pine flashbacks

"and she gave away the secrets of her past,
and said I've lost control again..."

why
why
why
why
why are they always insane?

silly girl

no conflict
no drama
no poetry
is that the fear?

i made a really good lasagna tonight

quiet (again?)

he said
"keep walking in light"

how can the best piece of advice i ever got be tied to so much danger?

the towel with the monkeys is still in my closet.
i will probably never have the heart to throw it out.

is this fog?
or distraction?
his box...so his rules?

impossible
us

damn the interwebnet for making it so easy to go nowhere.

limbo

it is easy to fight the sadness if you just pack your heart away into a little metal box and throw away the key. make sure you poke some holes in the top so it can still breathe.

new socks/cruel world

much as i often dislike my shoes, i would really not want to be in his even more.

irony and karma are lovers, of that i am sure. i can't even process the latest...the joke is so fucking sick my head wants to explode...that or it might just be the alcohol.

as for real life, it's (not) funny how he made me realize tonight that the stories my mom told me about romance (hers and my grandmother's) were all tales of impossible love. it figures.

i almost stood on my head today. that's something.

dance inside the funny farm

writing feels like effort today

butterfly on a telephone wire

crazy somalian preacher lady on the subway shouting about how mussolini massacred millions of her people

a friend who lost his partner last week and was just making his way back out into the world again

an well-dressed old couple who made me smile when he held her hand and helped her off the bus

something else that has, as usual, escaped me

it's so easy to disappear in public when you want to

we had a deal once that we were allowed to cheat on each other if he ever met annie lennox and if i ever met flea. funny they both got stuck in my head this week. them and corey hart...i digress.

i can't wait to see him again (no not that him, a different one).

i like trains

i just thought of a good dating test.

watch godzilla (the first one; japanese original version, not the hollywood one), and if the boy agrees that it is one of the best anti-war movies of all time then he is a keeper.

crash

today was a day of false starts.
i woke up, said goodbye, drank some coffee, went back to bed.
woke up, ate pizza for breakfast at 2pm, tried to fix my broken thermostat...
a song a message
opened the window to let in the rain
not ready to start yet but
running out of time.

made some (maybe not so) innocent bad jokes that I think are going to cost me more than i expected
which was none

sometimes i suck, today is one of those days
fuck
baby
a guy who makes me feel like i'm lying in bed getting punched in the gut is always bad news anyway

i sent the monkey monk off with my last peach to keep me safe, to make sure that the one who calls out the darkness wouldn't return
reminded of his absence,
how do I get him back without sacrificing the ocean I sent him to guard?

properly nuts - it’s a phrase that haunts me,
phantomwise

imagine if we were on the same side?
the ego must be quiet or its all going to end in tears

“Of this same flimsy, magic stuff our dreams were woven in the night - nothing, with all the pictures of the world in it.” (Hesse)

quit playing games with my heart

I just tried to play solitaire but I opened up my calculator by accident instead. It actually confused me for a second.

How do I get myself into situations where I have to defend my honour against random strangers? I guess it’s the price I pay for an all night pass into the realm of the infinite...the force demands balance. The thing I love about this writing business is that the more full of shit you are, the more people think you're a genius. I'll admit I pat myself on the back from time to time - it sounds something like this: Omigod I am a fucking genius sometimes! (no one is reading this so it’s okay to brag, right?)

I am a badass and just sliced cucumbers on the counter with no cutting board (I’ll regret it in the morning, what else is new?)

So it seems I have discovered (a little too late but not so late that it doesn't still count) that the key to being able to write non-fiction is to read fiction. Good fiction. Genius fiction. Crazy fiction.

Thesis detritus: The fish told me to write and so I wrote, and now it's time for some zen-like platitudes. Here's what I realized today: there is a real difference between knowing and doing, between wishing and being, between creating and living.

Er, don’t look at me for answers...if I had any I would have written the book, gotten rich and made my way out to one of my many mountain village homes (I'm was thinking maybe BC, Ukraine, Japan, and Ireland...do they have mountains in Ireland? They have nice voices there, anyway. I’ll make it work somehow. Hmmm, and I guess I'll have to add the monkey sanctuary to that now - yeah, 'round these parts we just call them all monkeys, but we like all kinds) where I will be attended by hot dark-haired men with nice sideburns who like to stay in bed all day...when they're not busy making me dinner.

Right, so since this blog is actually supposed to be about boys and my misadventures in romance in preparation for the writing of my own great, groundbreaking novel (about same), here is a pickup line I thought of just now:
"Hey, wanna go for a ride on my merry-go-round?"

I fucking hate it when you ignore me, and you know it, don't you?

Hmmm, I hope I haven’t shot my proverbial wad here. Back to work. A bientot. (how do you make accents on this thing?)

this never happens to me, i swear

this one hasn’t been around in a long while
i’m not all that much into motorcycles, but i sure do seem to be into men who happen to ride them
this one brought out a melodica today
much to my surprise, to my surprise
(i have a thing about melodicas)
i asked if it was what i thought it was
he said yes
i lent him a piece of duct tape for a quick repair
i noticed later that he has gotten a lot thicker
and maybe shorter
than i remember

tomatoes on pizza are redundant

i'm glad things didn't work out and i didn't have to move to the tropics because fuck, i hate this weather.

have you ever had a crush on a guy because he's cute and poetic and intelligent except then you're too shy to talk to him so you always come across as some giant idiot around him but then you figure he's the singer in a band and so he's probably a dirtbag anyway and then he starts dating your friend and so that's just that? and then time passes and suddenly there you are and he's kind enough to force your shyness away and you chat and remember to make eye contact once in a while or at least look at him instead of anywhere but and then it's all okay and you smile and then you leave to go walk in the rain?

not sure what my point is

there are lots and lots of things that i have hated myself for, but being somewhat insane was never one of them.

i ate hippie potato chips for dinner.

i have been dreaming a lot which means sleeping too much...i guess the fish was right, life's much more interesting in my head. riding the bus to work this morning (late as usual) i finally understood how the end of that book might actually have been less of a cop out and just more of an...acceptance? with the most recent appearance of the pink lady, i'm starting to wonder if i had the whole thing wrong...perhaps fate's version of a red herring, my favorite literary device.

talking to ourselves out loud in public, indeed.

i love it when he calls me obstreperous

the silence, however, i only like when it's my choice.

spent all day today thinking about this amazing burrito i ate in seattle last summer...

i know i am old because

1. my stylist is into hardcore bands that i have never heard of.
2. text messaging is a chore.
3. i am coming to terms with men and pot bellies. i never thought i'd see the day.
(this post inspired by leftover sugar high/hunger cramps and not knowing why the old man seems to be ignoring me these days. and so it goes. sleep is not my friend today.)

suddenly so sleepy

the perfect man has to believe in magic. i forgot to tell him that when he asked.

there was more when i was on my way to the grocery store in the pastel green (?) and pink sunset earlier this evening...it faded away somewhere and i suppose that's fine.

i hope he's good to her. i hope she's good to him. i wonder about people and their lies and how much we all get away with and how easy it is and whether or not it really matters as long as no one gets hurt.

i wanted to watch the movie but my battery died and there's no plug near the bed and so sleep it is.

forbidden

Sometimes there are things you can't say and sometimes there are things you say that you wish you never had…but worst of all are the things you didn't realize how much you wish they weren't yours to say until you're saying them out loud.

Today there are two stories.

The first begs a question of what do you do when your hair stylist is cute and interesting and nice and talented…and NOT GAY! Anyhow…sometimes I imagine things and sometimes I chicken out and at the end of this day I can't even really gamble on boldness because this is the best fucking haircut I have ever had in my whole entire life so I can't screw up our professional relationship. Plus, we kinda have the same bangs…it's a consideration, no?

And sometimes there are days when nothing happens and other times things happen that are too big to talk about. That silence feels a bit the same. Today's second is part of a story with a long history and no future (until maybe the retirement home)…and it falls into that latter category. Me and he, our worlds are a circus bleeding all over the magic forest...

If you need me I'll be dreaming of washi and Totoros and salsa with cucumbers and whales and Degrassi and haircuts and Japanese villages in the foothillls of the mountains, movies Godzilla anime music music music and a story about a monk living alone in a temple on the top of a hill who tells a story about a monk living alone in a temple on the top of a hill who is writing a story about a monk…alone…

livre de visage

I had this massive urge to listen to Martin Gore's Counterfeit.
Then I found myself looking you up.
Depeche Mode is always forever about you.
(Well, and maybe him too…)
Is it true you turned into a famous DJ?

I was a superstar DJ/producer.
I had a big trance hit about ten years ago.
Drugs, women, partying almost killed me.
I took three years off…just getting back into it now.
I have a new album coming out soon on this German label...

I never understood that music.
But good for you.
Good for you too about getting clean.
I know how hard that is.
You, my ex-husband, my skater friend from high school, my best friend from back then too.
Must be something in the water out there.
Either that or my taste in men.

You know what they say about divorced women?

No, but maybe you should tell me.
It might explain a few things…
Do you remember what you said to me the last time you phoned me?

I say and have said many shocking things. What did I say to you?

Sorry…don't know how this one ends yet/again…though I'm going to put my money on not happily ever after…

we drank martinis in the rain

1.
I once had a romance with a boy who lived in a cardboard box.
Later he played bass in a punk rock band.
These past few years you can find him sitting on a stoop in the market, drinking a beer and watching the world go by.
(I thought just weekends but apparently it's Tuesdays now too.)

I used to dream about him…today I decided to talk to him.
If I look young for my years now, he looks old for his.
It has been almost twenty since the first time I crossed him
Green mohawk, tanned skin...skateboard riding perfection.

He remembered me, just not my name.
His eyes are still the same.
But he's quiet now.

2.
She went home to Israel. I don't know when I'll see her again.

3.
By the gas station
I saw a man flip over the handle bars of his bike.
I asked if he was okay. He said yes. I walked away.

I stopped. I checked back. He was still getting back on his feet.
I asked if he needed any help. He said no.
I walked away.

I looked back.
He was riding down the sidewalk towards me.
We stopped.
He said thank you.
He showed me the umbrella all bent up from its tango with the bike wheel.
I told him it was a spectacular fall.
He asked me my name.
He asked where I was going. He asked if home was close.
He said he'd walk with me for a bit.

He told me it was his friend's bike, that he used to ride all the time in France, but this was different, that it was new, that maybe he was going too fast…
He told me he was from Lebanon but he came here ten years ago.
He told me he was just coming back from the concert of an Algerian singer.
(there is something about Algeria that intrigues me)
He told me he took his mom. He told me she was visiting.
Then he asked me too many questions.
And I wondered if we were going too fast…

He showed me his hands.
I said he was going to hurt tomorrow.
I wanted to ask his name but it was dark.
And late.

He told me he was going to meet some friends.
We got to my street.
I told him it was time for me to go.
I walked away.

I remember wondering the other day how strangers fall in love.

I wonder if I will remember that I walked away.