear as their flesh burns and what it feels like to asphyxiate in poisonous gas. you will die a thousand awful deaths with those people's stolen lives over your heart, if indeed you have one, and if indeed other americans haven't found you yet.

retribution will happen.

but in the meantime, i lend out my heart to the people who have lived on in the wake, to the people who died trying to save the victims, and to the victiims themselves. i love all of you and i hope in some way, this may bring some comfort.


Wednesday, September 7, 2011

a very very private person

if you don't like it
don't read it


Monday, September 5, 2011


well, now i just don't
want to write today, these
words that
exist whether i write, or
it's gloomy out, (but
it's a holiday! oh, boo)
and my temporary hideaway
has seem to worn
as certain types of softened
skin. now,
i will do those things,
hold my tongue and
unfurrow my fingers from
one another. because after
all, a gloomy day should
have a little bit of writing,
wouldn't you say?
so paper it is! to
pack away, to blur the
ink, to muddle it's voice.
i guess the words, they
get written somehow,
either way.

(happy. gloomy. holiday.)


Saturday, September 3, 2011

it's gradual, i'll get there

what's hard? thank you's are hard when you are biting your tongue but i'll try to mouth it out anyway... it's hard thinking you are too dumb to stand up for yourself, as beautiful as you are. and just thinking that, as i'm talking to you, because i think you're more, so much more than what you have presented to me as the school project. it's hard watching what you do to me when i passed you the other night on the street, i was in a cab and you were rolling a cigarette and time stopped and i couldn't believe my eyes even though my throat felt it; my throat knew what was up. it's hard knowing that you're living a simple southern life that allows you to be lazy and quote-unquote "successful" in you're own right; it's like that family guy when stewie says "the george lopez show only perpetuates that george lopez is funny" that's what i feel about you. your bullshit lies and blue-green eyes don't sweep the stupidity you've offered under the rug. and another thing. who tells someone that you're moving to the acrtic to basically show up on your doorstep uninvited, and all because you were "selling your truck" which i don't believe for a second because i don't believe any of the candy sweets that fall from your lips anymore, no matter how beautifully you try to adorn them. you with your nervous twinges and "secret" hinges, with the hands you so GRACEFULLY let down that day on the couch. you who came into my house and slept in my bed and listened to me love you for hours but when it came down to it, he was just too something to let go. i guess that makes me too easy to let go, too soft to hear, just all the bad "too"s that you could think of, that's what i am, i guess. you are selfish and your words were drenched in honey, the sweet NOTHINGS you let through to the other side of those swinging doors in italy. you taught me about leather, about what happens to it when it's not bound properly; the belt broke. so take that metaphor cause it is the best one i can compare to you and me. hmph. the other side of what? i'm saying as i look into my past through words inked on loose papers bound on a string (irony - that's how i feel about you and me too). the papers have started becoming unbound. so has my patience with you and with me for loving you so hard. you are a beautiful woman, but you're too weak to move (and i mean move not move, and you know what i mean). you're a talented man with no meaning; the one that made me cry, like for real cry, sobbing and heaving, ribs cracking. you have a mountain instead of a molehill and you're really not all that great but the bedroom walls loved us, the way i thought you loved me. you sing me whiskey poems and lure me to bed with perfume i can't somehow resist. you're a girl that refuses history, and puts cd's on repeat, even though the song is just awful. it's hard to see the things that make me sad for life so i'll show them to you so you can keep me company with what i think about when i think of you. and these, how i love to counterbalance and why you have made me feel what i do when i think about the things that make me sad... these, the ones what open me - walking in amber, drenched in dusk, staring into eachother with smiles brighter than colgate could ever imagine. how good the wine tasted when we were both in on the secret, how the rest of it stopped mattering the way it does now for some reason. "this is my first time doing this, i hope you don't... um..." i said to you, into winter snow, warm with candles and youth and lust. "this is my first time doing this, i hope you don't... um..." you said to me, mouth muffled in coves of sheets and humidity. his sickness wouldn't have been as easy without you, and i should say thanks at some point i guess, cause your misery kept me company. the snowstorm was magical, holding hands and finding our way between warehouses, trudging through and through. i love you. but i'm bruised, and you should know, cause i deserve you to. i'm sure my list is longer but i can assure you i have tried to bite my tongue and turn my head and hold my hands together when i talk and avoid your eyes or the thought of you near me or inside me and i promise that i will continue to do so cause when it comes down to it, you have inspired me and i have to thank you so i am even though it may seem like i'm not. but i am. thank you. ~k.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


i didn't ever even look at what ink saturated your skin.

now, upon closer inspection,

it seems you were a


to your art.




i feel like i've

seen you a thousand times

since way



ink is such a temporary relief

to the reality of skin.


Monday, August 29, 2011

well, you were the one who signed the deed

i lived in florida for the first seventeen years of my life. born in nineteen-eighty-something, i have experienced incredibly disgusting weather. during the summers, it has gotten up to 115 degrees in 100% still-dripping wet- humidity. it feels for most of the year that you are renting gum space in a gingivitis-infested mouth. then we get about three weeks of decent fall weather, a week at a frosty 54 degrees for our winter season, and then BAM summer is here again.

spring doesn't exist in florida. it has been phased out completely because really, it just got in the way and always copied fall. that bitch was ousted.

so anyway, because our prominent season, summer, ruled the place, he decided like the dick that he is that when he had to give way to fall, he would make sure that transition was something fall had to earn rather than just be handed to (he was technically the one who voted out spring due to the fact that she had grown tired of their relationship and was beginning to crush on fall, and summer got PISSED). and this is what we know of today as the southeast's hurricane season.

the atlantic's season began on june 1st, ends on november 30th. if there's not much activity out there, we get a lot of tropical storms and daily rainshowers. if the pressure systems are actively butting heads, they produce a hurricane. it's how it is, our hurricane days are comparable to the midwest's snow days, and yada yada yada... a downfall of living on a beautiful beach in charleston, south carolina in 1989 is


meet hugo. hurricane hugo. i had family who lived on the barrier islands for years, my great aunt and uncle. my uncle don loved crabbing and every time we went for a reunion or whatever we always got to eat pounds of crab. shit was good.

enter hugo.

do you see that??? those are sailboats on a house. SAILBOATS ON A HOUSE, PEOPLE. sailboats don't go there!! oh, and not to mention this...

doesn't look like those kids will be taking any "joyrides".

hugo was exceptionally bad, starting off as a category 5 and bouncing off islands from guadaloupe to puerto rico before making landfall on the isle of palms, south carolina. even though it had fallen to a category 4 by the time it hit it killed about 40 people and left 100,000 homeless. it was the most damaging hurricane at that time, causing 10 billion dollars of problems.

10 bilion. that's like, 17 billion nowadays, at least. that's like how much soderbergh gets paid.

since hugo, there have been ten category 5 hurricanes, about half of which have hit florida. the other half have gone gulfside (i mean who wouldn't? the yucatan is gorgeous this time of year), and one of those was one of the five deadliest hurricanes of all time - katrina.

in the wake of having a category 2 storm, irene, hit new york... i would like to touch on something. although i had a blast during the storm getting fucked up with natalie and listening to irene's pathetic rumbling on the other side of my (open) bedroom window, i know there was severe flooding and that this hurricane has taken 24 people's lives. i feel for the people who have lost homes, had property damage, known someone who has been hurt or has died during the ferocity of this type of natural disaster. it is the price we pay for living in certain areas of the country.

we sign up for where we live. like beaches? hurricanes. like country plains? tornadoes. like living on an active volcano? lava. earthquakes. kimodo dragons.

the weather channel warned you: if you live on staten island, you're going to flood. if you live in the LES or battery park or seaport, you are going to flood. manhattan is an island, people!!! it is SURROUNDED by WATER. IT IS GOING TO RUN THE RISK OF FLOODING, AND NOT JUST DURING A HURRICANE.

you signed the deed. doesn't mean that you deserve to die. but it does mean that you should listen to the weather channel.

braving the storms we got was a fun part of my childhood. we used to go out with helmets and baseball bats when it would hail. i never lived in a place that was crazy flooded like staten island or new orleans, but we got a little bit of lake overflow that was a bitch to clean up.

hurricane damage is shitty and slow to forget, and i'm sorry to all those who have ever lost anyone or anything to one. but next time, if you don't like the chance of having to brave a storm, then live in arizona. i hear it never rains there.


Sunday, August 21, 2011

diary of an oxygen thief

"i liked hurting girls.


loved it. i didn't care how long it took either because i was in no hurry. i'd wait until they were totally in love with me. till the big saucer eyes were looking at me. i loved the shock on their faces. then the glaze as they tried to hide how much i was hurting them."

this book, as narcissistic the copy is, struck a chord in me. i've been there. i know what he did to those girls mentally. i've done it and had it done to me.

it's premise is karma's inevitable boomerang... hurt and be hurt back. punish someone for loving you because you are angry they could be so dumb as to love you in the first place. and acute awareness {sadness} that yes, people can be that cruel and fucked up to you.

i guess there is a monster in all of us. at least knowing someone out there can think equally cold thoughts about what love is for raw value... that's more than refreshing.

check out the book. i would give you the authors name but it was written by anonymous.


Thursday, August 18, 2011


one liners are so
funny until
they happen to you.

this week is an anomaly. faces and words mean nothing.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

in a relationship

"oh, you're so
..."interesting -

i am.
sooooo many things
you will never know
and that's why

"soooooo interesting"

too bad
the minute man
is giving out parking tickets.


Friday, August 12, 2011


"they" say that smell is the one most important key to memory.

okay, "they", i might agree.

the smell of someone's skin,
a t-shirt,
a sandal.

a beach bag, you say? well,

her name was lindsay.

your cupcakes
and your breath
and your

are sunny-side-up
to me




through my teeth
without spaces.


Friday, August 5, 2011


today = beautiful.

slight breeze from the southeast.
one of those not-too-bright suns, the kind that makes everything a little fuzzy and golden.
iced teas. with lemon. and mint.

solid sleep schedule. ballet in the mornings and a tepid shower before work. steeped in smoke and satisfaction. today feels amazing on my skin, like wearing an old cotton t-shirt to bed. today reminds me of why i paid tall prices for sacrificial rite.

off to work.


Thursday, August 4, 2011

dumb and dumber

big gulps huh? welp. see ya later.

the more public we get the more mystery we lose. as my father so gracefully put it, facebook takes the hypocrisy out of human nature, and it's wringing out of us the meaningful interactions that we need for strong relationships.

yes, hypocrisy. it's like the pan of necessary personal-feeling gods. we need to have the ability to tell someone not to do something and do it ourselves. without that option, the glass will always be half full, and it will always have someone else's lipstick on it.

well, now, everything is public, and people can read, comment, and browse through personal pictures online. the iphone makes it so that you can do all of this on a shuttle bus going from grand to lorimer when the L train shuts down some weekends. just a quick fix and you're on your way to the gig...

well. i must say that it's difficult NOT to give in to the temptation that at least you're getting information from somewhere... oh, what's that? right. including here.

irony, hypocrisy, big gulps.


Saturday, July 30, 2011


is way too thin
and way too
to get under


Thursday, July 28, 2011

states and capitols

towns. states.
all these pronouns for the
people i like
a lot.
when someone says,
"my name is______"
i should just say
"hold on..."
and then
"is your name a
of a state or a capitol?"
and when they say
i should politely
excuse myself to the bathroom
and leave
the building. states
and capitols
have no business
around me.


Tuesday, July 26, 2011

bring a kerchief

i saw war horse on saturday at the vivan beaumant theatre in lincoln center. if you don't know what that is, you should watch this:

it was one of those plays that gets inside of you. it bounces off the walls of your mind like a ping-pong ball. i started crying about ten minutes in and didn't stop until the end. i'm going to have to realize eventually that i am just not able to watch stories about the friendship between animals and humans without a waterworks session, maybe ever.

remember the movie homeward bound? holy shit, i thought my eyes were going to fall out of their sockets on that one. all dogs go to heaven? spent three days afterwards in bed with mild depression. what is it about that bond that we have with an animal that makes me so sad at the threat of loss?

i don't even get that depressed about breaking up with someone. and granted, while i've had death suspended in front of my face for the last couple of years between my father's and grandfather's cancers... i haven't lost someone close to me since jackie died, which was in 1992. some of my acquaintances have done stupid things over the years and have lost their lives due to poor decisions being fucked up on massive amounts of drugs and alcohol, but none have ever been so close that it has affected me. and even when it comes to someone like my grandfather, who's death seems imminent due to old age and a decreased immune system from radiation therapy... well, i know his life has been thorough and beautiful.

it is our impending death that will always teach us the value, beauty, and fleetingness of life.

i guess when it comes to an animal that you are close to, it's like the raw non-judgement of a child... animals don't give a fuck about your past and how you have fucked up yourself and friendships in a selfish plight to find your path. they don't point fingers or tell you how you could be a better person. they are your friend, and all they want to do is cuddle on cold nights.

okay, so maybe my cats also enjoy pissing on my laundry and if i had a horse it would be really uncomfortable to cuddle on cold nights even though i do have a queen sized bed. but still. animals don't judge you. and that's why i get so sad when there are movies and plays about them where they may die.

warhorse was unfuckingbelievable though, and i suggest that you see it immediately.


Monday, July 25, 2011


i have found a new obsession, and it may or may absolutely be a career path i'm currently projecting for my future.

cause, let's face it, i may really suck at it. but i always thought it would be really cool to be able to tell your grandchildren that the checks you write to them are made possible because their grandmother creates and sells these:

that's right.

latex clothing. i have always loved super cartoony fashion... the shininess of the latex and the clean, structured colors create a realistic yet fun and kinda ridiculous sense of fashion humor. i'm seriously obsessed. it seems as if my love for bows and hello kitty has manifested itself into a career. i knew my degrees would pay off, one day.

cafe panache tomorrow, excited and tired and ready for some sleep.


*the website tutorial where you can learn to make little gloves is ch-ch-check it out

Saturday, July 23, 2011

rule books are for sissies anyway

i thought that when you got to a certain age in life, you just, well, had everything handled.

you knew automatically what was in your checking account so that you would never overdraw. you would be responsible enough that you wouldn't ever think of overdrawing your checking account in the first place.

you would know when to gracefully decline and when it's the right time and place to assert yourself gracefully as well. i don't know the line betwixt graceful and loopy.

you would know how to talk to people you think you love, and you would know if you should tell them you love them too, or if you should ever even do it in the first place. THAT one has gotten me into trouble over the years.

the first time my father ever cried in front of me was also the only time i have ever seen the man employ his tear ducts. my parents were getting separated and he was moving out; he was at the end of his ropes and he thought his life as he knew it was over.

of course, it wasn't, but the theme music that constantly played in the background with him was pointing to "devastation". a really beautiful strings piece, if i do say so myself.

i remember him hugging me, i remember him teetering on the line between okay and crazy, and i remember him stumbling over that line as he sobbed into my shoulder.

"i'm sorry. don't let this ruin you. i'm sorry, i didn't know this was going to happen. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry..."

it was my first adult realization that we don't have rule books for life. he didn't know what the fuck he was doing when he made the decision to rear a child, much less three of them. he guessed, and went on instinct, and from that point on, i knew i could never blame him for the stupid shit he did to me thinking that was what was going to make me a better person.

rule books don't exist. and if they do apply - they're limitations. it's freedom or restriction, and there's not alot of gray area between.


it's so


Thursday, July 21, 2011


the jug is gone, the
sweets poured out,
i've come to love
the tea of doubt, this
loose leeway
spelled wrong, of course,
cause if it's not
you'd lie, but worse;

oh, three am, you're
late but checked, your
coat is all but
nothing left, so
smile, and dance, and marvel
the words which we
create within.


. that's right. sometimes i like to rhyme. but at last i can spell it.

Friday, July 15, 2011


i'm dually impressed with myself tonight.

first, because i somehow managed to finagle my way out of the rest of my shift tonight. i am currently in bed, about to watch harry potter and the goblet of fire with my cats and some kickass pad soon wen.

secondly, i have spent the day thinking about what i have accomplished in the last couple of months. i come home exhausted every night but it has all been worth it. physically, i am bruised and scratched up, war wounds and marley burns and inverting on silks, scaffolding, and makeshift bars. emotionally, i am radiant... i feel as though i have somehow given the skin of my mind a chemical peel or a deep avacado-black sand exfoliation.

things have been making so much more sense recently... revelations about movement and evisceration of distractions flip flop on the shores of my reason, the beached silver tarpons at low tide. it was confusing at first, but now that i've made it through that tornado of work, i'm hungry to take on some more. my appetite is growing as my waist is shrinking... the blood is boiling through my veins and into the steamy seaport dusk, into the movement in the studio and beyond, beyond, beyond.

i'm reading three books right now, all of which are chipping away at different pieces of my mind, and i feel lighter, more fluid, and calm.

so harry potter, a beer, and solitude for tonight, all in the comfort of my own bed. this really is a well-needed arrangement.


Friday, July 8, 2011


"perhaps the most terrible (or wonderful) thing that could happen to an imaginative youth, aside from the curse (or blessing) of imagination itself, is to be exposed without preparation to life outside his or her own sphere - the sudden revelation that there is a there out there."

tom robbins, jitterbug perfume

i think it's best
we never meet,
heroes against heroes
and such.
you talk like you know
but i could be anyone ~
i'm none of those
things, actually,
and if i'd give me
a second i could
and remember art imitates life...
i forgot that
i sold my soul for
a butterfinger in '96
and i forgot
that i had an overbite
the size of
the grand canyon
and i forgot i
told myself that
was something you read
on the back of a
milk box...
these verbs i use are not applied
to the life that i
know and use.
i am ~
and this.
and this.
previously mentioned.
indicated, the
welcome to
new york, i


oh, smile

i could say
the things that make you smile
cause you know i'm thinking of you at
4:38 am.
i could say the things
that make you smile
cause you know i have 13 minutes
to smoke this cigarette.
i could say the things that make
you smile, cause
you know your smile
hasn't been around, i
could say
the things that make
you smile
cause they're the things
that make you smile,
but i won't, cause
you're smiling, and
i hate it.
you'll never know
my red satin sheets
you'll never know
my red satin smile
and you'll
never know my 13 minutes
cause you didn't want to.
and you most likely
didn't ever try.
so draw my face
and write your words
and live your life
without me.
i will never
be that
you'd ever love.


Sunday, July 3, 2011


let me delineate.

nerve (nûrv)
1. Any of the cordlike bundles of fibers made up of neurons through which sensory stimuli and motor impulses pass between the brain or other parts of the central nervous system and the eyes, glands, muscles, and other parts of the body. Nerves form a network of pathways for conducting information throughout the body.
2. The sensitive tissue in the pulp of a tooth.
3. A sore point or sensitive subject: The criticism touched a nerve.
a. Courage and control under pressure: lost his nerve at the last minute.
b. Fortitude; stamina.
c. Forceful quality; boldness.
d. Brazen boldness; effrontery: had the nerve to deny it.
5. nerves Nervous agitation caused by fear, anxiety, or stress: an attack of nerves.
6. A vein or rib in the wing of an insect.
7. The midrib and larger veins in a leaf.
tr.v. nerved, nerv·ing, nerves
To give strength or courage to.
get on (someone's) nerves
To irritate or exasperate.
strain every nerve
To make every effort.

i would like to pay special attention to: number 3, especially to numbers 4sub a-4sub d, and to the idioms of the verb "nerve".

my friend, you have no idea how much the nerve was hit. ain't no novocaine that covers those lousy tracks.


Friday, July 1, 2011

facebook sucks

i can't stand you.

literally, i look at your pictures and i loathe what you are, what you are doing and not doing, and how witty you believe yourself to be.

and i hate that, cause it's fucking up my whole mantra.

send light, send love, and let it go?

not for you, buddy. the way that you treated me, the way that you lied to me, the way that you casually shook it off like it was NOTHING... well. that's certainly what i was to you, was it not? nothing. straight up, plain language, nothing.

and what's worse, is that i stuck around because i believed in who you were and how much talent you had. i believed what you said to me and the thousand "i love you"'s you shoved down my throat cause you knew you could sleep in my bed longer if that's what you said.

i'm more angry at myself than you, i guess, cause i'm a smart girl with no common sense when it comes to love. i'm a girl that believes pretty words with good punctuation and proper grammar, and you knew enough to keep me around.

ugh. if you spent as much time working on your life as you did posting pictures to your stupid blog, you would have made so much more out of yourself than you are now. but it's not my decision, it's yours, as it always has been. so fuck your girls and download your pictures and pretend like how you treated me was cool.

it's not cool. and neither are you.


Sunday, June 26, 2011


i'm so

Saturday, June 18, 2011




Wednesday, June 15, 2011

ghost words

it's like
i never
wrote them.


Tuesday, June 14, 2011


this cabaret i'm designing with anya is...

lucid. biting. soft. bloody. masochistic. smashtastic. heartfelt. enigmatic. lustrous. alluring. a portrait of solitude in a crowded and limitless city.

it's the journey to new york and the story of pushing through. of accepting defeat and knowing it's beautiful, and how sometimes, it's the only way. it's about being alone outside of fleeting momentary embraces. about allowing the uncomfortable and knowing the sunset is just another lightbulb burning out.

actions, reactions, and mending the stitches we break. forgiving the dollar signs and relenting to the art that brought us here.

it is my story.
it is anya's story.
it is everyone's story and you all deserve to be a part of it.

opening night is thursday, 23rd of june. doors at 9, show at 10. 342 maujer st in brooklyn... you can walk from the grand street L train.

there is a 20-piece orchestra and a seven person cast. i am the choreographer and you all are dancers in the show, if you just show up. it will feed you, it will inspire you, and most of all, it will never leave you.

we are all new york.


Thursday, June 9, 2011

minute words

so pretty,
paying word for
the meter maid got
a little tired.


Tuesday, June 7, 2011


sing, sing,
spotlight dwells on your
nose, your
little mole
perching on your lip;
sing, sing,
make yourself known,
cause the silence
leads to nothing,
and the solitude leads to
sing, sing,
don't forget the
that pushed you
to the top,
the plastic faces
and boring spaces
made better by
a lop-sided
city view, sparkling
windows and
exposed brick walls
are better dreams than
none, i guess.

sing, sing,
cause the dance fell
short of the dress.


Sunday, June 5, 2011

the cork

dance and love and hot and friends... and all the while, you're still not here. push and pull and stretch and thin... even a two doesn't fit me anymore. these words and calls past sleeping walls... it's all a fake, a puppet trade; of yours to mine and to compare our share of "heartbreak".

i write about you when i'm drunk.

how does that make you feel?

cause if it's one-fifth of how you make me feel, then, well...

we'll be even on wednesday.

i, my friends, am an idiot.


Wednesday, June 1, 2011

on hamsters and healing

i wish there were enough words in the english language to describe how i feel sometimes. like right now sometimes. this is why i make up words, and this is why those words make total and utter sense.

when i was a kid, i had two hamsters, hammy and ophelia. besides the ridiculous shakespeare reference, they were awesome. granted, i almost killed ophelia when i decided it would be a good idea to put her in a fedora and take her out to our pool so she could "lay out" (i was absolutely certain that hamsters led human lives as soon as we walked out of the room when i was young).
she "got out" of the hat and "almost drowned" in our neighbors' pool gutter. good thing a white hamster looks nothing like a rat, or i might have been arrested for accomplice to hamster murder.

so, my mom told me not to touch the 13 (!) babies she had when she gave birth to hammy's offspring. "but why?" i asked. "well, because they will get eaten by the mother," she said.

okay. i have heard ridiculous horror stories from new mothers, and the gross things that happen when kids get sick... but a mother eATiNG her kids? c'monnnnnn. get outtttt. that is totally made up, and i was too smart for her little "stories". and let's face it, there is something retardedly cute about a teeny blind rodent. they're so soft, and teeny...

she totally ate them. all 13. down the hatch, no sauces.




of course, it was my own fault, as my mother reminded me at least once a month every year afterwards (i didn't like doing dishes). but i was so tempted by their amaurotic adorableness that i had to go there... and it ended in death.

and so, i wish that webster's had a fucking word for this story, cause it's exactly how i feel at this very moment, and i can't fucking describe it without writing a god. damn. essay.



Tuesday, May 31, 2011

the busy signal

singing in the studio is like faking an orgasm.

it's always perfecter when it's remixed, right?



Monday, May 30, 2011

the roses made me do it

i'm sorry.

i'm sorry to whoever i said "hang on a minute"

or "i'll be there in a second"....

i'm sorry. it's a shitty feeling, right? i (YOU) are worth more than that, worth more than me writing this electronically.

you, my friend, are worth more to me than any letter, that any wisp of imagination i could write a story with. you are my friend, and i appreciate you. even if i never say it.

work. :)


Saturday, May 28, 2011


oh, burn
you silly little flames,
give me
momentary leave
from your seriousness
"but i have
a cigarette"
just gives me time to
understand you, it's
all your smoky
mirrors that convince me
to smile this way, an

you can give me
your number
but it doesn't mean
you have to pick up.

shame on me,
cause i came back for seconds.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

getting away

my apartment sucks.

it's small, dirty, unfinished, and hot. we don't even have a living room... we have a mud room that we forced a couch into so we could have somewhere to sit (uncomfortably) to watch our 5 inch t.v. and yeah, we have a backyard, which is great for the cats... but my landlord's mother comes out through the basement and moves things into her shed at 8 am. and talks loudly to whoever is helping her in spanish. and thinks i'm rude when i ask her for the 73rd time to kindly wait until 10 am seeing that natalie and i work late.

so, yeah. my apartment sucks. i didn't want it originally, the guy i moved here with said it would be a great "fixer-upper", and when i broke up with him a month later seemed to not really care about the "fixing". instead, he and i avoided the apartment like the plague and by the time nat moved in four months later the only thing that had changed was that i had swept and mopped.

so our next big thing is moving. i really like the north bedford neighborhood, even though i'm pretty sure it's almost as expensive as living in the city. and i really like the warehouses/loft space further into bushwick but natalie doesn't want to live in an area that is that dangerous. we could go down to the lorimer/havemeyer area, but then we run into problems like running into my ex, who lives and works over that way. i'm trying not to go to bars around me cause they were all his before i moved here and besides, grand street is like a circuit. all the same people go to all the same bars, and they all wear the same thing and talk about the same cool bands they saw at an underground venue in brooklyn that only they know about because the other venues have become too "hipster".

i will credit natalie with this when i say that sometimes we feel like we are trapped in the cover of a bob dylan cd... and btw, happy birthday, mr. dylan. you conceived williamsburg from your own loins, it seems.

i don't care if our new apt is big, or new. i just want it to be welcoming and sunny. i want it to be in a neighborhood that's quiet and has character that doesn't come from people wanting to be uber cool. i want to move, and i have to wait until october. meh.

so much work to do.


Saturday, May 21, 2011

pushing through

and so she flew.

it was good to finally get all of that stupid floor from under my feet away. to spin into nothingness and let the edges blur. to feel music and limbs wrapped up into a beautiful black silk. weightlessness, rather.

setting out to do something and finally accomplishing it is enlightening. seeing my dancers up on stage for sold out shows, seeing my name on the program under "choreographer", seeing pictures of me doing something i have always wanted to do... i'm progressing. it's happening, and i didn't realize it because i was too heavy inside of my head. but there's proof in the pictures and the people who have helped me get to where i wanted to go.

it's like getting a haircut. at first, the bob is really shocking because you've had long hair for your entire life, and you're used to putting it up into a ponytail or how you should style it for pictures. but then you chop it, and you don't know what to do with it. you don't know how it will react when you blow-dry it, you have no idea what products to use to control it, and what it will look like if you get caught in the rain.

after a little while, though, your hair calms down and you begin to understand it and work with it rather than against it, and it grows into the cut rather nicely. it becomes agreeable and you get to know this new style, and maybe you might go back to long hair but for now, you are enjoying the breeze on the back of your neck.

ballet is my passion. movement is in my blood. but there are so many new levels to explore with the air, and i am more than happy to go on adventures. i have learned much about what i am capable of over the last couple of weeks. and i am proud of myself.

so cliche and awful. but that pride is going to just get stronger with time and experience. conquer the world you say? alright. one silk at a time.


ps: these are the last 2 nights to see this show. i will be choreographing a cabaret in late june, so if you miss $piderman you can catch the dead bunny cabaret next month. :)

Saturday, May 7, 2011

glass houses



is easier

to do




in a world

that is impenetrable.


Thursday, May 5, 2011


i miss you, ocean.
i miss your temperate touch
on my legs, where you
lay your head when
you're sleepy.
i miss you, and
you know i do, it's
why i came back
and why you told me
i miss your embrace
against my back,
eyes closed, nose
filled with your smell-
i only pretended
to nap, i
didn't want to miss
the minutes i had you in
my arms.
i miss your lapping laughs
and your tides washing
over my thighs, and
even though you didn't
say it, i know
you thought my ass
looked great bobbing
in your waves...
i miss you ocean, and
i've known i always have,
and even though i'm
chasing these pavements
i'm still with you, and
i still want to come back
for sunsets and windy


Tuesday, May 3, 2011

take it with a grain of sand

There once was a girl
Who had a curl
In the middle of her forehead;
When she was good, she
Was good, but
When she was bad
She was awful.


Friday, April 29, 2011

wide open spaces

and then, she floated.

water sloshing across the top of the board, being pushed around by the waves. spun sideways from the current, southwest, i think it was.

staring up at the sky, up to this warm blue nothing.

there was nothing above me but endlessness, hm dare i say... possibility?

no, i won't. because it's cliche and stupid. nonetheless, it was pretty fucking beautiful out.

i work, tomorrow and sunday, but in between i'm going to try to be as weightless as possible. to try and let go of the string. to achieve, well... nothing.

i'm out of my city for the next couple of days, to return to several new old things. and i'm excited for what each day will bring. sparks have re-ignited somewhere in my gut. it tickles ;)



Sunday, April 24, 2011

a bible! it's called a bible...

taking responsibility.

is not.

saying you're sorry 10,001 times.

the more that phrase, or any phrase for that matter but especially THAT one, "i'm sorry."

oh. okay. so... you're sorry. it implies everything yet amends nothing, and is used in place of the actions that are supposed to vindicate the situation. "i'm sorry" is not an action. it's simply a veneer.

so, taking responsibility would be awareness of the situation vs. the consequences, and amending the problem at hand. this does not mean one has to be a footstool for another who they wronged. this means that in a situation where "i'm sorry" could be used, so could be determined it should never happen again, not only because the action hurt the protagonist of the story, but also caused the antagonist to hurt for hurting someone they cared about.

inevitably, what we have here is called being an "adult"; that is, be responsible with other's feelings, or you in turn will hurt. kind of like that "do unto others" bullshit that's found in that book catholics like to say they study from.

don't say you're sorry. just stop hurting me, and then i will know you're sorry. duh. why is that so difficult to understand?

there is a danger in this, though, which is taking too much responsibility for others feelings, which in turn leads to people wiping their muddy-ass keds across your face. i'm talking doormat, people, and i have been one in the past. i feel bad for people who tell me they have problems or drama or negative energy in their life. i FEEL for them, man, and i have lent a lot of cell phone minutes to talk about their "more-important-than-asking-how-you're-doing-in-your-life" problems. the conversation is as one-sided as kim kardashian having high tea with stalin. i'm sick of talking about your larger than life ass. shut up already!!!

balance is good, trying to walk that line between highs and lows. i want more balance in my relationships... i want to dust off the ones i think can be saved and put the other ones out on the curb. i want to have a friends who allow me to push and pull, not just be a therapist, and i want a romantic relationship i don't have to dictate a schedule to. i want to be so busy with light and love that all the other shit just fades away, like honey in tea.

i want for people to stop apologizing to me, and start showing me. and i want to do that myself, for myself, as well.

first nice day of the spring. cleaning the attic and cobwebs off my mind. there will be spic AND span in here, soon.


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

oh, girl

i hope you're not
TOO disappointed.
i am not
this girl that makes pretty things.
i am not
this girl that
tells you to "
look at my art"
i am not this'
that tells you pretty things
you believe
til your heart
oh gosh
i'm just a girl
that wishes.
that's all
just, wishes. open
heart, open


Monday, April 18, 2011


long days,
cold nights. spring
is here, again.
i feel like
holding on to
the fall, holding
it to my heart,
giving it last
chances til it hurts.
but i guess
no one
can build us out
of weather, no one
can wipe away
the ice... i
have to learn
to let go
of the seasons
as they change.


Friday, April 15, 2011

i listened to a dumb song from coldplay and it got me thinking about the past. god damn you, coldplay. i hate your face.


well, this certainly has been a trip, now, hasn't it?

whenever i get up on that high horse, whenever i find the only swing that hasn't yet been occupied, whenever i resound the triumphant trumpets... a day will sit so heavy on my shoulders i feel like asking it to buy two tickets instead of just one because of weight restrictions.

i'm clearing my mind. i'm cleaning out the attic and dusting off the corners of my life. i'm re-evaluating, i'm re-choreographing, i'm re-everything-ing my simple little life and i just can't seem to get the clutter out.

find a vent. clear a path. polish the stone. change the bulb. i'm trying, oprah, i really am, but your suggestions from the article in the spring edition of your magazine entitled "thirty super fantastic ways to de-clutter your life" just haven't been working.

how many times can a girl start over? i mean, before it becomes futile? or os it all in vain?

we do these things, these beautiful tiny things every day, that make us believe in the greater good. we might sing in the shower or to carnegie hall, dance in front of a bedroom mirror or behind janet jackson on tour. we do these things in hopes that we will get somewhere right, somewhere proper, and we wait.

we wait for confirmation, we wait for paychecks, for retribution, and for validation. we wait for love and light and those days that make it all worth it.

this, my friends, was not one of those days. i know they exist, but today, unfortunately, did not even come close.

and although i understand the dichotomy of knowing what sucks to appreciate what's great... it doesn't make the days less long and it doesn't instill the memory that there will be good days to come.

the show was great last night, crash mansion loved us, again. work wasn't really bad either, but there was just something there, a metal jacket across my shoulders. seeing that spring is moving in, pretty soon it'll be too hot to wear in balmy weather, so i am going to follow through with my plan of removal.

i've been wearing the armor for too damn long.


Tuesday, April 12, 2011

to find the key

i will be
a solid stance,
a stone-cold
pillar of
hardened hearts.
i will be
a rock garden,
spread amongst
wishing revelers.
i will be
a guarded cave,
jewels locked
within my walls.
i will be
a treasure chest,
a rusted
tomb of envy.
i will be
all of this, and
pretend like the
summer day is long,
but i will never
so good for you
cause the walls
will never be
broken through.


Sunday, April 10, 2011

upswing, downswing

i think i have a major issue with boot envy.

walking home today, mind as heavy as the dusty brown clodhoppers i wear all the time, i saw at least six pairs of boots i wished were gracing my feet instead of their owners. all down havemyer i got distracted from my current distractions and lusted after the sexiness that boots are.

a tall camel-colored pair of flats, high-calf length. slim but not dainty, flat but not bottomed-out. ankle cut cowboy boots, black, snakeskin. buckled black fryes, just under the base of the calf.

so, so sexy.

and each time i would see a pair i liked, i would look at my own and see the broken leather ankle strap, the margarita spills on the toes, the worn-down heel. i bought them vintage, granted. but i beat them up, bloody and bruised.

it was a grey day today, cool and slightly damp. the kind of damp that settles down in your joints and gets in between your ears. i have felt lucid these past couple of days, like my life is buzzing all around me and i'm standing still, watching it. every once in awhile, i participate in the conversation or am brought back by a slight touch of a friend's hand, but observing is where i need to be. it was no different this morning than it was from going out last night. the bars were busy and i was tired of being in the middle of so many people. my friends were scanning for men and i was admiring the decor of the new-ish bar on lorimer.

i made the decision i needed more mirrors in my life. they were everywhere in that place, and it gave such spectacular views for the people watching.

i didn't talk to anyone really, just watched everything happen and chat to my girlfriends who i was there with. commented on men who grew the early-90s rapist mustaches, and why they would think it actually was acceptable to wear out. pushed our way through loud hipsters to our vodka sodas, put erin in a cab when it was a good idea to go home. slept it off.

i woke up grey, started cleaning. talked to a good, old friend. something about laughing about the past relationship lessons i learned with him makes the new ones i'm learning a little more bearable.

so anyway, fast forward from dropping off drum cymbals to my now-ex (after all, it says so on facebook), walking home.

boot envy. rwowr. meow.

i get to the underpass, again staring at the dilapidated jalopies i call boots and wishing i could fix the strap, but i don't have a leather-sewing tool, i got distracted, for the 1,548th time, by the sound of laughter. i was by the playground, and there were two parents swinging with their children, pushing them higher and higher as the kids literally squealed with delight. it stopped me in my tracks.

so, i swung. i chucked my heavy boots in the air and used their momentum backward to push myself almost parallel to the ground on the backswing. as i started downward again i threw my chest forward and drove my feet into the air, chunky black soles framed in grey skies and highway overpass. the cold damp air rushed into my lungs like water in a cess pool at high tide, and with every fall back down from the sky got sucked out of me as if there were hands inside my ribcage pulling it out. eventually, after the children had left and my fingers were numb from the metal chains, i let my body slow down, relax, and feel the tide of the motion.

my feet dragged back and forth, tipping forward on the toe and falling back to the heel. the boots looked so beat up against the patterned playground matting, so worn in.

and it was with that thought that i fell in love with them again. they're a little busted, but they look great on me. they're perfect for what i do and who i am. they're surviving, and have done great work.

i hopped up off the swing, smoothed out my jacket, and grabbed my purse. my feet, just like my head, had suddenly become a little lighter.


Saturday, April 9, 2011

oh, conflict

directions are so hard.
am i supposed
to count them
on an abacus?
all these you's, with
your pretty lines
and empty flights;
these you's
push me through
and let me singe
at your heels...
you should never read
my paper words
cause those are the
that burn the fastest.


Friday, April 8, 2011

another one bites the dust

ah, yes... the fleeting feeling of security has changed course, dumped me back into the wild once more. i think i should've followed through on my dream of becoming an oceanographer/skydiver. perhaps if i rented an igloo in antarctica and studied the mating habits of emperor penguins, i wouldn't have such a turbulent wake of bodies behind me.

i have managed, yet again, to ruin another significant other's life. which also means i will have to stop going to most of the bars in williamsburg and probably some heading out into bushwick. i have decided i will resort to staying home alone, most likely with the curtains closed and netflix on.

how is it possible that i cannot have a relationship for more than a year? sans the three year gig i did with the kid when i lived in atlanta (which technically could be equated to one, considering that i traveled for six months, he didn't talk to me for four months, and we broke up on and off when he wasn't invested in constantly cheating on me), every relationship i have ever been in i have ruined in under a year.

and i tend to always blame it on my career, but this time around i think i'm going to push this issue a little deeper. i'm going to delve into what i will officially name this scientific issue: the whiskey reaction.

it is no secret that i like to drink. i'm a bartender, i love red wine, i love drinking red wine with a shot of whiskey behind it... i just really like the process of alcohol. and i have always stood by the fact that drinking only turns into a problem when you let it; which is to say, when it begins to own you. up until this point, and still not even all that much, it hasn't been a problem with me.

but. whiskey is whiskey, and it's like a long downward tumble. drink it when you're happy, you'll sing yourself to sleep. drink it when you're sad, you'll wake up in the morning with no friends, an empty gas can, and a burning bar.

i've been really happy recently. i've had alot of work, i've been dancing alot, i've been training, i've been creating in the sewing studio... i've been really busy. so busy with things, in fact, that my (now ex-) boyfriend voiced his opinion on the matter; which is to say, instill a little more guilt than i already carry.

wait, guilt? why?

this is my career. this is my dance company, those are my costumes created by my hands, that is my fucking website and those are my pieces of choreography... why am i guilty for finally pulling my ass out of the shithole sewer i moved into coming to new york and actually goddamn doing something with my time? just because i don't want to stay in bed until 3 every fucking day and cuddle doesn't mean that i have to feel guilty about your needs. and this little seed has been growing and growing and growing... i could see it across his face when we talked about schedules and i could hear it in his voice over the phone.

and don't even get me started on the fact that when we did hang out at my house (and not a bar, because ohmahgawd, he drinks alot to, y'all), i would just get poked and pinched and JUST STOP TOUCHING ME, OKAY? FOR FIVE DAMN MINUTES... i've been working all day or costuming and i have my fucking period and you are basically sitting on top of me and poking at me like a child trying to get his mother to pay attention to her...

i'm sitting right next to you, watching iron chef. is it necessary to poke me until i have to tell you to stop?

so yeah, i got a little frustrated with his behavior, although i can't excuse the fact that my absence was the catalyst for his neediness. this is how relationships work with me. after the grace period of the one year mark starts to rear its ugly head, the guy will begin to get really needy, because i stop paying so much attention to them and i put a focus back on my career. then i bottle up all of the anger and the emotions i feel about that and convince myself i'm imagining it and that it will all just go away, and it ferments.

then i just need one event to shake the bottle, and it explodes. this is where the whiskey effect takes place. i drink the whiskey, the event happens, and i let all of the residual liquid come shooting out from the top. i'm not great with emotions, even though i've come a long way, which is actually pretty sad.

so i left the ex's bar on wednesday, after bringing him a piece of pie (and taking 3 whiskey shots, although they were baby shots so it doesn't really count) with the intention of going home. walking home, i passed by a bar i go into occasionally and decided i would like to get another drink. so i did. after smoking a cigarette outside and making a couple new friends (who happened to be guys, this is where the problem starts to thicken) my new friends decided they wanted to buy me a drink. so i did, and i did a cheers with them.

and after i killed the shot, i put down my glass and there he was, staring at me with knives across the bar. "what are you doing, i thought you said you were going home?"

shake shake shake. rumble.

"well i did, but i decided to get another drink. does it matter?"

SHakE rumBLe buZZZZ

"well you said you have to work inthe morning, otherwise you could've waited for me or something..."


i don't really remember what happened afterwards, cause after all, as he so innocently pointed out, i was drunk. but i'm pretty sure there were the phrases "not my keeper" and "don't have to do everything together" put into play.

i'm not saying i was right for the way i reacted. on the contrary, i'm embarrassed that it came to that for me. he didn't know what the fuck was going on, cause i never told him. all he saw was his girlfriend who said she was en route home surrounded by guys buying her drinks. the break-up happened at an inopportune time, and was brought on by the effect of the whiskey i love so dearly.

now listen here, everybody. i'm not saying i'm a fucking angel. i'm not. on any given day at any point in time, i am usually wrong. i have made bad decisions that have affected good people and i try not to make them again. but the one bad decision i have continuously made that i haven't learned from, is evidently thinking i can have a relationship with someone else. i get into it thinking, this one will be different. you won't ruin it. it seems like it can work. and inevitably, i feel like someone has put a collar and a leash around my neck, and i freak the fuck out.

i feel like even though i know my reasons, he will never understand, and i could never explain it properly. i have worked so long on my career that if i get too close to someone else, it is being sabotaged. unfair? yes. childish? yes. but...

that's just me. until i can come to a point where i'm tired of devoting myself to my causes and i'm ready to devote myself to an actual person, well... then i guess i'm going to have to stick to being single. i hate the feeling of bringing other innocent souls down with the corruption of my own, and i'm tired of apologizing and feeling guilty about having an agenda that i instituted so long ago.

it's such a confusing catch-22 for me. how i can be someone with so much to offer, but not wanting to offer anything that gets in the way of my own life. does this make me selfish, or does it just make me an artist? are those things equatable to eachother?

ugh. i need a shower, i need some advil... i need so many things, and the only way i can get them is from me.

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~buddha

then why do i feel like such an asshole?


Saturday, April 2, 2011


she didn't fade, she's
inked on my skin,
like you wrote to me
that time, even
though you didn't
care enough to stick around.
no, lucy is STiLL
here and lucy is STiLL
angry, and mad
for life, the
way she was once
mad for you...
i wonder if LuCY
pops up in everyday
the way
you do, and don't;
so i am still LuCY
but i think you may be too -

fuck you, LuCY for leaving me.
fuck you, LuCY for not needing me.
i wanna say FuCK YOu
because i still LOVE YOu
no i'm not okay
and i don't know what to do

life would be easier
if i could just
wipe the slate


Wednesday, March 30, 2011



shut up.
i can't take you
in my head
these ghosts
are too pretty, too


Monday, March 28, 2011


settle in, settle
down, children; know
that detentions are passed out
at the sight of
an untucked shirt or
unruly behavior... hour
by hour with the
dunce cap on your head
til you've learned
(even though mistakes,
however unfortunate,
tend to repeat themselves
at vain and egocentric
children); know that
as you grow up
(whatever that means)
you will have less
and less margin
for those mistakes,
especially when done
to the same person
over and over again...
know that the heroes
you love are also
the villians you hate, which
eventually will translate
into your relationships,
too; know
that age isn't wisdom
and youth isn't innocence,
and the only way to
be immortal is if
people talk about your life
after you're gone.
no, children, your
days here are lucky
and fleeting and
if you manage, you will
one day know all these things
before you have lost
everyone in your world
that means something to you.
in the meantime,
turn to page 357 and read
chapter six, "the
psychological remnants
of abandonment".


Sunday, March 27, 2011

getting high

hm, as it seems, i have been a busy, busy bee.

or rather, a busy bunny.

busy bunny booking beautiful gigs that bestow brooklyn and thereafter better burlesque than before.

excessive, a mite bit. i have been so busy, in fact, that i have neglected to pour out my heart online for the last couple of weeks. forgive me, loyal reader, it has been quite a pressing month.

march has kind of been feverish with emotions... from the fight on natalie's birthday to the two gigs that dead bunny has had at crash mansion, and training on the rope as well as dance classes (and a highly unfortunate foot-sprain relapse that took about two weeks to recover, or at least, get not all that painful from). i've been teeming with energy, most of which has been positive and productive.

there have been a couple instances that have been less than desirable, which usually comes back to people i trust that let me down. but what am i to do? i have been one of those people at one point or another as well, so... hi, karma. nice to see you again. what's that? oh, of course, do you prefer earl grey or chamomile?

meh, it doesn't matter. i have done so much stuff this month to push forward that a couple setbacks won't matter. i am harry potter, after all, right?

i have been working on a new apparatus that anya and i call "the loop", which is comprised of a straight rope tied together at the point on the tress. imagine a head of a noose, the bottom of which hangs to about eye level with me. experimenting with point shoes as a fulcrum and learning which way i can lean to allow myself to spin until i invert in the air onto the rope has been amazing... at certain points the world goes away and everything becomes mixed and blurry, like when you melt crayons on a hot pan. it is the first aerial apparatus i have felt comfortable on, and that i feel i can progress on. i have officially fallen in love with an inanimate object, again.

better than something to break my heart, but a little boring in bed ;)

dead bunny is getting on the radar a little, as we have been performing at crash mansion twice this month and are booked again for two more shows in april as well. we are trying to get a residency show at the charleston on bedford in brooklyn, and i would love to do something at galapagos in dumbo. all on the horizon...

and to top everything off, i just did my first stilting gig at kiss n fly in the meatpacking district. despite my biggest fears on stilts (which i was kind of forced to conquer almost immediately) which are stairs and stray collins glasses on the floor, i had a blast, took pictures, and drank champagne with no major injuries. my heels are a little sore, but i think i can handle it.

all in all, the close of march is welcome. time for spring, time to clean, time to get this show on the road. so far 2011 has been a blast, and it's going to stay that way. <3


Monday, March 14, 2011

in the ashes of fawkes

i am reading harry potter.

there, i said it. i didn't want to, i didn't buy the books, and i'm going to stick by the fact that this was NOT MY IDEA in the first place. it was natalie's. she insisted upon the material, she bought the book set, and she reveled in the fact that i finally consented. and truth be told, it was like pulling teeth to get me to peruse the slim first book, harry potter and the sorcerer's stone.

that was three weeks ago, and i'm currently on book six, with one more book before i say goodbye to the characters i've come to love so deeply.

with no trace of cynicism at all, i am quite ashamed to say that i think this is one of the most epic and well written series of my lifetime. wait... where are you going, most loyal readers?? no, it's... it's a good series!!! you should try it - please don't leave! they really are a good read!!!

just kidding. no one reads my blog. that last part was for my deflated confidence in the ability to make good decisions about popular literature.

i feel though, that as i watch this character and his friends grow older, even being a wizard cannot save him from the perils and struggles of life lessons and the devastating emptiness of the loss of persons you love. through the course of a story about an orphaned boy growing up with a secret he's only just been introduced to, the reader begins to realize that invincibility is only do to luck and circumstance. he eludes many a dangerous situation only by that combination (well, and the fact that he's a fucking wizard who has a pheonix-tail feather wand) and possibly in addition to a quick wit.

i am so into being a wizard. i loathe every day that goes by that i can't go to diagon alley and buy a broomstick or go into the forbidden forest and pet a fucking unicorn. being a muggle sucks.

in the same respect though, invincibility should be chalked up to the petrification of courage. we remember the hero, not the one who got away and lived to tell the story. but what does it mean to be a hero? is it simply courage and the ability to execute it? not all courageous people are heroic though... napoleon and hitler were courageous, but their foolishness and greed eventually overcame their plights of "courage". maybe they should be considered "advantageous" instead...

no, to be invincible, to be unconquerable is quite a feat. it's something that starts from the inside and works it's way out. it is a seed that has to be nourished and continuously fed.

it starts with conviction. with the understanding that no matter what decision you make, it has to be correct. it just has to work. it has to... if you don't believe it, then who else will? okay, it starts with conviction. check.

it continues with respect, for yourself, the decision, and the people it will affect. mass murder is not necessarily the most rational decision, as we have seen displayed in the holocaust. it kinda makes people angry.

and i guess lastly, at the end of the day, invincibility is the capability to walk away from destruction with the knowledge that will eventually allow you to thrive again. lessons are there for a reason, and it is proper to, in the case you were wrong, to learn from those decisions and know not to repeat them.

well, shit. under these circumstances, it looks like i may not need an invisibility cloak after all, or the nimbus 2000. it seems my lightning bolt-shaped scar is found inside of me... and as it turns out, i'm looking more and more like a pheonix anyway. to burn and rise again, i guess.

oh, but harry potter, you will always be my hero.


Wednesday, March 2, 2011

old friends

i miss you, and i wish i still knew you.

life sucks, sometimes.


Thursday, February 24, 2011

here's what i say to your stupid travel-guide pamphlets.

the moons must be out of order in venus or something. i don't know much of anything astrological other than i am a saggitarius, and that i'm also the new sign, which i'm pretty sure is pronounced oh-FUCK-us... but there's something going on in the water i'm drinking, or the moons that hang over my head on clear nights, or the dreams that somehow haunt my subconscious when all i want to do is sleep...

like, what the fuck, universe?

it's bad enough that there is a paper trail that follows me around on a DAILY basis reminding me of how i wasn't good enough, or that my other friends' relationships are chipping off like a bad paint job on stucco. but you really have to just go and push buttons, universe, that were left to rust with dying words.

sometimes things are too coincidental to be coincidence, and when it happens enough, it's just not as funny as it was the first couple times around. 2011 is a year of power for me, i know this. 2010 can go fuck itself with a splintered toilet plunger. but 2011, no, it's going to be a reversal of everything that karma threw back in my face last year.

cause honestly, i just don't care anymore. i had to stop caring about these things before they consumed me. yeah, so what... a couple "friends" dicked me over. who gives a shit? it'll happen to them. they'll get that paycheck in the mail one day. and so what... a couple boys turned back before the finish line. i'd love to shake the hands of the girls that get stuck with those hurricanes of crazy.

no, i'm good where i am. i am giving love and respect to those that want it, those who deserve it, and who appreciate it in their lives. i don't feel like i'm wasting time because i'm exploring and reading and learning and loving all of it. i'm so far down the road that those potholes look more and more like pebbles in the asphalt behind me.

no more weird moon play and off-kilter water for me. i'll open the bottle of wine myself and watch a movie from now on instead.