Invulnerable

When you are an open vessel, when you are open to life and the living of it, then a lot of the impressions of this Earth, a lot of the dust swirling around in commotion, a lot of ideas and feelings are going to pass through you.

Feelings, feelings, feelings, swirling, swirling, swirling. Feel them full.

Continue reading “Invulnerable”

October Flora

A pretty magical weekend. Nathan picked me up at my front door around 8pm Friday and we walked downtown for a beer at The Local prior to meeting up with his friends and seeing a brass band at the Dakota Jazz Club. Everyone was in a happy mood, we sat at a long table, crowded among others, a full house. The wine, water, beer was poured and shared; the frites and flatbread and escargot were served and enjoyed; the trumpets sang, trombones moaned, the tuba bellowed underneath. Continue reading “October Flora”

See ya, Summer; Third Eye Blind; more

Half-hour interval before the wash is done. Write for 30 minutes — go!

For the past two weeks, I have been listening to Third Eye Blind’s eponymous album from 1997. I have no idea why, other than that the album rocks. I first purchased the CD, used, off Amazon at age 12 or something because I loved the song “How’s It Gonna Be.” These days, pretty much the whole album speaks directly to my soul. I envision myself painting madly, with full-bent feminine rage, to this album. The last four songs, especially the last three… wow.

Continue reading “See ya, Summer; Third Eye Blind; more”

A Saturday in the Life

As much as possible these days, I play the game of intuition on the weekends. I have designed a “no plans” lifestyle for myself, which allows for complete freedom of being during my non-work hours. The game of intuition, for me, means acting as instinctively as possible, moment to moment, from basically the moment I leave work on Friday afternoons until going to bed on Sunday evenings. Continue reading “A Saturday in the Life”

The Attic

It occurs to me that one can be too conscious. The metacognitive processes involved in writing require, for those of us with hoarding minds, the same kind of patience, stamina, and downright courage it takes to clean out the attic, to assess the contents one by one. Continue reading “The Attic”

The Wings

I recall Joni Mitchell once said something about the pressure she felt in youth, a surely mounting pressure, to be great–to make one’s expression dance in unison with one’s soul—, and I say “mounting” because these pressures accumulate with the years. Time tends to carry on like the breath of a sad singer’s song; the phrase finished, the sounds produced, she must then gasp for air in the intervals, if to continue the tune. Continue reading “The Wings”

Animal Sit, Animal

I woke up this morning to Dr. Rybak’s voice and the cat’s meow. Dr Rybak—dream. Cat—reality. (Wallace Stevens would understand.) I was lying among supreme linens in Allie’s childhood bedroom, and I was lying on my back, down the direct center of the bed, my head comfortably lodged between the two, side-by-side head pillows. Figaro wanted food, five am. Continue reading “Animal Sit, Animal”

A Particle

I need to take a break from drawing parsimonious phylogenetic trees and hating myself for not developing a steadier, more strategic method for studying science. Current method: begin studying for an exam worth 1/3 of my grade a week before the exam. By twenty two years of age and after eighteen years of schooling, one would think that I’d have defeated procrastination by now. Continue reading “A Particle”

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