a light discography

I woke at 4 AM, my body aching and light under a peak of heavy mountains. The fog rolled quietly...

Tue, 21 May 2013 18:44:16 -0400

I woke at 4 AM, my body aching and light under a peak of heavy mountains. The fog rolled quietly over the wooden deck just beyond my window, panting with soft, gray eyes and the wane of distant sirens. My head adjusting to synthetic light as I moved methodically in a strange hotel room.

The air felt damp, soothing. We drove a half mile to the entrance of the smallest national park in the United States and pulled our polka dotted rain boots on over our thick socks.

At 4:53, the sun rose over Cadillac mountain, and I remembered all the ways I loved you three years ago. How fragile my heart was from years of abuse; how frosted as sea glass my eyes were. And now, there is a higher calling, a universe begging me to come home like I am a wild horse and your arms are my stables. There are layers and levels of us that twist like a handmade spiral staircase, and we are always climbing to the top. Constantly dreaming, wandering.

Waiting for first light amongst the roots of our spines so we can say I do as beautifully as Neruda once did. Be still, my cherry mouth. The words will show themselves again.

icarusglass: cannon dill

Mon, 20 May 2013 20:16:47 -0400

icarusglass:

cannon dill

Where the head wanders, the heart flutters.

Sun, 19 May 2013 08:14:49 -0400

Where the head wanders, the heart flutters.

The Jealous Girlfriends - Lay Around

Fri, 17 May 2013 18:35:32 -0400

The Jealous Girlfriends - Lay Around

I found a language other than my own in which I wrote you a painful letter. Because we were...

Fri, 17 May 2013 18:19:00 -0400

I found a language other than my own in which I wrote you a painful letter. Because we were drowning, circling the drain like lost pieces of split hairs and okay, maybe I was splitting hairs, but you wore me down like sweater elbows.

In a silent cafe, you swore at me telepathically and I was sipping hot tea with burnt tongue persistance. You were only a metaphor for the sum of my parts; for some of my parts.

Late nights, cigarette breaks, the soft let down of breaking it off. Sunday like a carnival ride where the thrill felt more like a quick decline and along the hem of my skirt I found another lover. I found myself sewn into my clothes.

A lonely night on the outskirts of New York City and there is a quiet hum to the passing planes. My...

Tue, 14 May 2013 21:15:17 -0400

A lonely night on the outskirts of New York City and there is a quiet hum to the passing planes. My cigarette drags like the hours do as I pass minute by minute through the month of May. Waiting patiently for two more weeks. Hoping for positives and mornings drenched in macaroons.

Five days from now, I’ll watch the sun rise over Cadillac mountain, the first peak in the United States exposed like my ashes to the wonder or scientific glow. Six days, and the cool wash of a minty moon will cover my bruises with sympathetic hands. Seven and he will remember all the reasons why he fell in love. I will capture it with a camera shaped like a butterfly net.

The delicate parts of me tangled in the rough edges of her. The way our eyes meet and discuss all the existential aspects of life lived underwater. Interconnected always, and yet years passed without our terror talks. I’m floating now.

Banana split elbows and the chocolaty lull of marshmallows over a fire pit. I’m finally here, in the wild, licking the shore with an overused tongue.

My father told me that cabbage pancakes are the only ties he has to the celestial world. No corn...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:18:07 -0400

My father told me that cabbage pancakes are the only ties he has to the celestial world. No corn fritters or eggs with a side of bacon and orange juice. Japanese style cabbage pancakes with sesame oil and two tablespoons of low-sodium soy sauce. Like the initial hints of summer weather and shoes without socks for the first time in six long months.

We ate jumbo prawns with sirracha and took big gulps of dark beer as the sun set over Sunday’s shadowy silhouette. Our home was a dollhouse, our dinner table a breeding ground for stifled insults and the soft chew of browned goodness. I sent my belly good vibes.

There’s something to be said about the stress of living up to parental expectations that far exceed what reality actually is. I’ve sewn my artistic nature into the linings of all my shirts so I can share secret, intimate moments with my own skin. I can use my hands to scoop up seaweed coated in creamy Greek yogurt and still be the same tattooed person I’ve always been. I’ve never had corn fritters but I think I might like them.

Because when it comes down to it, I am just as free as my father was. He stole hubcaps from old muscle cars in the 50’s but he was still chained to cigarettes like I am. He wrote his name in red paint under the 59th street bridge, and even spelled it differently, like I do.

With his mouth full of cabbage, he turned to me and he said, “you’re the spitting image of Farrah Faucet sometimes, you know that? You have the same kind eyes.”

I’m adopted, so I appreciate what my mother did for me...

Sun, 12 May 2013 17:41:22 -0400

I’m adopted, so I appreciate what my mother did for me each and every day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the momma’s up in this piece.

Blinded by the neon lights of a new city, rubbing the film from my aperture eyes. I felt filthy,...

Sat, 11 May 2013 22:55:35 -0400

Blinded by the neon lights of a new city, rubbing the film from my aperture eyes. I felt filthy, dusty, egg-headed in this place. Awkward and browned by a sun much closer to the equator than I’d ever been. A dessert of strangers dried out by the weeks.

In March, I wrote myself a love letter while my skin cried all over New Jersey pillows. The fertility drugs I took wrapped their hands around my throat and stuffed me in a duffle bag. Left at the hospital to die. I had breathing treatments for twelve hours.

May and I’ve reconnected with her over galaxies of black night specked with heavy cream. I’m so much more awake, immersed in her tattoos and fem theory like I’ve been starved for six years.

Like a life with no limits. Snorkeling through the sky.

So this is what I do with the Instax film I hoard on my...

Thu, 09 May 2013 18:48:06 -0400

So this is what I do with the Instax film I hoard on my bookcase. I take photos of my baby cat Minnow getting buck with some $$.

I’m sorry, this is embarrassing for me.

Retrograde

Thu, 09 May 2013 11:11:51 -0400

deliciousinterludes:

I shouldn’t ever go back and read you,

or read us, as we were

but I did today

cringing at my saccharine naivety

but mainly saddened

at the promise of love

wasted by fear

creditors

Tue, 07 May 2013 12:53:14 -0400

There’s so much debt out here in middle America.

Parking violations and small,
horseshoe-like medical bills that we can’t help but
crumble up.
Working our asses off to graduate with a
flimsy associates degree
that will barely hold me above
water out here,
in middle America.

I have
maxed-out credit cards and
friends who will never see a profit from their
scores of student loans.
I have
teeth without crowns in them because
my dentist charges $300 an hour to
look down my shirt and
ask me if I’m flossing.
(Of course I’m not.)
I have
the responsibility of being an aunt to
the unborn child my best friends wait on
with bating breath.
But I have nothing.

Only Friday nights spent
melting into a hand-me-down leather couch
and the foresight to
close my bank accounts
before the creditors
get me.

30

Sun, 05 May 2013 18:16:12 -0400

I remember my swollen moon breasts,
An abdomen filled with blood, and self worth, and tapestry,
Your own body morphing as if you were the tides.

I ate mangos from the bow of your boat, my eyes beginning to adjust to the lowering of summer sun,
A firework display inside my stomach that
Only I could see.
We thought we knew love then, but no.
Love like a Molotov cocktail,
Exploding along the folds of my
Attic thighs.

In the fall, I saw six doctors,
Trying to pinpoint the moment
I felt alone.
And then I was vacuumed out like a dirty apartment carpet,
Losing you and her
All at once.

29

Sat, 04 May 2013 17:10:18 -0400

We had the same scars
But different stories,
Makeup on our upper lids and
Deep red lipstick to match our
Type B.

Wonder if the sun flares I found
In your old photographs
Will lead me back to you.

Wonder if our alchemy is
Enough.

27

Sat, 04 May 2013 10:26:36 -0400

The way you watch me,
As though I am the lightening
And your home is ablaze
On the shore.

sealegslegssea: (by alexis mire) I would really love to start...

Fri, 03 May 2013 21:51:59 -0400

sealegslegssea:

(by alexis mire)

I would really love to start regularly using the brenizer method, this is my first self portrait using it, if you have any tips they would be greatly appreciated!

I always learn such incredible techniques from this ridiculously talented photographer. Look at this photo! My goodness.

oldmanflower: “We held our breath and each other and couldn’t figure out the difference between the...

Fri, 03 May 2013 19:39:14 -0400

oldmanflower:

“We held our breath and each other and couldn’t figure out the difference between the two.”

—L. H. Gilliam

The moonlight shatters me, drawing a blank like I am a bent piece of paper floating relentlessly...

Thu, 02 May 2013 00:04:10 -0400

The moonlight shatters me, drawing a blank like I am a bent piece of paper floating relentlessly down a desert road. I’m just a tumbleweed. A major highway flecked with the dead of any one person I’ve ever loved.

But have I loved? Perhaps not fully. I have no desire to feel connected with another membrane because I am influential and easily influenced. An unsteady hand reaching out for what is probably a mirage. A miracle. An awkward moment shared between yellow souls. A sick stomach.

You and I; the antonym of infinity.

My photo final is coming along nicely….said no one ever....

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 18:47:00 -0400

My photo final is coming along nicely….said no one ever. This is two of 15 shots I took.

26

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 22:06:15 -0400

Asleep,
Dreaming of the cosmic encounters
Our bodies have with seven human beings a day.

I’ve brushed against so many shoulders, lips, eyes,
Trying to find myself.

And in the pages,
There I am.