ocean blue fairy lights
I’m at the edge of my bed, very stoned, feeling the breeze outside the window and listening to “Love Is Like A Butterfly” by Dolly Parton.
June 28, 2020
I’m at the edge of my bed, very stoned, feeling the breeze outside the window and listening to “Love Is Like A Butterfly” by Dolly Parton.
I’m contemplating my date with Zeke and trying to understand my anxiety. How to not have too many expectations and let things happen naturally. But yikes. He makes me feel intense pleasure when I observe him and when he engages with me.
And when I slept at his studio last night with his head on my chest beneath the ocean blue fairy lights and dreamy music—like seriously the dreamiest music ever: obsessed with the album Air Con Eden now—surrounded by beautiful art and art supplies, I was overwhelmingly in the present.
More later. I’m going to take a shower.
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watermelon of the mind
like a watermelon of the mind,
too ripe to stay on the vine
July 14, 2020
like a watermelon of the mind,
too ripe to stay on the vine
dawn is for lovers and bakers,
tomorrow is a new day that’s never been touched,
and I have a beautiful, vintage face!
no wonder the seas are below the skies:
water is heavy,
but my mood today flutters like an inkling,
like brittle petals and tiny wings
grief is orgasmic when you scar like an aspen!
Today I spoke with Carole and Papa. Carole told me she loves my humor because I don’t put on any airs. I said, “Thank you. I like to be absurd,” and she said, “You do an excellent job of it!” I asked Papa how he wants to die, and without missing a beat he said, “Chased down by greyhounds.”
I love them so much.
“I dance like a queen, and my dress is a dream.”
death and love
From this point forward, I will be surrendering my consciousness to the void and submitting to the pure love of birth and death that is each passing moment.
July 24, 2020
Hello.
I’ve been transmuted into a watermelon.
From this point forward, I will be surrendering my consciousness to the void and submitting to the pure love of birth and death that is each passing moment.
Eating the limes off of all the trees I climb,
I don’t know what I’m waiting for.
Seems like forbidden fruit is the only kind I like.
I need a word for the feeling of frustration and admiration in someone because you wish you had coined the creative thing they did but didn’t. Like FOMO for having not been the one who received that bit of genius from the universe and collective consciousness. Like cute aggression but for artistic creation.
I don’t need you to see into me
And I’ve been needing some intimacy
For awhile
But beneath the purple moon at night
Is too lovely a place to cry.
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bright blessings
I haven’t written an inner dialogue in months.
November 11, 2020
Old habits die hard. It’s past 3AM, and I’ve been procrastinating sleep since I got home at 1AM. I feel I MUST write just a few things down.
I haven’t written an inner dialogue in months. SO many things have changed, and so many memorable things have happened. Boo and I just moved to Salt Lake, a block from Liberty Park. A long-time dream for me. I’m fighting the depression I usually feel at this time of year by going on frequent walks.
Today I went to Jarrith’s house to work while I waited to get Wi-Fi at my new place. Jarrith and I always have a fun time together. We have an awesome back-and-forth and love each other a lot. They made me a mammoth salad, and we drank whiskey and ate pumpkin pie. We smoked weed, and I got an impressive amount of work done.
I’m done for the evening. I intend to get WAY back into the habit of writing because I feel drawn back to words as of late as a means of creative expression, as well as a healing exercise. Writing this down has been nice, and needed.
2020 has been an important journey for me, especially given that it happened in the midst of me healing from my Dark Night of the Soul, co-dependency, self-sabotaging, etc.
XO, bright blessings.
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the beetles and the hounds
More and more poetry occurs in my mind as naturally as inner dialogue, and I have been loving the outcome, rather than immediately rejecting it as I have during the more beginner stage of my poetic process.
November 13, 2020
I wrote this poem (well, certainly a poem, but more prose-leaning) at around midnight last night. The first line sat in my head for a long while, and then within 20 minutes of actual writing, it became a fairly long (for me) poem about sexual trauma and feeling disconnected from my body. I’m feeling more like a conduit lately in terms of my creativity. More and more poetry occurs in my mind as naturally as inner dialogue, and I have been loving the outcome, rather than immediately rejecting it as I have during the more beginner stage of my poetic process. Same with music, but that’s always been a bit harder for me.
The Beetles and the Hounds
by Meeeeee!!!!
The dank elixir which once dribbled from her like lava flow has dulled to a crust in the shape of beetles between her thighs. Now her hands are hounds, grim and vigilant.
Each night the evening fog softly lifts the window and invites the beetles to trickle down the ledge and bury themselves in the ferns below.
In their sleep the hounds are pups. They do not anticipate calamity, but lie vulnerable on either side of her like enchanted gargoyles.
When the most alert hound sighs, relieving himself of any residual caution, the beetles pulse towards the fog and bury themselves in its fathoms.
Well before twilight the beetles re-emerge and return to their post like tiny emerald soldiers, never once disturbing her or the hounds.
When she rests, the beetles click and gestate. And when she wakes, though the hounds lay peacefully beside her, she carries a vague sense of invasion.
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matriarchal blessing
Soak and marinate in the vibrance of life, and become intimate with words. Learn them like soulmates and acquaintances. Experience their textures. Then, when inspiration hits, allow your hand to pen them.
November 16, 2020
Lady Baudelaire,
You have been called to this dorm of consciousness to heal and be healed by the people you attract in your most authentic states.
Your healing powers come in the form of spells and energy. You have a special gift for words, a connection to the collective consciousness, the capacity to condense the human experience in a way that brings calm and ignites vigor in the pure of heart.
Your energy and the love you feel for your expression of the Divine is an banner to the brave and an omen to cowards. Your love casts out fear, which process feels like death.
Take care of yourself. Give yourself water, sun, movement, resistance, silence, artistic practice, and unlimited forgiveness. Watch and accept the thoughts that flow through you. Create a home within yourself, a shelter, a hearth, complete with feast, a place to cultivate. Give those you love the space to speak and learn themselves. Allow them to create that space for you, and give thanks for it in the form of trust and praise.
Soak and marinate in the vibrance of life, and become intimate with words. Learn them like soulmates and acquaintances. Experience their textures. Then, when inspiration hits, allow your hand to pen them.
Your consciousness is within and without you, a gorgeous, swirling phantasmagoria.
I love you. Step into yourself and heal.
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intro to Constable
Another major and sudden change in my life is who I’ve been seeing romantically, Constable, and his wife, Femme.
December 12, 2020
My new goal is to finish what I start in this diary instead of stopping in the middle.
There are some serious new developments in my life. For one, I started a new job as a glass-blowing apprentice. Jarrith helped me get the interview. It’s the most physically demanding job I’ve ever had, but I love what I’m learning. I love being around Jarrith so often, and the energy the job requires is forcing me to go to bed at a reasonable hour and watch what I eat.
Boo and I are also settling into our place still and making good memories. Tonight we went to Memory Grove, got very stoned beforehand, and danced HARD. I’m so tired right now. I lost my black tourmaline stone while dancing, and Boo went back and helped me find it. I really appreciate her presence in my life.
Another major and sudden change in my life is who I’ve been seeing romantically, Constable, and his wife, Femme. My friend posted a picture of me on her Instagram story, and Constable added me as a friend and then reached out. He said I seemed mystical. We met about a week ago and have spent 4 meaningful occasions together. Last Friday he came over at 10AM and stayed until 6:30ish. We walked to get coffee at Beans + Brews, then walked to the top of the hill at Liberty Park and talked for awhile. Then came back to my place and talked more about beautiful things: philosophy, science, esoterica. We gazed into each other’s eyes for two 5-minute intervals, and I got pure energy from him. Like he was just there, not trying to overpower or idealize me.
We formed a bond quickly.
He came over a few nights later, and it was more intense. He serenaded me with his guitar, we talked about film. Then we spent the rest of the night cuddling and teasing each other. There is much more for me to write, but I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m exhausted from dancing. Also feeling a bit deflated for some reason. Lonely. One thing from the second night with Constable was that I recited a couple of poems to him, and my heart was racing. He was so cute about it.
He acted like it was the sexiest things he’d ever seen, which made me feel good, because poetry isn’t really something I connect with people on. I appreciate that Constable is an artist and that I can connect with him in that way.
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