Moonshine

Under the viper-black sky I am long, love, longing, lost.

Moon shadows and smoke.

Thinking, breathing, hoping, dreaming.

Patient but needing needlessly.

I am thinking of you.

Swell of blood and warm, wet, salty.

Mmmmm.

Imagine, feel, pressing closer.

Memories expanded and made to make making love.

Buzzed.

Shiver and convulse and still thinking of you.

Nothing Set in Stone

All my worldly possessions are stacked up

and packed up

and utterly inaccessible.

I'm sore and I'm bleeding.

I'm tired of all of the needing.

Will I sleep in a bed tomorrow night?

Where?

With whom?

Where will I be the night after that?

I'm reflective / introspective / and not at all selective.

Animal collective.

Court and spark,

I feel like we've never been in the dark.

Caves and graves and basements.

I do incredibly foolish things under the influence.

Am I trying to prove to myself that I'm fun and out-going?

Or am I trying to prove it to you?

Either way, the next morning I look and feel like an asshole.

How anyone can stand to spend more than 5 minutes at a time with me will always amaze me.

I'm too honest and the only time I said, "no." I didn't mean it.

Or did I?

How will I ever know?

Will I ever get the chance to say, "I was just kidding. Yes. Fuck it. Let's do this."

Or will I move on and find new things to ignore?

New songs which will remind me of how silly I was?

Every year I think, "This is the best year of my life!"

And then I get older and can't believe just how much better it is.

I hope that never ends.

I already accept that this isn't it but...

some small part,

whether it's my brain or my heart,

says I'll fall in love when the leaves change their color and the trees shed their skin.

I'll be happy and learning and wear coats and scarves.

I'll finally be able to drink in bars.

In a house with a fireplace,

my cat,

my photos,

and stuff to put around my neck.

And you'll see.

It won't be like the drunk's wisdom.

I won't be that girl for so many people which leaves them wishing down the line that they

could've

should've

would've

loved me.

I can't possibly be more assertive. It's not my way.

I'm gentle and gullible and a whole gang of other words beginning with g's.

But in the autumn I'll be warm and content.

Settled--

like the dirt in my shoes,

the wine in my glass,

a cowgirl's blues,

alas.

Or at last?

I don't know where I want this to go.

I just know that I don't want it to end.

Peace

I feel calm.

I can feel my blood, my heart.

I can see music floating to my ears and I can see nothing bad happening for a little while.

We can stay here.

We can be still and just be.

There are no worries, no obligation, no pain.

Summer kisses me with sun each day and I play hide and seek with the moon at night.

I can stand on shores and hear the ocean.

I can touch trees and feel their history.

I am young.

I am infinite.

I am fancy-free.

I'm going to live the best life ever and it starts over each second.

I'm glad I never killed myself all of those times I wanted to.

I'm thankful for all of the luck I've found.

I'm excited.

Disregard

I feel.

Not enough. Too much. Boring. Sad. In general: awful.

I want to overcome the need to hurt other people when I've been hurt.

I want someone with whom I can just be honest.

I'm not whole. I have no one to talk to.

I just have power but not in a way which would make me a better person.

I can only bring people to levels lower than my own.

I need to move on and stop this.

From one cycle to the next:

my heart is open and then it breaks and then I become this monster who takes all the love in the room and makes your fiance cheat on you and yes, it takes two to tango but someone has to fucking lead.

I can't keep doing this. I want to be happy.

I'm just so scared.

And what scares me the most is that I just might not be worth it.

Mother

Blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh.

Everything that I am,

everything that I have is from you.

Little woman but so full of love and strength.

Wild one, I wish I could reflect your

brilliance,

&beauty,

&love, love, love.

There could never exist enough time or words to thank you

for your

support,

guidance,

&excitement.

I have to settle for shared laughs, cries, and hugs.

I hope you know that you're the best woman I have ever known.

I love you.

Yeah, stuff, yeah.

Stuff I enjoy: my family, being young, smoking, drugs, acting more fucked up than I am and the reverse, walking places, holding hands, listening to music that reminds me of people, old-timey stuff, telling myself that I'm awesome, meeting people, my friends, being overly friendly, being crazy, girls, boys, grapefruit, having purple hair, bartering, baking, painting, looking at things when I'm intoxicated or not, standing in forests, smellin' flowers, sharing everything, giving blowjobs, journaling, paying attention to the blood flowing to my clit when I get aroused and thinking, "If I were a boy, I would have a boner right now.", getting my period, knowing moon phases, learning useless stuff, free things, buying used everything, feeling the dirt in my garden to see if it needs watering, sand on my feet, feeling words in my mouth, petting cats, being a mystery, laughing in quiet places, telling myself jokes, hugging strangers, hugging loved ones, waving at everything and anything, the faces of cows, standing in rivers, peeing on city property, peeing outside, rubber shoes, being barefoot, dreamin', singing, learning my limits, being in love with the whole goddamned world, making lists, decorating, sending and receiving mail, being in Europe, not having a job, not giving a fuck, crying because everything is so perfect, caramel or blueberry flavored coffee drinks, card games, museums, finding things, how much gay men love me, video games on occasion, hating television but still watching it online, turning my computer off, masturbating, only having liked kissing one person ever, beards, growing up, learning from small children, talking about having children one day, following dreams, concerts, Polaroids, smoking when it's muggy/foggy/cold/hot/raining/inside/outside/alone/with friends/etc, my phone, stealing from The Man, being particular about which laws I break, not always getting what I want and then getting something better, scary stories, acting like an asshole because I don't eat meat, seeing my dad's siblings, champagne, whiskey, wine, airplanes, trains, maps, speaking foreign languages, dancing, googling random things, vandalizing things to make them pretty, having people like me more than I like them, cuddles, rollercoasters, giving my little brother condoms, glowing, the feel of sunburn, sidewalk chalk, beer for breakfast, sunlight, oldies radio stations, weather reports, sleeping, talkative taxi drivers, cheating, tea, being completely lunar, bees, colors, swimming, being stupidly optimistic, telling/hearing stories, travel, creative people, talking to animals, drumming, astrology, tarot, my car, making people happy, not showering/shaving, all forms of precipitation, music, reading, cursin', having the worst taste in movies, wind, knowing, using antiquated language, not cutting my hair, living day to day, being a hippie, touching different textures, chickens and eggs, getting caught acting like a wild thing, biting/not biting my nails, teaching people things, parties, smiling, farmer's markets, no longer having a disease, having been blind, wanting tattoos but not getting them, thinking of my life as a book, my camera(s), thrift stores, finding things on the ground, having my car be clean, lookin' a mess and actin' a fool, my graph, the idea of Atlantis, looking up, not having a religion, wishing on planes, bettering myself, reminding myself that it's just the drugs and letting the trip take over, being open, having black men hit on me, ironing my mom's scrubs, being unrealistic, not knowing what is creepy or not, getting too stoned to move, doing things because they feel good, sticking my arms out of my car, driving with my knee, humming, not remembering anything bad, not worrying about anything, going to the beach, imagining where people are when I'm talking to them on the phone or computer, poetry, MRIs, and being alive. And everything else ever.

Hand Thoughts

All good things are wild and free but I'm tied down to a lack of direction.

My compass is being pulled north but there's magnetism east and west and south.

My regrets -- what regrets?

Wish I could've done, said, had more.

I don't want to keep waking up with a pain in my chest.

I want a new place to call home.

I need to create.

Bubbles

The bubble burst and rained down it's sudsy memories through the late spring air.

Summer Lovin'

I'm a warm summer mess

in a cool summer dress

crossin' state lines and

statin' lines 'cross

telephones.

I want to talk for hours.

I want to swim in lakes.

I want to find the source for whatever it is that's making me

crazy&

excited&

alive.

Discover why just holding hands makes me wet.

Find the well from which it flows and dance on stars

in bars

in cars

and sing with birds.

Find some words written on walls where I'd never thought to look.

Shake hands and sleep intertwined.

There's no reason not to.

Why not?

Blue

If you feel it, it's real.

There is such a lack of "maybe" in my life right now. Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, no, no, no. Yes. I'm happy and I'm free and I'm open. That's all I've ever wanted. Time only exists in the way the shadows change in my room.

I wish I had more to talk about. Or more people to talk to. Or something. Instead I have a belly full of beer, too many plans in too many cities, and Joni Mitchell desperately trying to teach me lessons but I won't turn up the volume.

A cigarette flew back in my car yesterday. It hit my head and then burned a hole in my shirt and back. I tried to figure out what the universe was trying to tell me: "Watch your back." "Don't litter." "Smoke less." But I think it was more what my mother always says, "Guard your heart." But I'm tired of guarding my heart. I worry all of the time that people can read my mind. I would tell anyone anything if they asked but I don't like that idea of my thoughts just escaping and making their new homes alongside the thoughts of others.

What do I have right now?

Cookies for my drug dealer. An appointment to see my best friend in our future home. A new brand of cigarettes. Half a beer. Time.

Oh, god, so much time. I can't focus. I'm high on freedom. I'm low on money. I'm leaving the state Friday at sunrise. I'm tired and I'm selfish and goddammit, what the hell am I going to do with all of those flowers now?

It doesn't matter.

Tomorrow I am going to hug as many people as possible and discover something new. The day after that, I don't know.

But my hair will be straight and purple and brown and and and.

I see you shiver with...

I think I've almost completed one complete month of celibacy for each and every time someone cheated on his or her significant other with me in 2009.

I think it was worth it even though they'll never know.

At the very least, I've learned how to be happy on my own.

The quickening.

I started to write something here but decided I'd rather paint.

Vanity Calamity

I still think about you.

Your lips mostly and occasionally that part of you which differs from me most strikingly.

It happens when I listen to Carly Simon which happens so often by accident when I mean to play some Paul Simon or Simon and Garfunkel who, incidentally, brought us together as friends.

You're such a Mick Jagger.

It's not even just that fact that you both have those obscenely sexual large lips.

You think you're a rock star.

You party like you're a rock star.

But you're not.

Your band is awful.

I wonder what I ever saw in you.

Those lips.

Lips I have only kissed a handful of times.

So seldom do those lips release anything worth hearing:

"Beer pong!" "Listen to my band!" "Don't be that girl, Sue."

I hate that you call me Sue.

I hate that name.

You make no sense.

And yet, I miss you.

I think we could be great friends if you'd let the blow job go but

alas

and

alack

you just don't call me back

and I wonder, wonder, wonder

but mostly I don't care.

But those lips.

Goddamn.

You're so vain, you probably think this post is about you, don't you?

An overcoat is a second skin.

The best thing of anything today is hearing the city come to life:

the sun rises through my balcony windows

the post office sings

dogs bark and birds buzz.

I sneak to make coffee without waking Emily.

Always bold French roast.

Puck, the indoor, domesticated sprite, mewls.

Television's off tonight,
I heard somebody cry outside,
and the smells of spring are everywhere
getting mixed up with my own.

I feel like so many analogies
but what I am is a cat in sunshine.
A cat in sunshine, a canary in a coal mine.

When the autumn leaves and the winter settles in,

sometimes it seems as though an overcoats a second skin.

Bad Poetry -- Oh Noetry

Just when I finally think it's over, it's not.
Feigning sleep on a couch to instead deposit myself in your bed hoping...

For what?

A reenactment of nearly a year ago?

Gently moving your things and getting undressed.

I'm high on weed and anticipation.

The same catchy pop song about a bad love is on repeat between my ears.

Where are you?

The wait makes me sleep.

I wake up just before the alarm clock,

in this case you saying,

"goddamn!"

loudly and then calling me presumably to let you in.

My heart races and I fake my sleep.

I pray to every god I know that you'll come to bed and not

notice my heart beating so hard that it shakes my entire body.

You slip into your bathroom and then you're gone again.

The television turns on and I smell coffee or bagels

or perhaps a combination of the two.

I cave and you say you're going to work.

I pretend not to care, to sleep, to anything.

Three infomercials later, you come in your room.

The early dawn light barely shows me your lips as you say

goodbye and enjoy the bed.

My voice crackles a nonresponse.

At any rate, it wasn't what I wanted to say.

How does one phrase it?

"Skip work and we'll finish what we started 11 months ago."

"Call in sick and I'll blow your brains out."

"Say you had car trouble and I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Instead I thank you and mumble.

My heart calms down.

It's only on my drive home that I realize it's not over yet.

Not nearly so.

Goddamn.

Sweater Weather Recipe

I am currently sitting with a cup of hot tea, next to my space heater, and wearing two shirts and long trousers. It's cold out.

There are lots of things I enjoy doing when it's cold out: smoking, sleeping, walking on campus, wearing sweaters/scarves/knit tights/etc, and making good, cold weather food.

A few months ago, a friend of a family member had a death in their family and, as is proper behavior, I was asked to make some food to bring the family because they were largely vegetarians and I am one, too. I decided to make some soup using what I had around. It turned out fabulously and is now one of my favorite things to have when it's cold or rainy (or, if I'm lucky, both!). It's easy to make but it also makes a mess. It's also really customizable (don't like something? Substitute something else!).

Best Vegetarian Soup:

You'll need:

1/2 cup (or more depending on how much you like beans, I sometimes use a whole cup) mixed beans. You can buy a pretty big bag for cheap at Wal-Mart with, like, 15 varieties
3-5 Potatoes (I like to use more beans, less potatoes but this also depends on the size of the potatoes)
1 large-ish onion
2 carrots (or more, I like more)
2 celery stalks
2 cups of vegetable stock (or, if you aren't vegetarian, chicken broth should be fine, too. I, obviously, haven't tried it)
Vegetable Oil
Salt & Pepper

1. Cover the beans with water in a pot. Bring the pot to a boil and cook the beans for about 10 minutes. After that, put the whole thing on a back burner on medium to low heat and let them simmer whilst you're doing everything else.

2. Peel the potatoes and cut them up into about bite-sized pieces. Put them into another pot and boil them until they're soft with a little bit of salt. Should take around 10 minutes unless you have a lot of potatoes. When they're done, drain them and set them somewhere to the side.

3. Peel your carrots and then slice them up into bite-sized bits. Ditto the celery. Next, peel and chop up your entire onion. Pour some vegetable oil in a skillet (I like to use my wok) and let it heat for a minute or two before adding your onion. Cook the onion until it becomes transparent and then add the carrots and celery. Cook that for about 7 minutes and then add the vegetable stock. Cook this mixture for about another ten minutes.

4. Check your beans. Are they soft or at least soft-ish? If yes, go ahead and add the beans (bean-water and all) to the vegetable stuff. Then add the potatoes. Put it all in something oven-safe and add salt and pepper. Then put the whole thing in the oven and cook it at 400° for about 30 minutes or until it bubbles. Take it out very carefully and serve.

I think it goes well with some fresh bread (the crustier, the better) or multi-grain Club Crackers. It also stores really well in the fridge or freezer.

Recipe for Midterms

You all know that I want to be a baker, right?

It is mid-term time and I am constantly asking myself why I'm wasting my time, my life in academia when I could be studying the culinary arts. Each paper, exam, you-name-it and I'm thinking, "Wouldn't it be great if I were learning how to make pain au chocolat?" Or something similar.

Today I had to do my Polish Society & Culture midterm. I'm sure it's utter shit as in one of the essays I started comparing Germans to ducks. Whatever, it's done.

Anyway, I don't do well with stress. I break out, my back starts to hurt, I drink way too much coffee and chain-smoke. I don't like deadlines and I don't like word counts and I just, in general, don't like having to think about stuff about which I just really don't give a damn. What do I do to relieve stress?

I create.

Depending on how bad the stress is depends on what I create. Day-to-day stress creates poetry and painting and weird songs. Heavy exams, family issues, money problems creates food. The more complicated, the better. I can have the worst week and then make a truly marvelous soup or bake some fuckin' awesome muffins and then I feel so much better.

Today I created White Chocolate Pomegranate Mousse and, oh, my motherfucking lord, it's splendid. I'm going to post the recipe because I think maybe some of you would like it?

White Chocolate Pomegranate Mousse

You'll need (for four servings):

1 cup of heavy whipping cream (hint: Publix carries many sizes. The smallest is one cup)
1 tablespoon of granulated sugar
4 ounces of white chocolate (I used just one bar of the Ghirardelli)
2 egg whites
1 pomegranate, seeded*

1. Melt the chocolate. You can do this in a pan but I chose to do it in the microwave. If you do it my way, break the chocolate into pieces and put them in something microwave safe. Next heat them on half-power for about a minute and half. Take it out and stir it. If it's not quite done, put it in for another 30 seconds (again, on half power!). Set it aside to cool.

2. Pour your whipping cream into a mixing bowl. If you have a kitchen-aid, I suggest breaking out the wire whisk. I, however, just used a hand-mixer (and a broken one, at that!). Whip the cream at a very high speed. After a few minutes it'll start to get thicker (you'll know this because as you're whipping, the mixer will start to make shapes in the cream but feel free to stop it at times to see). Keep mixing until it gets to be like the whip cream that comes in a can, not coolwhip. Add the sugar and mix for a little more. It should be thick enough to stick to the mixer, if not, keep mixing. Stick it in the fridge.

3. Beat the egg whites with a teensy pinch of salt until it forms peaks. This takes a while and if you're doing it by hand, you're going to get tired. Just sayin'.

4. Fold the egg whites into the whipped cream and then do the same with the chocolate. When it's all together, you can start putting it in whatever you're serving it out of. I chose some wine glasses. I also opted to put a few pomegranate seeds at the bottom just because the glasses were, well, glass and it looked pretty. Put some of the mousse on top and then throw a few more pomegranate seeds on top. Voila! Stick the glasses in the fridge for about a half an hour to firm up the mousse and then serve.

*How to seed a pomegranate:

I don't know if there's a correct way so I can only tell you how I did it. It's kind of messy and time-consuming but hey, if you don't like it, make the recipe with something cleaner / easier that goes well with chocolate (Bananas? Strawberries? etc?).

Cut the crown off of the pomegranate. The seeds are in kind of pod-like things so peel the skin around them. You can pluck the seeds out or kind of brush them out, if you're good. Some will pop and the juice does stain so wear an apron or be really careful. Do this until you've peeled all of the skin and freed all of the little red seeds.

Two recent paintings.

Do not be afraid.
You cannot be afraid.
Your arms are wrapped around.
Do not be afraid.
There's nothing to do.
And the claps your hands resound.
Do not be afraid.
Do you feel really afraid?
Your feet they map the ground.
Do not be afraid.
It's not being afraid.
You'll have night visions.
Do not be afraid of not being afraid.
Your window when it's jostled.
Do not be afraid.
Do not be afraid.
We'll spend time.
Do not be afraid.
To go.
Around friends.
Over and over.
Do not be afraid.
We'll spend time in the mountains.


The biblical story of Jezebel is only a few sentences long. It seems that she and her husband, King Ahab, were accused of practicing idolatry by a young right-winger named Jehu, who had designs on the throne. Earlier, Ahab had acquired by devious means some real estate belonging to a neighbor, and Jezebel was said to have sparked a rumor that led to the neighbor's death. Ahab, a Hebrew, was king of northern Israel; Jezebel was the daughter of a king and queen of Phoenicia. Being a foreigner, she didn't wholeheartedly worship the god of the Jews, which may have led to the "idolatry" charges, but aside from loyally supporting her husband in his suspect land deal, she apparently had been as properly behaved as, say, Queen Elizabeth.
Then, there was a curious and fatal episode. The ambitious Jehu, having secretly murdered Jezebel's son (Ahab, in the meantime, had died in battle), came riding up to the palace. When Jezebel heard of his unscheduled visit, she, according to Scripture, "painted her face and tired her head and looked out a window." Another translation had her painting her "eyes" and "arranging her hair." In any case, there she was, freshly groomed, looking out at the Hebrew rebel, when he incited "two of three eunuchs" to "throw her down." "Her blood spattered on the wall," according to the gory old Bible, and Jehu left her in the courtyard for the dogs to eat while he went inside and helped himself to the wine. After a few flagons, he must have felt a prick of guilt because he ordered his flunkies to go bury her, but by that time the mutts had left nothing but "her skull, her feet, and the palms of her hands."

Paints & Poetry.

First time using water colors since I was a child.
Angry poetry and high doodling.
Lonely, happy memories and thoughts.
Paint your orgasm. Left side: orgasm from a partner right side: orgasm from myself.
Sad memory poetry.
Faryn-leaving poetry.
(also posted in text form at my other jrnl: http://seafeatures.livejournal.com/ )
Anti-poetry, drunk poetry.
Drunk painting.
One of my favorite poems, not mine.
High thoughts.

Creation as a form of distraction.

Other people in my journal.

I used to be really weird about exactly what went into my journal. Specifically who went into my journal. It really bothered me when other people would write anything in it (with the exception of the times I'd have Mel write me to-do-lists when I was driving or something). Then I realized the beauty of letting people into my journal, my life, my soul.

First is a venn diagram that Lyndsey and Amber assembled comparing Trash 'Staches and Molestaches one night when we were at Insomniacs Coffee House.

Next is something Alyssa, better known as 1/3 of Aaron's threesome, wrote. It's just my name and "Just Be!" Then Wes, better known as drunken-mistake in Jerry's bed, signed it as Walter for some reason. And then on the next page I wrote something Micah said. Maybe it doesn't count as Micah in my journal but I'm saying it does.

Next is a post-it Faryn left me in our bathroom. It's been pretty tear-inducing since she moved out today. I'll miss her so much.

Also Faryn-related is when she wrote out Modeh ani lefanecha for me when we were at the hostel. I later showed her the page after I added the "where is my mind?" bit which excited her and she showed me in her own journal where she'd written something similar. It reminds me of when Faryn said to a mosquito, "You're taking away my bad thoughts." just as I showed her the ribbon which is now in my hair that reads, "Think happy thoughts." I will miss Faryn so much.

Next is something Lyndsey drew for me when I asked that she do something related to, "The more you know." I later painted and then added the pencil and gum wrappers. The gum wrapper was from Faryn. The universe is conspiring to make me cry more about this. Ugh.

And then there's Andy. Oh, Andy. Lyndsey, Sam, Andy, and I went to whatever that one river is at night and found the creepiest little abandoned dock where we sat and smoked and composed poetry by accident. Andy doesn't usually smoke so he was really buzzed and wrote in my journal. First he wrote the limerick-sort thing which is completely true and I said it completely by accident. Then he started the poem on the next page which I finished later when I was in class.

Last is just some Hebrew Danielle wrote for me during the shabbat Ari visited. It's surrounded by all of my craziness.

The strangest thing about other people in my journal is how they get there. People to whom I am only slightly connected just take and write in it but I always have to ask people I love to write in it.

So, next time I see you, offer to write me a little something, will you?