As Much As I Ever Could

11/10/10

Hung up the phone in a daze.  Your far away voice so close to me.  Left me in a trance.  Red then green then red again.  The lights turned, I didn't.  No music playing, no music needed.  Air filled with song.  We're still here.  You're still here.  Same giggly, Aristotle-reading, wanderer.  You'll never stray far.  The feeling of full- an after thanksgiving dinner kind of full.  Full and thankful.  It was just us.  Plain, simple us.  I wrote today's date near twenty times today but it held no meaning until now.  You're more than in my head.

Steal

an orange sunset

Where does love go when its lost?  Does it float around in vast space or dissipate into thin air?  The hollow hearts longing.  Re-filled but still partially empty.  Always.  A different kind of fill.  Each love is a different jig-sawed puzzle piece.  Different from the rest.  Different, yes again.  Lots of pieces, none the same.  Each perfectly designed for that space.  Space and time.  Time does not mean space, space does not mean time.  Flashbacks sharp as lightning.  Daydreams beautifully blurry.  A bare room, a top sheet, an orange sunset.  

99 Problems

Darling, Its Alright.

...

He asked me years ago to define the word "Love."  He asked many, in fact.  It was an assignment that I wouldn't hand in on time, I honestly don't think I even handed it in that same semester.  But I do remember writing it.  I remember mulling over and over about it, trying to come up with the perfect thing to say, the 'nail on the head' of writing and defining.  And then, back then, way back then, I thought I got it.  I remember writing something to the extent of "Love is the last money left in your bank account used to buy your significant other a present, something to make them happy, to see their eyes light up."  To me then, back then, way back then, love was about extremes.  The highest highs and lowest lows.  Winter and Summer.  Black and white.

Years gone by, loves gone by.  Love on so many different levels and so many different extremes.  But thats what it takes, doesn't it?  Years.  Extremes.  Experience.  I thought about the specific day he asked us to define that word, that little "L" word, that four letter word with so much meaning and honesty.  Proustian moments somehow find their way to connect me to him and that classroom constantly, a smell, a taste, a sound, a sight, and I'm right back there.  Today it was the distant sky.  The same dark but harmless sky as the day he had assigned the assignment.  Little did I know that 5 years later I would begin to reevaluate my answer.

Now, today, here, right here love is different.  Its no longer an extreme, an up or a down.  Its not the "POP" at the highest point of the firework, nor is it the "BANG" of the bullet leaving the guns barrel.  Its the quiet of the before and after.  Love is what happens when nothing at all happens.  The peaceful altruistic moments we have for one another without even realizing we did so.  Love is when we don't think, but just do.

We were walking around the neighborhood [a commonplace for us] I was wearing your sweatshirt.  Oversized just enough to keep me perfectly warm in this cool Fall weather.  I had pushed up the sleeves, about halfway up my forearm, probably so I could talk freely with my hands as I always do.  Mid-conversation you leaned over and pulled the sleeves down past my hands then rolled each one up so that the edge of the sweatshirt just reached my wrist.  We never stopped walking, we never stopped talking, I never said "thank you," I never asked "why."  I didn't need to.  I didn't even realize it occurred until much later.  I'll never know exactly why you did what you did, Im not even sure if you do.  My guess is that somewhere in your head, somewhere in between our playful conversation, and the gorgeous weather of this Fall season, you probably thought I was cold, or uncomfortable, and without thought or words or interruption you did what you did.  That's love.

If he were to ask me today, at this very moment, to define that little word I would only have one thing to say.  One short, precise answer, "Love is an ellipsis."

To know for always

Fresh

Willow Smith
Will Smith's daughter
Age 9.
Signed by Jay-Z
No jokes.
I guess this is what happens when your Dad is the fresh prince.
A May Zing.

I just couldnt help myself

Sorry Zac [Efron] I re-fell in love with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Whether you love him or loathe him you should probably watch this video. Ummm and he speaks french about 2/3 of the way through. Oui.

"The lie becomes the truth..."

Unexpected Mash-Up

Download an Unexpected Johnny Cash and Eazy-E Mash-Up

little things

Lately, I've been writing on my left hand. Just a word or two or maybe even a short phrase per day. Something to get me through, something to glance at leaving me with that feeling of finally breathing out. "little things" is what it reads today. Simple yet powerful, reminding me that today will be nothing tomorrow. Mere blips. Everything in perspective, where it belongs. Tomorrow you will laugh about how silly today is. Today's mountains are tomorrow's molehills and so on, and so forth.

Good Morning Dance Party

Remember when you said

Remember when you said "...a committed relationship where you can call me up after a rough day at work and vent..." Today is one of those days. I need you now. The stress of the day, allergic to change. Overwhelmingly uncomfortable. Told myself to "keep calm and carry on" fifty six times today. Those words penned onto my left hand as I type. A week gone by, one more to go. Funny how I said to myself just yesterday "this isnt that bad, we're so secure." Well what happened? Not on your end, but on mine. Missing that face. But today is today and tomorrow is the rest of our lives. Hold your center little girl. The weight of two thousand miles apart resting on my heart. Pressure. Good thing pressure makes diamonds.

The Day We Left Town

"Sir your book!"

I could never own a kindle. Well actually, I take that back...sure I could own one but I would never even turn it on, definitely not. It would probably become a place for candles to stand tall and burn on. Dont get me wrong, I am an avid reader but I need to avidly feel the pages, touch every word, become intoxicated by the smell. Books protected like children. Some unknown bond between me and them. My books are loved, underlined, dog-eared, folded, rolled, torn, worn. When I begin to drown myself in a book I need its presence always on me, even if its just to quickly glance at its binding. A needy relationship for sure, but I bet the book needs me just as I need it. I think I fall in love with the actual pages. Too good to put down, too hard to let go. I rarely lend books out unless I am as close to certain as possible that I will be getting them back. When the "as close to certain as possible" fails me, and my beloved book disappears for good, I feel like Im missing an extremity and I long for it. Today on the train, while I had a no-longer-meaningful mix blaring into my eardrums, the man across from me got up to get off and accidently forgot to take his book. Instinctivly I screamed "Sir your book!" Everyone on the packed, peak train turned and looked at me. Let's just say that the pitch of my scream of horror was because of my song in ear and from that my hearing balance was off. I literally shouted at the frail, mid-aged intellectual. And thats what I replied when the stares of other passengers kept coming "Sorry, I didnt realize how loudly I yelled." But the truth is, no matter if I was listening to Bach on the lowest setting, or Glassjaw turned all the way up, or simply the sound of the train against the tracks I probably [in splitsecondthoughts] thought that maybe this man was like me and needed, not wanted, his book.

Helium

And the real question is are you happy with the company you keep when youre truly alone? Calm and clear. Tell yourself the truth. Honesty is your best quality, lifts you like helium. Honest and gravity-less. Wise beyond your years is being truthful to yourself. You know what you need to do, all the answers reside inside of you. No such thing as lock and key, figure yourself out. Stand completely perpendicular to this earth. Happiness is beauty. Beauty is what survives when there is nothing left. No strings, no connections, just you, bare you.

Vintage

disCover

A song for Friday

Sound of Summer

How do you measure things from the past? Looking back to look forward, bittersweet as per usual. Milan Kundera once wrote "In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine," I would have to agree. A wise man's wisdom. And we talked about what was and what is, what a difference between the two. I would never go there again. To lose ones self is the highest form of self disrespect. Happiness is calmness. Some days will be better than others, but always hold your center. The ones that passed are held in songs tied to your memory, freshly stinging like a papercut. The song ends, the papercut heals. In twenty minutes I bet youll forget which finger was cut, all youll remember is that for a split second it hurt. The present is a funny thing. How often do we look at where we are and not at where we were or will be? Not enough, for sure. Focus on today, on the now. Days are wasted by looking at tomorrow. You came from yesterdays, yesteryears, and now youre here, in front of me, like still water. A new you, a new me. Something feels sure, certain, stable. Lately laughter consumes about half of my days. Laugh so hard that you gladly accept the wrinkled laugh lines and crows feet at twenty-five. Mmm the sound of summer.

Incred-a-cover

Summer Love

Collision

And Sometimes

And sometimes its the littlest things that get you. The things that make you actually feel your heart. I knew and I didnt know. Without thought, with knowledge. Something so simple, something without words, speaking to me with every word I've ever known. More meaningful than June. Never a question, never a quest. It came with an introduction like no other. There is no better present. "Just something little," you said. Speak to me without words, you've spoken louder than anyone has before. Fastest subway ride I've ever taken, I was never on the train. Train of thought tucked into a plain white envelope. Some things we protect, hold gently like newborns. Fragile yet strong as the sea. You see me.

June gloom

I love me some Olsens but I had to post this.

Things I find on Craigslist

"Every girl that dreams of dating a bearded uptown hipster with a bike...
Date: 2010-02-12, 4:05AM CST

let me just remind you that when you take away the fixed-gear bike, the messenger bag, the scarf that's worn year-round, the ironic t-shirt, the dumb shoes, the pbr, the tattoos, plugs, and the stupid beard, we all look the same.

so, are you really in love with a guy or his accessories? or is it that you're in love with the whimsical idea of an urban lumberjack type who will go on "adventures" with you, meanwhile being perfectly content with doing what every other human being our age does: drinking and fucking?

also, tell me about the last black guy you dated. what's that? you can't? cause every fucking uptown hipster is a white boy from the suburbs.

the uptown wannabes from the suburbs grow up idolizing the current inhabitants. when they're old enough, they move there, grow beards and do the stupid shit that kids do (eg. drink). what's ironic is that this new generation then grows up and becomes the new kids to be idolized by the new uptown wannabes from the suburbs. it's an endless cycle of superficiality, facades, and stupid kids seeking affirmation from their peers.

the truth is, NONE OF YOU ARE COOL!

i wish i could be there, 20 years from now, when you look back at pictures of yourselves from today. it's like explaining zubas in the 90s to someone today.

irony is not timeless.

marry a guy with a yacht.

Location: uptown
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests"

Expedition Great White, episode 1

No Words