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