estate sale

i came into your house and took your things
i know you but i didn't know you
i came in welcomed but not welcomed
your silence in some other place breathed like a dense cloud over your belongings
your belongings i searched, appraised, dismissed, claimed
as my own
your belongings, they spoke to me
with a whispering hiss i learned of your likes, dislikes, routines
you like, liked purses
the bags piled on the couch, in boxes, tan black white brown leather cloth other materials large small medium sized thin straps wide straps clutches
you like, liked other things
books, dresses, jewelry, suits, playing cards, little decorative mugs, light cardigans and heavy sweaters, heels, hats, cameras
everything worn, some things chipped, some things looking brand new but i knew they had been worn in some way, maybe physically, maybe only in thought
things acquired from travels and, in later years, collected in sedentariness
things generic, shadows of things in my own closet, hints of things that will be
things so specific i shuddered and moved on to the next rack, feeling the haunting window of death open a crack and see a flicker of eye peek at me, wink
things unique and forgotten and everything else you'd expect things in a dead person's house to be
you have, had an interest in cameras
laid out next to each other, one two three four, between boxes and platters of earrings and necklaces, all in cases
the cases leather and aged, one or two newer
a four-pack of color film on a shelf nearby
i took two of the cameras, and the film
you drink, drank tea
enough so that the inside of the kettle was worn and scratchy, outside similar, dull, one dollar so
i took it
you like, liked to travel
i found two shirts from guatemala, authentic-looking, native designs and such, bought as souvenirs, never worn
i took one of those shirts
we took other things, things that don't belong with us but do belong, not belonging with the other strangers roaming through the rooms of your house, as they didn't belong with you but did
for moments i became you at certain moments in your life, as i tried on jackets and sweaters, looked in the mirror leaning against the wall
i became you and you became me
i took you home with me
i took you
and now i know you but i don't know you
i know only that you were an acquaintance of my mother, a friend of a friend
but that we were perhaps the same person
your silence and coldness silhouettes on the crowded walls, ducking between boxes and piles, jumping out at me, surprise, when i look in mugs, when i lean over tables to inspect the tiny nothings and interesting nonsense
surprise and hello,
as if i've been here, there before
you know i've been here and there before
we're here and there every day all the time
i came into your house and took your things
and i left
i left happy, a sort of happy contentment, with possibilities, with ideas
thinking of ways to make yours mine and mine yours
two seconds outside, with the screen door still open i gasped and gulped for the air i didn't know i was missing
two seconds outside and the contentment became unease and the possibilities multiplied until they transformed into doubts and what-ifs, so many possibilities missing, thoughts and thoughts of you and your belongings
i didn't take enough
or did i take too much
i snatched your things, assuming you were mine
i heard your hisses and whispers, assuming you were crying out for help
but now i don't know what to do with the raging confusion, the combustion of identity
the taking and taking
i took your things and i know you, but i didn't and i don't

a woman my mother sort of knew recently died and so my mom took me to the estate sale yesterday. it was an interesting experience... i'm a diehard thrifter, always creeping in some old store, and i have a soft spot for antiques; but this was more personal than anywhere i've been. a place stuck between now and then. a place close but distant. i really don't know what else to say besides almost immediately after we left i began thinking, "i came into your house and took your things. i know you but i didn't know you."

sublime

woke up with the most
beautiful vision of smoke
blue-white smoke
sharded in a swirling blackness
swirling, oh god the swirling
beautiful swirling wisps
i pushed them out the window, through
the screen
and the wind pushed them back to me
i laid down fighting, laughing, doing nothing
nothing but breathing, giving life to the red
letting the blue-white completely overtake me and
fuck me and love me and hate me like nothing and
no one else
smile at the forces, cringe at the stench,
look at the destruction, feel the destruction,
live at the right moment [time]
a sleepiness, a dreariness, the smoke slipping
into my eyes, teasing my lids

oh god i'm overtaken by the images, i want
to live in these images, over and over again
i want to repeat them
my dreams only real in the blue-white, in the
burning red, the ash, oh god the stench of
destruction and creation, the stench of youth, the
cries of hopelessness, echoing in the swirls
of despair, losing ourselves [themselves?] in the
lost
images of sadness mixed with anger in the
great swirl
the trails, trails of

windowsill as ashtray, everything as ashtray
oh god the paranoia,
hopes and dreams
and the stench, it never goes away, they never go
away

written this morning/some hours ago in my journal. i copied it exactly how i wrote it, the line breaks are mainly due to page size. and my tendency to write short lines instead of dragging my hand all across the page haha.

genevieve

oh the things i could say, need to say
to shed light on the beauty you create,
the uplifting that comes natural to your spirit
you walk in and in walks air,
the kind of air we celebrate in summer and
the kind of air we miss when we've been underwater for too long and
the kind of air we welcome in winter, even if we act like we hate it because the truth is we love it, we welcome it because it reminds us we're alive and okay and it's
the kind of air that brings hope and reassurance and it tells us there's more to life, there's more to our story, yes our story because it's
the kind of air that connects us, the air that passes between friends' mouth and ear, between lovers' lips, between laughter, between stomachs of emotion
yes our story and our air and your soul the great funnel
blending blending to make a marvelous mixture of life undiscovered and stories unheard and air unvoiced.
i may see places and shapes and colors and nonexistent nonsense
but you see it too.
you may shake your head, scratch the dark spaces of your memory,
say no no you're something special,
but you're here with me.
you paint with even more colors of the wind than that indian goddess
you can sweep your hand and it's there, all of it
can unchain rusty bonds of self-constraint, dab at the soft places of the heart
with bright eyes breathing an exuberance, holding life's mysteries at arm's distance
solving with pen, paper, paint, pastries, pwhatever
a soul whispering to mine, a finger nudging me forward on my journey into the vast spaces of art, time, life.
you don't know what you do i don't know what you do maybe no one knows
but you do it well.
and you'll never stop doing it,
a spirit revolving on a never-ending clock tick tick
it won't get weary or tired like those old cats, the ones with the eyes that look this way that way this way that way, and somehow in the years they gain a heaviness, a dullness in their routine
no you will not be like those old cats.

honestly, there is so much more i could say and i just can't find the words. so i'll just end it here. maybe another time. rest assured that the musing is mutual =)

crazy

so glad i'm not crazy.
i've been living these last few months, years thinking i was losing my mind, thinking that nothing was adding up, nothing was making sense
i've been doing these things, almost natural, routine for me,
genuine, sincere but
i was never sure how far my arms could reach, never sure how far they could reach
never sure how far they would.
these things were meant for others meant for me meant for that larger thing that no one can grasp or see but wants
they took shape, lost shape, fell into place anyway
oh these things.
and now they're reassuring me,
whispering genuinely and sincerely,
no no you're not crazy.
it wasn't for nothing.
don't worry.
they smile, i smile,
i'm so glad i'm not crazy.
i woke today with a hint of normalcy, a little peek into the dark spaces of life, i peered through the hole and saw amazing, spectacular images, images of
nothing.
these images were meant for no one meant for me meant for that larger thing that no one can grasp or see but wants
they fill space and take take take
these things take and give, fill and empty,
and for a while i was only sure of their
separate
incomplete
lonely
ness
their parts meant for parts meant for people who are meant for people.
oh these things.
connecting and confusing and carrying and guiding and gushing and
reassuring
they will tell me you them us her him that
we're not crazy.
say it again and again and again, please please.
and they'll do it.
they say,
you're not crazy,
this really is how things are,
it wasn't. he didn't. he did. she didn't. she did. it's ok. it's all right.
they smile, i smile, you smile,
i'm so glad we're not crazy.

defining "crazy" differently in this case, but i'm sure we've all thought of it this way. life [people, relationships, love] can be complicated, and it can be so simple.

nothing to do

but read and drink coffee all day.
SOMEONE COME AND BRING SOME EXCITEMENT INTO MY LIFE.

spring break

i don't care that i've only done maybe 12 hours of decent work this quarter, i don't care that i still have my spanish final tonight, or that my spring break plans fell through, or that i still don't know what to do with my life
i get a fucking break.
i don't care if it's not deserved or earned or even worth it.
because the sun has been shining, and it's warming up, and happiness is in the air.
no get this straight, i don't even like the sun that much. i never even used to like spring that much. that's how shitty this winter has been. that's how fed up i've been with wind and snow and coldness. i don't even care that my mom keeps saying, oh don't get too excited, you know it's just going to get cold again.
maybe it's the letter i got in the mail or my bright blue nail polish or my soy mocha that's doing this to me, filling me with this positivity, this weird lifting. maybe it's because one of my closest friends is home for a few days and she bought me a mug. i've been looking for a mug.
so i don't know what it is, and i don't really care, but i'm so glad for this week or two. for this feeling.
i'm glad that i want to jump on my bike and take a ride, i want to walk through town, stop and buy a blueberry muffin for $.70, finish this roll of film and have it turn out better than the last, that i want to just lay in bed and feel the warm hugging sunlight, holding me like a long-lost friend, yes the winter was long and cruel, but i'm back now. that i want to wear shorter skirts, sleeves, roll up my jeans, and even though i love my boots dearly i want to throw them in the back of the closet, apologizing, sorry i'll see you again soon probably, it's not you, it's me, we can only be together sometimes, for a short time. and though i love you, i really do, i always look forward to the day when i can be rid of you, because as lovely as you are, these sandals i found in that one thrift store, yeah the big one, i've taken you there, well i found those sandals there and they fit just right and they're worn in just right, so you understand? thanks, i promise we'll be together again.
the boots and the sweaters talk and scowl but they know i love them, and they know i'll be back again.
but for now, i'm welcoming the sandals and shorts and dresses i bought on sale in the cold months, welcoming my short-sleeved shirts to stop being hidden, overshadowed by other articles. i'm introducing these things to the sunlight again, and in their joy, i'm happy. in my happiness they shine even brighter. and my brightness and the brightness of all the other people merge into this colossal sunshine, heat, brilliance that rivals the sun. our rays reach further than the sun's rays, and our warmth is more genuine.
so i look forward to spring if only to awaken our sleeping spirits, shake off the shady shards of a lonesome cold, we rub the lids of our souls, open the eyes of our tired and worn warmth, yawn and breathe out a sigh of sunshine, look in the mirror and examine the light peeking through.
yes it's definitely time for spring.

just some nonsense, and i'm in a surprisingly good mood. spring break in about 10 hours.

shiver

i hold the trigger in my hand, silver, shining, shiny nails ready to pierce, bang it's in, bang i'm - we are transported to that realm of castles, stone, rigid cold breaths walking the corridors, hold my hand i feel so alone, carry the gun my hand is so heavy, shaking shivering, flick, tweak, i see the silver down the hall, a speck, a mirror, is that me there, is that you, will you please grab my hand, grab it, don't let it fall to the ground, shatter, clang clank bang bank, a pang, i let it fall, the shivering starts, continues, pauses, strengthens, a stillness, deadness lights the corridor, engulfs like a black hole, the pieces glimmer and catch my breath, cough cough, grab my hand please, don't crush the silver, point the trigger please bang bang a shiver sigh

we discussed gothic literature in class today, but i also have a fascination with heroin. well, any drug. that desire, that urge is so interesting to me; and it's so similar to, if not the same as, other feelings we have towards other things and people.

wonderfulsplendidlovely

today was a beautiful day. that is all.

today [thurs 3/4/10]

today was funny and interesting and out of the ordinary like all my other days. in spanish class we talked about uruguay and mate; the stoners were noted, and we all in hushed voices shared stories involving pipes and herbs and things like that. we laughed, dreamed, reminisced. am lit was nice as always. today we discussed native americans and got our second exams back. A. my school day would have usually been over then, but i had my spanish oral exam later in the afternoon. while sitting in the library, actually studying for a change, i was approached by a few asian people. they carried bibles in what looked like korean and i was able to distinguish words like God, Bible Study, Father, Mother, Christian? Youtube? the video they were going to show me [Just Five Minutes] didn't seem to be working so we decided on another time to meet. after they left i felt like the biggest bitch for giving them my number, a time, and having no intention of actually going. the guilt tinged the rest of my studying. i went to my oral exam, struggled through it and was utterly surprised i managed 90%. the tears told of my nervousness, relief, disbelief, and other things that i shouldn't have kept bottled up for so long. it was as if i was crying for the first, and maybe last, time. i felt embarrassment and i felt my professor's discomfort, confusion. then i felt his goodness as he said It's Alright, Hey! Look, You Did Well! yeah i really shouldn't keep things bottled up like this, or else i'll continue to explode at inopportune times. i was still fighting the tears as i walked passed a classmate who was next. How Was It? Oh It wipe Was tear Okay wipe wipe I Was Just Really Nervous avoid eye contact. i left the building and remembered the sun that had been shining all day, and i started to feel better. as i journeyed to the bus, my car i felt like i was seeing and really enjoying the sunset for the first time in my life. this is both true and untrue. that's what's so amazing about sunsets.

mom's tea

it will always be better than mine.

i've never found a cup more sweet or full of lovelifemiracles than hers
all of the love she's spent years perfecting, manifested in a simple mug
expressed in the leaves, honey, lemon.
when i was a child i thought all mugs of tea could be equally lovely
i've learned, however, that this can't be true
i refuse to believe there is a cup more angelic, more delightful than the one i hold in my hand, the one my mother crafted in that special way.
when she says, do you want me to make you some tea, the question mark is optional
because we both know the answer, i never have to say a word
my inner child cries, yes mommy, make me tea like you used to,
before i grew up and started creating problems for myself,
before i began making my own tea, before the bitterness.
it cries, mommy tell me your secret. tell me how to do this. tell me how to make it all perfect.
but i am silent.
and she interprets my invisible nod, my inaudible iloveyou, my reluctant of course.
when she says, let me know if there's too much honey or lemon, i ignore it,
i am silent, for when has she ever put in too much lemon, how can there be too much honey?
certainly never when it is a product of my mother's hands.
they say that nothing is perfect
but that's because they haven't tried my mother's tea.
those young moments of care, i've built my life around
once taught that all of life's troubles can be evaporated in the steam, i've now spent years boiling it all together and letting it driftdrift to the ceiling in little wisps of white
bad day, cup of tea, good day, cup of tea, sad day, cup of tea, exciting day, cup of tea, can't leave the house day, cup of tea, oh the adventures i've had day, cup of tea, oh those people are dying day, cup of tea. do you see?
when she says, was it good, it wasn't too tart was it, should i make you more, do you want to finish the rest, i nonchalantly answer yeah, or no depending on the situation. she smiles,
that smile, as if i had summoned a parade particularly dedicated to her with balloons and streamers and enormous floats, as if i had written her name in the sky, as if i had screamed, I LOVE YOU SO, YOU ARE THE GREATEST and flung my arms around her and never let go. that's how wondrous her smile is.
i really should have, done all of that, but it would never be enough
all of that still would not match her tea.
and i'll spend my life trying to make this tea, trying to sneak back home and make her make me this tea, trying to squeeze back into her arms, trying to whine and moan about life and all the while hear her say, it'll be okay and you're beautiful and smart and all those other adjectives mothers have to assign their children, like middle names.
and she'll spend her life making tea, teaching children,
making children, teaching tea.

i love my mom and her tea. i love tea in general. and i hate studying for spanish exams. i'd much rather spend another hour writing nonsense.