good morning, neverland.

On lack of words in general, I'm glad to be back to some state of talking. I am currently soaking up the air outside on our NEW and AWESOME back porch, and the wind is absolutely healing.
This is one of those moments where nothing can capture the experience, I feel it in my gut. It's almost like crying, in joy, my intestines are quivering. This may also be the coffee I drank out here an hour ago.

But it's a glorious day. The neighbors are playing with their dog. He's huge. And from my second story perch, I can oversee our backyard (compost and all) and beyond to the tracks and the unbeknown pedestrians walking from their cars, skipping to their cars, or crossing the blue divide in a glass tunnel.

So much coffee in the world. I wonder how this generation will last.

Ah the smell. porch wood, vines in trees, cat, coffee, new clothes, old cushions.

I have been realizing more the things for which I am homesick. I can't place my finger on all of them- and most of them are an emotion or feeling- or state of mind- that I miss with different parts of me. I can commit one to being missed with my whole heart- that would be an exaggeration anyway- but I find it more and more difficult to define what my heart is anyway.

I am homesick for oatmeal mornings. For the feeling of visitors. For my old apartments: their stairs, potted plants, pumpkin pancakes, and draperies. I am homesick for the knowledge of being needed. and the knowledge of myself.

These 'self-discovery' times are so intense that I'm finding it hard to know what is real. I find things out- I feel them deeply, and then feel lost for words to express anything, and then become a silent things that is at the quiet mercy of the fleeting emotions. I don't know what is real, I don't know what is me or what discoveries I can trust. I don't even know what a discovery is for godssake. And it gets me enraged. And then I say nothing, write nothing. This is the best I have right now, and it's hard for me to let even this go-- and vague as it is.

I'm stretching more, which is good. Voice class has this tendency, excellente.

let me break here for a play-by-play moment: a bright blue truck has pulled up across the street to water the two tiny yellow potted plants hanging next to 120A and B. The side is marked with "NONPOTABLE WATER", because the obvious first idea would be to drink from it's long red grimy hose. Don't do it, I'm on the side that says nonpotable, I know these things.

I have a fear. Theatre classes have this uncanny way of making me uncover things that want to remain covered. It's a tricky question to answer whether it's better to leave them quietly shielded, whether it's healthier. Probably not in the long run, but it's hard during school- (life) when you're meant to perform PERFORM write WRITE PAPERS present, WRITE, TALK. I'm in a state of listening. And listening not for the purpose of responding. I don't trust myself, I don't want to say anything. School requires this, unfortunately for me. And here I am gone done signed up for classes, and I can't guarantee that I'll be able to perform when the time comes. This is scary. What if I fail.

Oh wiat, I did. Not too long ago either, mind you. What the hell am I doing to myself.

But I'm stuck now, and forced to decide to make the best of it. Now I just need to decide to make the best of it. Is the best of it worth it? Really though. Is it?

So much money. I hate money. hate.

In better words and things, this moment right now is as close as I've gotten to--in years probably-- to my fantasy of sitting on a hill surrounded by grass, somewhere in the UK, writing poetry in a tiny notebook. This is not necessarily a dream of mine, or something I ever see happening on a regular basis, or in my plans to do-- more like a fantasy world moment that I've had for many years. It used to be a dream, I think. But now I find it wholly unfulfilling, selfish, clout. I don't think 'clout' fits as a defined word here, so if you don't know what it means, just listen to it's sound. Thats what it means to me. and if you do know what it means, do the same.
But here I am, freshly showered (last night, so I have dried hair in the shape of a peacock.) new leggings, my mom's big sweater surrounding, no bra, no makeup. soft cushion, relaxed stomach free of vanity, relaxed face muscles free of smile or frown. The perfect temperature. The perfect sun, alighting one knee and leg with it's warmness. It's funny when one realizes a moment fulfills a fantasy that you've been carrying for years.what a delightful realization. It must end in five minutes (or sooner) depending on how long my computer battery will last, not being plugged in. Yes, it just beeped at me.
I also have class. and once again, I have not written a single journal entry for htis class since the last time I passed it in. figures.

But I have this, even if it's not to show.

so much.

My lack of posting of anything not remotely deemed recent is in no way related to lack of brain activity, but I suppose lack of coherency of anything worth discussing at length with anyone but myself. There is so much conversation- so many words and idea, perhaps some listening here and there, but overall I find it very exhausting and barely want to repeat or record any of the thoughts or conversations I have to coherent words put together. I don't know, really.

I've been thinking a lot about faith, religion.
...and that's exactly why I didn't want to write anything about it, because of your reaction you just had, just now. I mean, of course I'm thinking about faith. who isn't.

I'm having a lot of issues with church. I'm turned off by it right now, and I can't figure out exactly how this has happened- what exactly lead to this thing.

And again, I can't even write about it. I have no motivation to write it all out. I thought forcing myself might work. but it doesn't.

I also hate writing, right now.

go figure.

and eat your cake,

Good (early) morning!

I had to post the link to the most delicious vegan chocolate cake EVER
I did not make the glaze (made a vegan frosting- bu it is amazing just by itself), or mix it in a pan (I used a bowl)

It is moist and sosososooo good!!
Warning though: it had a hard time coming out of the pan, so I would recommend the parchment paper--- or cupcake style! that would be so yum.

I feel like I iwll be making this again. very very soon.

oddly enough, too: I followed the recipe practically to a T, which is not usual for me.

but I loved it. easy peesy. delicious.

God, oh God breathe into me,
make my roots explore, beg my head to spring up
the sprout of God is God, and I have no want left in me but to be that.
What can I do?
Wait? Wait.

feelings. doings.

old, young, alive, sitting in the library, working, chewing gum, bouncing a knee, missing people, thirsty, itching an eye, typing, listening.


also I can't help but say that mewithoutYou was beyond unbelievable live. beyond. unbelievable.

I am full of something,
but no words.

This is the cutest.

pink tongue

COME KITTIES, COME

In Southie. I've never hung out here for an extended period of time. Very neighborhood feely. I kind of like it. Plus I just had a pretty yum falafel pita. I'm at.... Amsterdam Cafe. wifi + couches = good right now. Hectic morning with a fashion show. It really wasn't that large, but there was a variable amount of stress to be had (and was had). I did makeup first for a few models (fun), was told I was like an artist with a canvas, watched a pretty awesome stomp team perform, organized and labeled outfits and accessories for models, did some management.

The other make-up artist came up from New Jersey (I thought I was coming from fairly far away...), although she doesn't do make-up professionally either (not being trained- like me) but she was very all about it. At first I felt a little intimidated, but I played off of her style (she had already done a few models by the time I got there) so that our models wouldn't look drastically different. She was doing big make-up, and I'm more into the natural-look. Unfortunately, she was the one who purchased the make-up we used, so there wasn't any natural colors so I just had pinks, blues, purples, and grays to work with. I made it work.

I have to say, having too many people managing things gets to be too complicated. I tried to stay out of the way and just be efficient during the actual show.

It's quite warm, and there was absolutely no air conditioning.

There is an interesting conversation happening across the way from me. I can't tell what language these two men are speaking. It's not quite German.

I just want to record somewhere the hilarity that was this morning: trying to figure out what the HECK to wear to a fashion show for goodness sake. Suzanne was my audience for my small fashion show trying to find something decent. And then I put some makeup on. Funny thing.

there is a giant dog outside the front window. I want to give it a hug.

I should be working on my play, but instead I'm writing this and listening to Lauryn Hill.
yes.

AAAAND, just bought tickets to mewithoutYou on July 11!

for my birthday. everyone come.
buy here
$18.30 total

things n things

BLOG to follow: http://22ropes.blogspot.com/

It is the blog of the community house of which I am now a part. We are on a great adventure. And so far, it's . I have no words.

I have no internet at my house, so everything is slowing down and I can't post often. poo.

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The crumpled bodies of worms,
moist and pallid one day--
dried and browned the next;
as it is with most things.
The small sort of warmth of your hand on
my shoulder, sitting quite still. Voicing
prayers of wax, melting and re-forming
into the shapes of our bodies.
We are so close together,
barely touching with a slight sway
in your direction, and a wisp of your hair.
It is heated from the sun, dark and unruly--
climbing about your face and toggling your beard
with many fingers.

All things pass away, even this.
even this.
Soon, you are going
to the rain and snow--
And I will stay here.

Your teeth are hiding- glimpsing the air slowly
out one side of your mouth,
and that little tilt of your head to the right.
Your hair is quite long now,
different. As you are.
even this.

are things finally over, ever? I doubt it.

things linger, if you can understand
this small concept.
I believe,
this is a small portion of my life,
waiting in front of me-
but it seems so very large.
so very large.
catastrophe of impending things, with a small child
furtively singing holding a guitar
delicate in the corner of a very small room.
a cat crosses the floor in her shy way;
flipping over a small beetle, emotionless
pondering,
leaving the tiny legs to squirm, squirm in the air.
and a soft tinkering of fancy guitar-work from the tendered
and padded hands of a weathered man, far off-
a wordless tune coming gently with the morning breeze
between the two curtains.
the ground is far below these thoughts-
streaming like incense tendrils,
puffing into nothingness
about four feet up.