the Bohemian by the sea

does it matter that you can feel the warmth of the sunlight on your shoulders, the salty sea breeze in your hair, and at the same time, see the storm clouds up ahead?

does it matter that the sea holds immense sadness in its depths, and yet at the same time reflects the joy of the sun in the glinting rhythm of waves?

do these things matter? do they have a place in business? in finance? amongst skyscrapers? alongside ships that carry cargo from one place to the next?

can someone say that it is okay to honor the new and mourn the lost all in the same moment? all in the same day. can someone shout this from the rooftops and whisper it in the shadows? instead of this. this silence. this, unspoken name. this covering up with words of new.

can someone tell the masses, “it is okay to not be okay on this day.” or even the next.

it is o.k.

it is okay.

it is ok to not live in the binary. in the ‘either or’ but to let things co-exist, mash, intertwine. mix.

binary is not how it always is anyways.

it’s not how it ever was.

Take a walk on the wild side

1. Little girl, stroller, chubby cheeks, bunny hood.

2. Black cloth, slow shadow, head bowed, face dark, skinny ankles, dirt crusts.

3. Sun-lit trees, out-stretched branches, lime green leaves.

3. Bird cages, captured song, oppression-or-freedom, modernity-or-the-ancients.

4. Footbridge, light, sounded steps, rainbow reflections, faded-honey warm glow.

5. Train.

 

a [first] love

sept 22

the morning was dawning. i had fallen asleep with heartache on my lips. i looked across and she was here again, she looked cute in my pajamas and the waking sun cast her in a soft light.

she bent and unbent herself as if she were a folding chair, and she stroked my arm with her finger.

the clothes were hanging up in the window, drying from the night before, framing the hills like curtains onto the world’s stage.

i looked back to her finger still stroking my arm, she opened up her mind to speak and thought,

“You know, you’re beautiful -”

i had never heard her think that before, the infant sun rays bathed themselves against the window panes in light of my awe.

“You know, you’re beautiful -. There’s no one else like you in the world. Your heart beats to a different drum… I think… you could try embracing it.”

dec 12

IMG_20141212_194516

and so i tried.

[self-love]

diary

Jan 8, 2014 (edited)

Nothing in life is a true failure, mistake, or disappointment.

Most are just moments unfolding into moments, unfolding into moments – a kaleidoscope of sorts – a beautiful pattern that fascinates, mystifies, and bewilders the soul. In the thick of it, it doesn’t make sense and you don’t understand it, but when you look back, you will see its merits.

Bread Crumbs

There’s an uneasiness that comes with being human and being conscious. Teetering on the edge of hopelessly infinite and just hopeless.

Every moment is a morsel unfolding onto another. Bread crumb after bread crumb left by Hansel and Gretel – only to be eaten by the monsters of time, mutely jeering on the sidelines. Out of sight. Out of mind. Until you can’t find your way home. Knocked out. Awakened by the acid that eats away at your flesh, the walls of your surroundings slimy like a human balloon, contracting in and out. Bits of yourself floating on the wet graveyard of past wanderers.

Caught in the stomach of a witch.

Your options: If you’re still alive, you can chew your way out.