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Posted on 2008.03.15 at 21:31
Current Mood: thankfulthankful
bob dylan, sylvia plath, the treesitter, ginsberg—they’re all off my walls and packed, ready for bellingham. oh, and let’s not forget joan baez. she’s tucked away in a box too, next to bobbie, leaning over her guitar to touch the back his hand. he can feel her breath on his ear, but he still can’t see her. still won’t let her love him. and me? i’m ready for bellingham, too. and it let’s me love it. i remember feeling its breath on my ear in the park. i can tell even the the hackysackers won’t exasperate me anymore—they are so much more forgivable than the hipsters around here. at least their dirt is born from a lack of communing with the capitalists, as opposed to a wayward fashion statement that will never make sense to me. ah well, my walls are bare except for the ballerinas above my head. everything is gravitating north. everything’s making the cold, hard crawl across this town.

sitting woman with legs drawn up (egon schiele)

Posted on 2008.02.23 at 20:39
and i will be more like her. having crazy tangles. pressing one palm onto the back of it's matching hand. wrinkling my ruffles. i will dress like a dirty anthropologist who balances practicality and pretty like a checkbook. i'll re-taste the boys i kissed under the pale ale sun. yes, i’ll always remember what you wrote: i must confess a day has not gone by that our dip in the ocean hasn’t crossed my mind.

oh, universe!


(ou)r place

Posted on 2008.02.17 at 00:54
you fancy yourself having an elementary
school-like quality; the shoes, the mixed
tapes, i fall for it. i bet your boyfriends
can taste the eighties on your tongue.
i imagine you with little purple ponies
at your feet. they smell like plastic
pool toys, like jelly shoes. like a yellow slip
‘n slide, warm from the sun. and you have me
trapped in the play yard, baby, waiting
for the day i’ll be your bestest again.

Posted on 2008.02.03 at 21:02
it’s plain. it’s basic. it’s a white t-shirt and jeans; james dean. i found it at the goodwill, classic as a grey cat. the cashier was vietnamese and diligent in his duties. he rang me up carefully, applying pressure on the panels, testing for solidness. i imagined him pressing a stethoscope up to the wood, checking vitals, making sure the dresser was without defect, that it would make it home. now it sits to my right as i sleep, the drawers i’ve reserved for shoes remain empty. but having these basic things is comforting. this is my dresser. this is my desk. these are my dishes. i have these things. they’re a solid collection of American necessities, non-indulgent indulgences. these are my things that begin with the letter d.

Posted on 2007.12.29 at 03:34
i can't sleep. i keep thinking about new years eve two years ago, the one i spent lovesick, crying in your bathroom. i never did remember how i said it. i really think alcohol has a way of blocking out what your soul can't handle. i can only hope i said it poetically. or at least elloquently. god, you were so beautiful to me that summer. i'm a little worried about this new year's. i'm lying here with a heating pad, two lidocane patches, and a pillow under my legs. i've been feeling extra-ouchie lately. i'm having a hard time vibrating my way out of this one. going to bed early and avoiding alcohol helps. but i HATE feel boring and disappointing people with my early departures. you're worried about using up all of your "she-loves-me-no-matter-what" passes? well, i hope i have a infinite number of "you-love-me-even-though-i-go-home-at-the-stroke-of-midnight" passes. i'm just a regular old cinderella (ella).

despite all of this, i'm excited! babe, i feel like you're just around the corner!


and then she was gone

Posted on 2007.12.21 at 23:40
seattle's finally starting to get good. but this makes perfect sense because only in the past few months have i truly been open to it being good. it's like not wanting to get over somebody because if you do, you have to admit that they could be forgetting about you, too. but funny things happen when you just follow good-feeling thoughts, without analyzing or assessing them. my bellingham people would be so weirded out if they knew i've been reading glamour magazine and liking it. i've been doing what anne lamott does: lifting myself off the sharp, shiny hook of my own self-judgement. and it's relieving. reviving. also like a an ex-lover, i have a tendency to remember only the beautiful parts about bellingham. i sometimes forget that it can feel like a pressure-cooker. all of the isms are so amplified. i think it's a college-town thing, with everyone wanting to save, save, save the wales/earth/world. i admit, sometimes it feels so good to read celebrity gossip or to toss a soda can in the trash, two things i would never, ever do in that town. sometimes i feel so un-wholesome. but deep down i know true wholesomeness comes from the heart. and my hearting is leading me this way.

Posted on 2007.09.13 at 16:38
today i woke up looking for my life as if it were a necklace that snapped on the dance floor and the beads had rolled under the feet of strangers. it is everywhere, rolling under furniture, and i know I’ll be coming back tomorrow when the dancers have danced on with their lives.

this is to say, i miss Bellingham. i’m craving apartment 312, boundary bay, the jared leto boy, the white pizza from wild buffalo, and smart people able to recognize red hot truth. i don't have time for anything else: i'm almost 24.

Posted on 2007.04.22 at 10:08
that article about you in the paper was great. too bad you said the same thing about your art a year ago when my shirt was off and your tongue was in my mouth. i'm still not sure what to make of march 2006, i'm just glad i don't think about it anymore. except about how somehow the fact that i saw you naked took the power out of the aftermath. like i cracked you with flash and canvas, and having seen your insides, i knew there was nothing special about you. you're amazing, yes. but nothing special.

i miss going on childhood trips. i miss thinking plane rides were significant world events. i remember thinking there were very few flights a day, like five or ten, or some other small, but satisfying number. and i miss the childlike self-centeredness that ensued, miss thinking that everyone on the california-bound flight was on vacation, and everyone on the seattle-bound flight was going home.

Posted on 2007.04.08 at 16:17
sometimes, i wish i could contain my desires like gumballs in a machine, place them behind a plate of glass so i can see their sum, measure their volume, and dispense them in single servings for pocket change. they are stalking me, these internal urgencies, and they creep up to my windows at night, fogging up the glass from the outside. i just don't know where to start, don't know which hound to release first. yesterday, i did not do my best to make the best of it. so life handed me dropped calls and incompetent bookstore clerks. i was only passing through, but the familiar scruffiness of that optimistic city was comforting- it's still intact if i decide dirtiness is godliness after all. still, i saw three fellow english majors working at village books, and i realized i'm sitting kinda pretty on a stack of potential just waiting for me to take hold. not that i'm ready to grab on just yet. for now i want to focus of plucking the simple, intense pleasures of my world/city/room/body.

everything is ripe, waiting to fall.

Posted on 2007.03.17 at 13:26

there's cotton candy in the trees these days. and yesterday, the humidity caught in my throat like a net. and i saw the people at pike place market differently than i saw them the day before. they are becoming as familiar as the amethyst squares of glass in the sidewalks. i see my own shiny face in theirs, and we bounce off each other, passing glances like wagers: we all have our cards on the table. and i admit, yesterday was a little much. all this talk about babies and birthdays and writing my professional bio for  work, scares me. i don't want to rush. i've noticed that so many people see beauty as something sacrificial, something to be cast off in the name of facing facts, as if facts are something more than practiced opinion. but if you love working so much, you should take care of me and i'll stay home and bake you pies and organize your closets. put mints on your pillow. sweep the dust out from under your dark places. 

i want to love you like that.



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