short thoughts

caught in thoughts twisting tightly around my mind. strands of ideas meant to pass in a cursory glance yet they stay. continue to accumulate until no semblance of cohesion exists. just a messy mass of purposeless anxieties and neurosis. 

to want is to work

I found this excerpt in the unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath and it struck a chord with me. Especially at this point in my life as I consider my future and pursuing jobs, clearing the path that my life will take.


"I am lucky: I am at Smith because I wanted it and worked for it. I am going to be a guest editor on Mlle in June beacause I wanted it and worked for it. I am being published in Harper's because I wanted it and worked for it. Luckily I could translate wish to reality by the work."
-Sylvia Plath

July 1976 -

I melt into the lawn chair

like salted slugs

in the hot sun.

these are the type of days I have

waited all year for-

watching your hair stick to your scalp.

hearing your voice come in

and out through the sounds of

a buzzing lawnmower,

clicking sprinkler.

sweat slowly crawls down from the sides

of my head just like my

thoughts

and the insects you would press

under your thumb on the concrete.

the housekeeper working quickly

at the clothesline.

I wanted to ask if she could

pin me up by my skin

and hang me

to dry.

and you breathing out your mouth,

through scorched lips

that had not yet

truly tasted summer.

love it

I love this bedroom! It's mine!

thought

"there are no words. only nothingness. deep dark beautiful nothingness."

macaframa

I love this film! It is based out of San Francisco and features a handful of talented riders, filmed and edited by two film students in the span of 3 years. Essentially, this movie slays. Packed with hill bombs, busting through traffic, and a bunch of tricks, the pace is kept incredibly well with various brief pans and time lapses of the city and a solid, mostly classic rock soundtrack. check it out!!!! These guys ride FAST

thoughts from last night

I've left my eyelashes on your windowsill.

My eyes burning in the middle of the night
Made me take them off.

Those nights, too drunk or high to drive home.
I would stay in your bed.

A peice of moon peeking out behind the old curtain.
Mine were always closed up tight,
Blinds and curtains.

Fears of being watched, invaded
By that which is not here.

Afraid to know-
Who are you?
What is on your eyes?

dream apartment

This is where I am supposed to live someday. my paradise in the sky :

blood and steam

Quiet deep melancholy

Hot drops of water course down my body

Sound blurs

In my head grinding- rock on rock.

 

Alone

On the page of this life

Blank staring up waiting for

Something to validate its existence.

 

Nothing but blurry ink

Dark questions

Self hate-

Wonderment at the way life grabs us up

Holds in a tight breath

 

Only to drop

Shattering glass into flesh

And dark scarlet

Swirling down the drain.

 

life

This blog is about my life and what I write. I don't think that I am super super interesting but it's my life and I like it. So therefore I share it. 

always,

Lindsey

untitled

Staring at channel 11-

footage of bomb dust flying

everywhere and bursts of orange.

buzzing of helicopters and tiny figures

making their exit.

And into the clouded mirror in front of her

at Darlene's Parlor.

"did you hear about so and so's daughter and that boy."

echoing in the background.

dizzying clouds of chemicals 

move around her head,

get caught in her throat.

nights of tv dinners,

sleeping in curlers-

their pins maddeningly

pushing into her scalp.

one afternoon she gets her husband's

rifle from under the bureau,

stands in the backyard

and shoots at birds as they fly by.

bed linens strung on the clothesline

whip in the wind

like little flags. 

Putting on her lipstick-

the bleeding scarlet paint of it

covers her mouth

and she watches them fall.

one after the other.

because he crossed the place where

endings begin and

noticed the tiny coils that accumulated on sidewalks

he was desperate for small things-

the way bits of gravel dust clung to balmy shins.

the void that overtook at night,

blank walls, empty parking lots.

a quiet comfort of sinking

into beer bottles and folded up into sheets for days.

and shopkeepers

that greeted, staring making him

self-conscious. 

the nothingness that made up 

distractions, the brush of a stranger's shoulder.

the darkness and how he blended into it,

an indiscernible figure.

night sounds

the little sounds at night 

echo in my ears 

taunting me making me

second guess why it

is i am trying to go to sleep

anyway.

drip drip- drain leaky under the sink

rattle rustle- rabbit chewing on her cage

creak squeak- floorboards give way to downstairs neighbor's feet.

at times...

- I wonder if weird stuff like this happens to other people.

untitled

wind sweeps past my face 

I catch you
sitting across from me on the porch.

tangled up in your own thoughts-
they seem detached and simple
like the dead leaves getting carried around by the same wind.

soon it will be fall and we will still sit out here and
I will try to behold you.

search for you beyond
the way you graze the back of my neck with your lips,
push on my hips.

But somehow-
I can still feel that brush of chilly wind
and a question too deep for you to answer.

even on the longest of porch-sitting days
and me watching, trying to find where you are.

here's something...

 maybe there's a chance that this tidbit of advice is glaringly obvious, you decide:

  ** Be Honest. With yourself. With people.**

lover's eyes

their eyes.

just one

from each pair.

I lay down on them

at night when

I go to sleep

in this bed.

most of them are

blue. Some are

brown and some

aren't any color.

shame that

this space used to belong

to me

and now I have to share it

with them.

When they are angry at me

my back hurts from their staring into it.

when they taunt me

their coy glances leave me wanting.

but most of all, when they

rob me of sleep,

they inhabit my dreams.

I might wake up in

a bigger bed with more

of them woven into

every stitch of the sheets.

hmmm

Why is it that I get a resurgence of creative energy at the most inopportune times. I seem to only know what to write when I'm trying to fall asleep at 3 a.m. or when I'm in class. Most times it happens when I don't have a pen within my grasp or I'm in a conversation with someone. Can you imagine..."hold that thought a second I need to jot down a poem," what strange looks i would get, especially from people that don't know me. hah! 

bar on the corner

Shrunken crumpled
on a sidewalk outside
of the dirtiest bar in town.


That's where I was left.


Cheeks stained with mascara
color faded red rimmed orbs


Exposed like the rotting siding
peeking out from layers of
peeling paint.


For decades people have been
discarded, thrown out to the hard pavement.


Pain is deeply rooted
in the structure of the old building.


The mirror behind the bar mocks
it's patrons in self hatred


Its rogue charm could be added
up to some broken chairs, split floors, fights, tears and
beer served in plastic cups.


A jealous lover shot up the place once.


and the songs, though good,
lost their luster after their rotation
pattern became apparent.


The empty person
that's still around at last call,
has the sound of crashing bottles
clanging in their ears
long after they return to where
they were from.





*photo credit: news & record

short thoughts

a neurotic wanderer

she might find herself waiting tables

at a dingy diner in some southern town

or dealing black jack in Vegas.

mmm

Just because I can. I can because I love them. And because I'm weird.

wire

entangled, wrapped into

a possession of herself.

night after night feeling

the gold threads tied tightly

around her skin

compressing-

circulation suspended

for a moment

a flash of a life

that lasts

and throbs at pressure

only to wait

for when the wire threads snap-

give way

to desires,

agony

and red stripes are

revealed, an impression

of their existence.

and waiting no more.

...nothing........

Used

Viens in your hands

swelled pulsating

grabbing my flesh

Atavistic force drives

moving our bodies to union

fleeting flashes of feeling

of sacred ties

only to be startled awakened

to realize the final finish was

a romantic fallacy-

chemicals coursing through

the crania

bottomless seeking

nerve endings

narcissism

buying and selling

Exploitation.

"newish" cd

Love , love, loving... Cymbals Eat Guitars', Why There Are Mountains. It flows like one big song with a mid/ final crescendo, switching things up along the way... if that even makes sense. But anyway, here's their Myspace and you can even listen to the album on pitchfork !

currently obsessing over...

  hell yeah I'm obsessed with this picture, but more importantly the attitude!

:: joy division : painting my furniture pepto bismol pink : snookys! (the bunny) : twizzlers pull n' peel : ordering my coffee drinks with an extra shot : decorating for easter : walgreens (home away from home, my mecca) : playing the character of holly golightly in everyday life : things that sparkle : gettin' experimental in music and poetry tastes : documentaries ::

News Flash: we (coral and myself) are seriously considering painting our nasty, ugly brown cabinet in the bathroom pink! we could get in trouble with management but who the hell cares! 

sweet affirmation

This weekend I got an email informing me that one of my poems has been accepted to the Spring edition of the Coraddi (uncg's literary magazine.) I was not really expecting to be published, but I thought I'd take the chance. It has only been recently that I started openly sharing my work. I have to admit that it feels awesome to know that someone else understands my vision and appreciates my style. cheers to poetry!!

here it is:

Divine Ceiling

I spent that summer alone in a sub-leased 5^th floor walkup.

Most nights I would lay awake for at least one hour before

Sleep would wash over and pull me in.

I would stare at the walls, the bedposts, the pictures.

Coffee stained papers were crumpled and discarded like forgotten people

Who made their homes under bridges.

Stacks of books with dog-eared pages lined the walls.

Post-its on the walls that said things like “live your dreams.”

My roving eyes got stuck on

A small pile of hair strands on the nightstand.

But not often would I look up at the ceiling.

The blankness of that holy, empty space was always lost on me.

a bad night

Lying on the floor in painful resignation

She threw up a bottle of wine

into a trashcan that night.

 

“You deserve the best,” he told her.

She could only see his dead eyes, rotten

And spent like dirty money.

The kind that had passed through

the hands of hookers, gangsters and politicians.

If the best was what she deserved,

Then she would only buy the bottle she

couldn't afford.

 

With nausea she released tainted, 

cheap memories and bottomless seeking 

into the unholy vessel.

Promising herself one more time

That she would not care.

 

Finally free.

A small scarlet stream crawled

Down her forearm. 

word to the wise...

I stumbled on this poem/thought yesterday when I was reading a book of poems, Honor Yourself by Terri St. Cloud. (check it out)

 As someone who has heard the word "grace" a bit too many times in my life, I was hesitant that this would strike me in any new way. 

But it did and it's brilliant:

                      grace

maybe grace is figuring out its not

                 all about you.

that people are doing what they're

   doing for their own reasons.

                    not yours.

and maybe grace is accepting that.

-Terri St. Cloud

old crap get out of my rearview mirror!

As of late there is one obstacle that I am finding increasingly difficult to overcome. Name that obstacle.... moving past old crap. In many ways my life is moving forward, changing and evolving into a more interesting path. Recently I have been able to discover new passions and talents that I might have left stagnant had I not made some changes in my life.  But I still find it hard to completely shed the old hurt and resentment that have been plaguing me for well over a year.  I don't know what it's going to take to move on and be free.  I keep telling myself, "press onward, there are good things waiting." With everyday that passes all I can hope for is that I will not get buried in the trench that is cynicism.  I want to be able to trust people and let people in. Maybe just that want is enough for now.

the meat of the matter

Like a cut of nameless meat,

rippling muscled, red, full of possibility.

So is my life.

Raw, needing to mix with flavors,

people, elicit affairs, experiences.

melded together, joined, sacredly united

by chance or by pure atavism.

all of it gives

me something to be about,

something to speak about.

tell me....

- what makes you want to wake up in the morning?

-what do you have? give it away.

-Is there something you do that makes you feel like you are fulfilling your purpose, and are you making time to do that?

-do you question yourself and the world often?

-do you want something from others or would you rather give to them?

*I try to ask myself these questions everyday* 

life

is

figuring 

things

out.

mmmhhhaaamm

*Let go,  let your thoughts run rampant into weird and deep places. Crevices and corners of the psyche.*

most of the time...

     I       walk

                                  through 

                 life            

                           

                             like

             it's a dream, 

  

                                               

                                my dream.

very short thoughts

Most nights I would lay in my bed for at least one hour before sleep pulled me in to unconsciousness.

I would lie on both sides looking at the walls, the bed posts, the pictures. 

But not often did I stare up at the ceiling. 

The blankness of that vast, empty space was lost on me.

short thoughts

Eyes glazed with judgement thanklessly peirce my flesh and strip me down to a mere skeleton. The commonality that is supposed to unite a species is gone. The smacking of their lips and the disgusting film on their teeth move around in tandem motion as they chomp on their gum and engage in pointless, vapid banter. Clocks are ticking on great walls somewhere. In the offices that control the world crucial work is taking place, bells are ringing, all the while they have no part in this. Eyes dart back at me as though they are trying to hate me, hate me with a smile or a laugh. They try to hate me with sureptitious comments and failed attempts at small talk. Songs from top 40 radio station are the soundtracks to their lives.

mm hmm a new day is here

As I look outside it is somewhat dreary and few patches of snow remain on rooftops and on car hoods. But a streak of sunlight is starting to break through the dark clouds. This is perfect for a monumental day in history like today. The icy, harsh cold is beginning to melt away and spurts of green grass can be seen by all who believe in hope, change, and rebirth.  My heart is full of joy and most of all, hope for the change that is to come. After hearing the oratory masterpiece that was the obama inaugural address, I have a renewed, unwavering belief in him as a leader and in what he can bring to the bleak American landscape. I can't wait to actually believe in our government and what it stands for, and that can only be done through change and the abandonment of the old corrupt capital hill ways. I don't need to review the speech because it speaks for itself. The looks on people's faces in the crowds are enough, and the feeling of peace that unites america right now is more than enough.  Today is a day to be proud.

"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek." -Obama

Today...

- I realize that I want more people in my life that can teach me 

old&new

Today Coral and I went to chapel hill to visit our dear friend Laura and browse some of the cool vintage shops over there. I ended up getting an adorable vintage 70's sheath dress at this deck store called roulette (def a must visit!) The owner was explaining to me that the dress had most likely never been worn. It got me thinking about the 30 odd years the dress had been stashed away in someone's closet and all of the things that have happened in the world since.  Two particular ideas hit me here: 1.) don't stuff yourself and your beautiful talents away for no one to see. Also, 2.) It's never too late to get out there and show your stuff... I mean who could have guessed that this hidden gem of a dress would be discovered over thirty years later by a young person excited to wear it and bring it back to life? There are not only second chances but third and fourth ones too! Every time I see my dress I'm going to try and remember this, as I need to be reminded often to get out there and share myself with the world. 

today Im feeling like...

- it feels darn good to be back in greensboro (no offense to pboro)

-  i love seeing friends that i haven't seen in a while 

- i think I'm going to be okay

- reading someone's journal is a window into their soul and there is soooo much to be learned from other's experiences (right now it's the unabridged journals of sylvia plath)

- grad school might not be out of my reach

- it's nice to talk to friendly strangers 

...So what are you feeling like today?

short thoughts: life as we know it

getting a haircut

sewing a button on

going to the dentist

washing socks

getting married

polishing floors

pulling weeds

having children

scratching an itch

changing a tire

death.

short thoughts

I step into a room brimming with people and eyes vibrant with expression. Eyes don't see me scanning right past my silhouette. Recoiling in one cursory backwards motion I remove myself from the room. The four walls stand and the people laugh and banter the same way they did before I ever walked in. I light a cigarette and begin the trudge homeward, my heels clicking on the pavement as if to keep time. This is what invisible feels like.

short thoughts

rays break in between my curtains 

making my eyes squint without my permission.

the weight is tactile

heavy and pressing down on my shoulders like dreams of getting buried alive.

I hear him tell me how happy he is 

again and again.

still unreachable heights, unsaid words, they all hang there, I can see them like lifeless clothes soon to be occupied by thankless wearers.

it is not right.

cheers to the new year

New years does bring with it some good thoughts and a certain degree of trepidation as well. When thinking about the new year, I can't help but reflect on the past year and make my new resolutions taking into account the things that did not work for me last year.  The past year has been a difficult one to say the least... pain and desperation were feelings all to familiar to me.  But I do believe that I have learned a great many lessons and also gained a well earned and realistic outlook on life.  Even though a new calendar year is just a human created system for time, it is a great tool for the individual self and an almost fictional rebirth that is given to everyone. So take advantage of this rebirth and leave what pain you can in the past.  Do what you believe is right and what fulfills the longings of your heart. If you are doing these things I believe goodness and blessings will find you. Cheers to 2009!