I stayed long enough to see that Zuccotti Park was not nearly the shit-filled hippie-infested wasteland that the media and my preconceived notions had created. Okay, so maybe it was a little hippie-infested…. But it was not dirty.
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I’ve been telling my stories with all the gentle calmness of a yogi trying to perfect her child’s-pose breath. As though my life is still the lather-rinse-repeat cycle it was last time I told any story at all. As though I have all the time in the world to tell these stories, because they’re not going anywhere significant anyway. I’ve been telling them to myself that way as well… but that’s not how the story goes.
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“Did you hear the sounds he was getting out of that bass? Wow!”
...read more hereI said “good night” again. I couldn’t make “goodbye” come through my lips… but it doesn’t matter even a little since I’ll never see him again.
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Naturally, it was crowded, not just with people, but also with ugly little twisty-faced ghouls, witches, and other unidentifiable creatures. No, reader. No. I don’t do ugly.
...read more herefrom your lips to my mouth,
deeply, as though
asphyxiated.
It’s not that I have a dearth of things to write about. In fact, my last few days have been pretty eventful between band bitch-fights, awkward flirtation, things being set on fire and other bizarre little events. It’s simply that at this moment words are not pouring from my fingers. I think I even want [...]
...read more hereAm I the only one who thinks it’s an impossible task? Why won’t it last? Is that too much to ask? Why do we love Love when Love seems to hate us?
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And before you laud me as a natural born chef (which, I know, is what you were about to do) I’m usually wrong. I can almost never do something exactly the same way I did it before, because I wasn’t paying enough attention the last time I did it.
Epic domestic fail…
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