Sunday, January 31

Black Lace Bra Kind of Woman

Wachale! She's a black lace bra
kind of woman, the kind who serves
up suicide with every kamikaze
poured in the neon blue of evening.
A tease and a twirl. I've seen that
two-step girl in action. I've gambled bad
odds and sat shotgun when she rambled
her '59 Pontiac between blurred
lines dividing sense from senselessness.

Ruin your clothes, she will.
Get you home way after hours.
Drive her '59 seventy-five on 35
like there is no tomorrow.
Woman zydeco-ing into her own decade.
Thirty years pleated behind her like
the wail of a San Antonio accordion.
And now the good times are coming. Girl,
I tell you, the good times are here.

-Sandra Cisneros

Saturday, January 30

so i finally saw where the wild thingz are

don't go i'll eat you up i love you so

i rly liked it

goodnight moon

did i ever tell you, that i've always wanted to be an astronomer?

and secretly,

an astronaut?

image here

Friday, January 29

“An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else’s.”
-J.D Salinger
via here

it gets harder and harder

to not compare myself

with anyone else.

"there will always be someone greater and lesser than you."

yeah yeah i know.

everything is easier said than done

i think im gonna start naming posts again

knowing that great men

have lived among rats

and noisy neighbors


makes it more bearable.

brrr. i miss summer every day that it isnt summer. but days like today, when i can see my breath in front of me, make me miss it even more.


own image, vacation in the british virgin islands two and a half years ago

Thursday, January 28

"A lot of authors seem frozen in time, stuck forever at the age they were when they first entered the public’s consciousness. That was even truer of J. D. Salinger than most — because he stopped publishing after 1965, because he fiercely guarded his privacy, because he remained so closely identified with the perpetual adolescent Holden Caulfield and the arrested adolescent Seymour Glass — and so the news of Salinger's death today was almost less shocking than the fact that he was 91 years old when he died."

(read the rest of the article here)

i wonder if i'll be frozen in time. and if so, i wonder at what age that will be. 

hopefully after my 21st birthday, to be completely honest. but not too far after.

Rest in peace, Salinger.

Sunday, January 24

like a blanket her skin lay
hugging bones to keep warm
to keep the demons away
to keep the winter outside
the sheets whimper in the corner
how they haven't been needed
since before last summer
because something lived in her veins now
a venom weaving through narrow tunnels
keeping her numb to the winter
and like a blanket her skin lay
hugging her bones
numb to the winter

oil and prismacolor pencil on canvas paper

2nd semester starts


Tuesday, January 12


all i want to do

is dress up in pretty clothes

and incredible shoes

paint my lips red and my eyes black

turn my hair into a waterfall of curls

and go dancing

Tuesday, January 5

there's a road to a forest
midway between your home and mine
and a little house made of wood
up in the trees with the birds and night lights
just a room with a bed
where we can meet in the middle of the night
in the middle of the trees in the middle of the room
in the middle of the bed and wrap our arms around each other
and wait there till sunrise
when we have to leave
and every night i'll come back to meet you in the middle of the bed

love you love you like sleep love you like deep ocean salty air
waves sandy faces love you like winter storms love you love you
like snail mail with fancy stamps and pretty lettering love you like
bear hugs love you love you like big knit blankets made by grandma
love you like night lights love you like coffee in the morning