Armadillo!

MMM, Rain

I know I’ve driven in the rain before. Driving to school, driving to Dad’s, driving to the farmer’s market to pick up those strange purple potatoes… I thought I must have driven on the highway during the rainy season. And for sure I thought I’d crossed the bridge in the rain, traveling from San Francisco to Berkeley or back again. Only, just now I noticed something. Just today, I crossed on the lower level of the Bay Bridge while it poured outside. I expected that since the opposite traffic was suspended above me on an upper-level that obscured my view of the sky, the rain would cease to fall around me. I thought the bridge above me would act as a barrier. As I passed under the overhang and onto the bridge I noticed the droplets stopped their sprinkled pattern and I turned off my unnecessary windshield wipers. Suddenly though, a thin sheet of rain seeped all at once down through a crack in the upper lever and collided with my Honda. Just a quick clash that sounded like a bucket of pebbles had been dumped onto the roof of my car… Then nothing. That was weird. 50 feet later, a second sheet of rain thundered down on my windshield. What?! Then nothing again. Another 50 feet and there came the collision of rain, the sharp line of water spilling in a hurry. When I focused farther in the distance, I could see this pale rain almost suspended in the air until I drove under it, at which point the water would connect directly with my car, and only my car. It was the strangest thing. No one else seemed to be having this problem, from what I could tell. … very strange.

Veronica Franco: From Dangerous Beauty

The speech that saved her life....

Stupid Bubonic Plague! It makes everyone want to burn each other!

Yay Veronica! Don't get burned!

Veronica Franco: I confess that as a young girl I loved a man who would not marry me for want of a dowry. I confess I had a mother who taught me a different way of life, one I resisted at first but learned to embrace. I confess I became a courtesan, traded yearning for power, welcomed many rather than be owned by one. I confess I embraced a whore's freedom over a wife's obedience. I confess I find more ecstasy in passion than in prayer. Such passion is prayer. I confess I pray still to feel the touch of my lover's lips. His hands upon me, his arms enfolding me... Such surrender has been mine. I confess I pray still to be filled and enflamed. To melt into the dream of us, beyond this troubled place, to where we are not even ourselves. To know that always, this is mine. If this had not been mine-if I had lived any other way-a child to her husband's will, my soul hardened from lack of touch and lack of love... I confess such endless days and nights would be a punishment far greater than you could ever mete out. You, all of you, you who hunger so for what I give yet cannot bear to see that kind of power in a woman. You call God's greatest gift-ourselves, our yearning, our need to love-you call it filth and sin and heresy... I repent there was no other way open to me. I do not repent my life.

In the House

The fog is so heavy tonight I wish it would spill over into rain. That would be lovely. And I wish the fire was lit up into a glow, possibly with the aid of mass amounts of lighter fluid. And House, oh House, if only a beloved link would suddenly appear on Sidereel :) that would be fantastic.

Familiar footsteps come up the stairs and the peaceful solitude leaves behind you. But it’s okay. The day I had and kept with me, is overshadowed by angst and worries that don’t belong to me. I’d do anything to make it better, but it seems like nothing I say ever seems to do very much. Words and advice fall flat because they are echoes of the words I’ve given many times before, times just like these when the anxiety returns. Love will come. Don’t lose hope on something just because it doesn’t follow orders. Such a pretty face, but so much of the time filled with doubt. The house seems darker, the curtains hide more worries. Don’t think like this, it’s not worth it. I’d rather hear everything you have to tell me, than pretend not to hear at all. The truth is dear, and so are even the difficulties that spin a mind. It’s all better to release. Forgive the worries, forgive the pain. Have patience, and be kind to yourself. Don’t forget to remember that this is one day out of many. Put on your blue fuzzy slippers and ease into the love that we all see.

Following at the river’s side

7/20/08

Following at the river’s side

Scuffled footsteps, their presence gone.
Whispers in the dawn
Fairytales and swans
We are made of memories
Love is love, and words are cleaver
But only the endeavor
Means whatever
Matters in the end

Don’t forget to remember
The burning ember
In cold December
When lights have turned to blue
I saw through lace and in between
Touched what you have seen
A Kiss of tangerine
But I cannot love the rest

She followed you at the river’s side
She couldn’t say goodbye
The only one left still to cry
And Add to the water flow
The girl who found you in the snow
Who dreams of you evermore
The one who raced you to the shore
The girl you kissed and the rain it poured
But this was your unknown
And you’ve left her there alone
Following at the river’s side


Her love is stronger than regret
A dark silhouette
Under a threat
Of a love that can’t forget
Here the echoes cannot rhyme
No strength left to climb
Is there still more time
To be forgiven by that smile?

Silver rings won’t turn into stars
Sit up and watch the cars
Counting up your scars
A world of people who get hurt
Under the lonely viper’s tree
You finally have the key
Hold reality
Or follow your tears back home

Doesn't make sense. I know. I've said too much of nothing to say more nothing

If only I was more than a copy. More than a little girl who thinks she knows what real sorrow feels like. More than a dreamy, infatuated lover, speaking passion through the guise of song lyrics. If only I could speak in real words that sooth into real meanings. I wish my words could give you something stunning and new, and evoke a tear for something old and lost. Something real. Something better than here. This is change, and this is what frightens me the most. Yet I want to touch somewhere that hasn’t been touched before. How many times has the 7th floor elevator button been pushed in impatience? How many people have opened the door to the 5th street gallery? How many hands have plucked a rose? How many lips have touched your own? So many eyes have scanned the stars, but have we found them all? Visions of owls and the changing of the seasons…where are we going? Please tell me. Everything from here on is where it rains, ponds turn to rivers, and favors forget the way. When a stranger smiles, maybe that’s a sign. Something is worth noticing, because something has changed. I don’t know anything else, but the flesh of your palm. It’s where my mind goes when I lift away a day of worries and a lifetime of thoughts. I’m not caught here. I’ve somehow found this place and it feels like now. Old doubt has left me uniformed of the lonely, but I may not be able to find my way back. Retracing my steps means leaving the path, the one thing that has made itself known. There in the striped trees, my hand flickers next to yours. I feel like I’ve stolen something. Is it really meant for me? My words can’t make feelings and they can’t speak for me either. I’m silent, too afraid to ask why. This can’t be mine, because I actually want to keep it with me. What’s the difference? The tragedy? The tears? The broken vase? I don’t miss any of it. Why is it here? Why like this? Why now? I want so much to give you more. It seems simple. To say something for you with my own voice. Who knew there were so many bottled colors?