FOREVER REBLOG
in one dream it was a massive pool with people floating around like what dreams may come minus the harps, and of all people to appear as a blurry swirl dot of dark in the water, and end up a breathing being in my face was kurt kobain. i didn’t even consider myself that big a fan at the time, but it felt like he waited for me there. in his dripping sweater and pants he led me, to look at the pool from different angles. told me courtney love was crazy but it made him happy, like she was a fireball of fun buzzing around the room, always. he asked more questions than spoke of himself, as if i was the star in the room. i don’t remember much else but his timid feeling. like a boy. that his eyes shined a blue i have yet to see again and they were hungry like mine, like conduits for curiosity. there were flowers floating everywhere, smelling thick but feather light.
(Source: trytoloveoneanotherrightnow)
Reblogged from thesacredspring with 278 notes
North Carolina sophomore Michael Jordan kills time between classes by playing Ms. Pac Man. Jordan is celebrating his 49th birthday today. (Lane Stewart/SI)
GALLERY: Michael Jordan In College | Michael Jordan In High School
the story used to be that i was always one of those girls who felt odd for not swooning JTT, or boy meets world kyle, or teenbeat, or whateverthefuck- like the rest of my peers seemed to do in groves. you did not find my walls pasted with cute boyees and hearts drawn on. Nah, none of that shit.
MJ was my first crush.
the grown ass woman in me is proud of the fact that adoration started with this mighty man in some senses and super weirded at the thought of an 8 year old girl going cray kissyface over a fully developed man.
so, i like B a lot sometimes. strip away the bullshit, the beautifully mind-numbing hot nextlevel beats, and this is some pretty wow. makes it easy to trail off into a lot of hypothetics- like what if she were raised on the likes of joy divison or CAN or lemon jelly or la lupe or wire or viva le fete or some shit? what about if she dropped the silly glamour and got all erykah badu on us? or became david lynch’s new movie muse? or what if she did acid with a genius composer?
who is that, anyway?
(via peyotecoyote)
so i’m not going to beat around the bush here. there was this 4th grade library class that somehow resulted in a mini-party of share and tell that somehow stemmed from a book we read together. the librarian handed out goodies she gathered while on a vacation: the locally prepared dried buffalo meat will always be divine on the tastebuds as long as that memory stays with me. i’m enthralled with this animal.
also, dances with wolves.
this couple walks in, the prominent visuals being his bright shiny sunglasses and her dark cocoa skin and bones. it’s nearing 4:20 and i’m up to here with repeating where things are located, so i’m quick and short with “this here that there, dun, tun, the end.” they seem untouched by my sped up rhythm and then return to ask me mindless questions (like:
him:what time does the museum close?
me:we close things 45 after.
him:what time is it now? {mind you, the clock is at eye level to my side, directly in front of them from where they stand}
me: 4:18.
him: so that means we have like, 25 minutes?
me: um, yeah…
him: ok, thanks. i just have to go call my brother..(trails off as they walk away)
so what the fuck ever. she goes into mujeres and he exits the front doors, only to return with this massive cup overflowing with cubes of watermelon, honeydew, cantaloupe, and pineapple purchased somewhere in the surrounding park outside. because you’re so nice, he says. i’m perplexed, weirded out, and chatty: this results with alex playing my boyfriend for a moment and asking the man why he gifted me. he comes back with the reply being too cheese to believe: because she’s pretty. at this point, convinced that gentlemen generally do prefer blondes, and most of them don’t even know it. a hardwire buried deep, deep in our collective consciousness: where pelos de elote are crystal intent to solicit sexual pleasure. or make the youth synapses rise. no matter if the hues are similar to VITAMIN C and shit. i was just looking to lighten myself up. i’m waiting to move on to my little pony strands now.
top of that: feels like a plateau of mehs while a blind bubbly faith in the future sings quiet in skin. sleeping aides making dreams freaky normal. woke up feeling pissed that i had to go through the entire day all over again when i hadn’t even done it the first time. an influx of sex dreams being the only exception to the odd ho-hums. new music making me feel so good for no reason, the first peak in a few months now. the blank dog tickets probably went unused, never heard a peep from carmen so i’m left to the assumption he never gave them the envelope. his heart is still broken like mine, but more. i am no longer a fretmess, starting to grow into the holes i missed before and know deep down the well that it’s impossible to know or control- and, ultimately, all i’ve left to cradle is my own love of. more than enough. the text message he sends says very little besides appreciation, not only for the gesture but for my appearance in a photo he took when we were waiting for nourishment after an afternoon of bedlife. san juana tears over jj and i going MIA for months now. the guilt is boiling but the thought of a lengthy visit only summons discomfort and animosity towards her and her awful behavior. mother says she could die any day now. spotted two butterflies yesterday, pulled into a parking spot with a black crow sitting in the one next over. met scott atariwaxdance one night and continued to feel a strong pull to see him again and again. baked a dozen blueberry muffins and only two were consumed. painted five children’s faces with the following requests:cobalt blue flower bunches, a rainbow with clouds, a fire breathing dragon, two vanilla ice cream cones and a green snake. lady phd from uic dropped off a manilla for carlos and was extremely sweet towards me: so much to the point that her eyes and mine were communicating more than i could process. ended up writing down her name after deciding we were connected in a previous life. a columbian student started an awkward conversation, so run of the mill with words that i can’t really recall much of what was covered but enough energy behind it that i’m still talking about it now with an oncoming invisible email brewing in the brain. the fact that he grew up near the river my parents named me after was enough to make me think we bumped paths for one reason or another. still halfway biting my lips down, but it’s getting better. my body is excessively aching for another. still. a baby cat and i met behind the fire station twice this week and it bounced away like a bunny when i tried to reach for it. when i sit at work, i can’t stop moving. everything feels like perfectly timed inconveniences most of the time today. need to start another blog just for shit like this.
jump to now.
9:18 AM 28 years ago I came into this place and space, beet red with pitch black hair and eyes. Tonight it is closer to alabaster, ash brown hair and hazel peepers. What I think hasn’t changed is an innate need to look around and absorb everything I can with my eyes, along with a neverending need for lots of sleep. My mom was Shirley McClain in Terms of Endearment, shaking me awake in twilight to make sure I was alive.
Days are blurred more than ever, and I’m starting to see them clearer without my eyes. Instead the eyes serve as pleasure seekers, and my heart the third eye, never skipping a beat and amplifying the magnitudes of all things to flow in and out of my presence in time. They no longer feel like memories I’m straining to hold tight as they fluctuate and morph like clay in hands, but permanently fixed truths that hang in a spaceless room, always there and always clear as if within the moment they occur. My sense of language is cracking down the middle with a roar only I seem to hear. Half it seems all of the spiritual blogs I’m soaking up are ringing true, and my throat chakra is clearing so fast the words fly out in a stream brimming with clarity and shine, where I wonder when this started and how I couldn’t have noticed. Half the rest, language becomes so foreign to cognitive thought that I am suddenly sucked into a mini-trip, and words lose all meaning to a point where they no longer are necessary. As a result, I have to reread re-hear and ask people to clarify or repeat again and again. But communication as a whole is in an entirely new realm. Sentience is no longer a question but rather a gift I’m cultivating and nourishing through succumbing and embracing the reality of its existence: truly trusting that those stirrings are the best voice of all reverberating inside. The moment I decided to drown out the mind chatter and ego calls, my heart beat with a lighter love and ballooned to a size I can no longer measure, but swim freely in. Since then, the chatter lessens volume by the day, and instead I find myself looking for joys, for ways to provide small joys for others, and an infinite amount of great hopes and ideas. Creative blocks gone. I don’t know what happened first but suppose the most crucial point being, everything within and without has been going off like a positively fueled chain reaction and I just know this is how it works for everyone who wants it to.
Things to remember:
One of the triple threats auditioning at Chiarts came in the front door with a beam spread across her face as her eyes fixed on me. I welcome her and her family, and she quickly whispers to her mother “she’s the one I told you about!” And it becomes a pause thick with awkward because she goes deer in headlights at seeing that I stopped when I heard her, so I blurt “good things I hope,” to mom, and she says, “oh she loved you! She said you took a picture of her chrysanthemums..” and she comes back to me as a feeling of peace in a sea of the hundreds of wild little eager children’s faces I’ve already absorbed. This girl oozed love for creating everything and anything she did, with every brush stroke and word she spoke. I walked away from her with nothing but inspiration.
The realization of how the Capricorn in Jay and Mark translate nearly the same way through them. Mark constantly teases and shames, corrects and takes seeming pleasure in seeing me flinch and squirm. Mirror with J. Underneath is a warm childlike intent and love. When Mark became a brother of sorts to me, I’ve no idea, but it feels right. Tonight he said he stopped taking the highway home ever since he started getting me.
“Why?”
“There’s nothing to see!”
“Bullshit! There’s the skyline. And exit ramps. And other cars.”
He laughs and it hits me he might just be enjoying the chats and laffs instead, and I’m pushing it, because the last thing he would do would be admitting it. I tell him I get it, that I love the drive now that I’ve had the chance to take it.
“Maaan, you don’t know nothing about this,” he laughs, with his hands on the wheel and talk sports radio buzzing in the background.
Soon after the sequence of events that flooded my senses all aligned in such a way that popped into a knowing that I had dreamt of being there before, and all of the knowing of what’s to come in a rush to the head like a shotgun, quick and painless with lots of light and what I’d imagine is sheer shock. Like the moment Floyd goes paralyzed as he’s plummeting through wormholes in Kubrick’s 2001. Maybe not so much, but it was that fast that it slipped through the fingers of my memory like water before I could grasp the images of the near future and all of the intricate designs woven through and connecting all of those moments of consciousness experienced throughout my life. All I know is that the car is moving, and I’m thrilled in that moment of fleeting knowledge, giddy even, and I scream it to Mark, “We’ve been here before! I dreamt this Mark!” He laughs hard, ” Silly! Of course we have! There are infinite dimension looping all the time!”
The security lady getting a good hard belly laugh out of stopping me stupid in the middle of the hall with the crowd of students saying I couldn’t pass, only to see my shock and realize she saw me working in administration earlier that day.
“Girl!!! I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay! I know I look twelve.”
“Sho do! Whatever you doin, keep doin it!”
I’m dancing again. My body shifting. Washing dishes after dinner had to take off the xxlarge blue fuzz robe, and mother and brother stand there looking as I’m shivering in grey tights and a tight grey t. Sometimes they still talk as if I’m not in the room, but nowadays the words are love.
“She’s so skinny! Look at that.”
“She looks like a yoga teacher,” J chimes. At my thickest I was 155 pounds of fleshy in high school. Back then I traveled to the future in slumber and awoke the next day declaring to madre that I’m going to be skinny someday, with long strawberry red hair. Maybe I was off, or maybe I’m not even there yet, but my own eyes can’t see the space i take for what it is, and this needs to serve as a pin to remind me that so long as I’m treating it with more and more love, i can keep moving the way I was born to.
.
other things like amplified magnetic pulls on animals anywhere i go, as if snow white camp in gritty city with soft corners; momentous levels of synchronicity, instant answers, gratification. just as much, slaps i throw out to smack life in the face are thrown right back at me at warp speed. that’s dwindled fast, and instead i’m seeing it happen to those i happen to be around. so learning is starting to feel like a continual activity, where i no longer am conscious of how many lessons are flying through, but rather immersed in it like a thirsty seahorse who missed its home and is breathing and drinking it in with every breath, like seahorses were designed to. my place in these dances with people revolves around helping pull them into some light, whereas for as long as i can remember its felt like i’ve been dependent on others to do the same for me instead. amid all of this the rest of the puzzle pieces have fallen in place as if in reversed slo-mo, and something that beamed to the right frequency inside of me has been tuning me into people that bring only the most wonderfully beautiful qualities to the picture. the pain, chaos and confusion pixels faded and gone. i’m grateful even when aching.
to continue, as if that belongs in the vernacular used to describe what exactly comes out of me- because to continue implies connection, and obviously the jumps here are polar laughs at that sort of school of thought. continuity doesn’t exist in my airy mind, aside from continually being airy.
but let me at least try with this. another thing to remember is dreams are getting more and more intense.
(my brain the director, my actual communication the translator)
wake up with night sweats, the smell sweet and stings the way flowers do at their most fragrant in may. i am forgetting more and more but feeling like my emotions have gone through a lifetime of challenges and victories. drained, but buzzing.
cristina played me her demos and said she hadn’t let another soul hear them up until that moment, and yet again i’m floored. she makes me love everything about her and simultaneously makes me want to be a better me.
todd is everything i didn’t know i wanted. companion, as in:
c.1300, from O.Fr. compagnon ”fellow, mate, friend, partner” (12c.), from L.L. companionem (nom. companio), lit. “bread fellow, messmate,” from L. com- ”with” (see com-) + panis ”bread.” Found first in 6c. Frankish Lex Salica, and probably a translation of a Germanic word (cf. Gothic gahlaiba ”messmate,” from hlaib ”loaf of bread”). Replaced O.E. gefera ”traveling companion,” from faran ”go, fare.”
things spike and soar with him, his presence like a warm blanket on a snowy morning, his vibe unlike anything i’ve ever encountered but everything i like combined, and it feels like alignment. many more things. only recently did it hit me omar dreamt of him, and knew he was coming into my life long before i did. it was one of the last things i remember him asking me. what it means i’ve no clue, perhaps that he was a prophet with a jealous streak, but nevertheless that he saw this person coming makes me feel a need to reevaluate the boundaries of how i want to see the way this life as we know it actually works. that and gladly throw out any sense of thinking that i know anything about anything at all, even still. regardless, moments with todd are bliss treats filled with honey.
tick of time and i’m all thought out. the general being there is a knot of pressure building but it feels like everything flowing into and around me is touched with some form of love or happiness, in the form of joy and pleasure, and exactly what i need- whether i’m conscious of it or not. at the pith of it i am sitting at the edge of my seat like a nerdface, smiling like it’s an opium slash mali den, and feeling like there just isn’t enough of me or enough time to go around to really sink in, see and feel every single thing i want. to share with, absorb and love so many different people in so many different ways. i am no different from you. or the next person. but we’re all worlds of our own and it’d be so nice to live in a universe where we could visit and touch every single crevice and space in every single world. let alone our own. talking metaphorically but liking the literal sense just as much. 28 will be the year of cocoon crack, bright light, big fight, heart swells, permasmiles, purpose flourishes, true helping, healing, partaking, giving, newness, laughter roar, sense frenzies, blissed out feelies, dance trances, spirit soars, and freelove.
Instead. Instead of just sitting here swallowing another viewing of Wristcutters because I’m too lazy to walk a few feet away to a stack of dvds, this has become a challenge to make myself write until I’m sleepy, and settle for listening and pausing only to see Shannyn Sossamon and Tom Waits light up the screen. Also Ron Swanson as a cop. Instead of laughing fits in Malina’s chinatown apartment after over a year, I am keying this out on my phone at 11:33 pm on a Sunday night, while she comforts baby bro Quentin, who is now 25, married and expecting, now one eye less after a horrible car accident this past weekend. There is something happening inside and out, everywhere I look, and although it seeps with a tremendous, soothing peace, it ebbs to a point where it feels as though things fall apart and break and blow up all at once, so fast in a way that you are only left with blank brain shock and the amplified sound and body tremble of your heart beating quick in your chest. Things like Quentin, a girl getting shot in the knee down the block from work while I’m holding a clipboard tight, with Fabulous playing in an earbud so loud I don’t hear it, and instead stare out this steel protected window at the blue swirls of light spinning fast in the street below wondering what has happened while knowing I can’t walk away from a classroom full of unsupervised kids.
that above bit took an eternity to do on my phone.
did i even find a point?
to continue it now would only create something different, and it feels more like work to go back to that frame of mind than to let these words just button out from the here and now.
to the eyes reading this, it makes no difference, and i forget that.
after activating the facebook timeline feature i ended up in a rabbit hole that led to the above note Sheffy wrote. i hadn’t seen it, somehow, even after remembering i read through it when he tagged me- but never had i processed that he listed me as an inspiration. floored.
he moved to korea a couple of years ago to teach english. when i first found out it was a shock- he was so immersed in chicago love that i had always pictured him here- but at the same time the move felt completely Sheffy. he obsessed over korean films with an insatiable passion, and i’d never been in his presence without having been told to watch this or that, or whether or not i had heard of a korean action movie star before..
he ended up getting into a car crash after going out drinking one night out there, died in the process. the last time i saw him he was doing a short silent film for columbia, and asked me to star in it the same week he had to shoot. we spent the afternoon shooting in the cold: an overcast day at the corner of congress and michigan. he let me do whatever i wanted, with little direction but essential stuff still present- and aside from the cold it was one of the nicest afternoons i’ve spent downtown. i don’t even remember the face of the actor playing my love interest, or his name, but nevertheless he was there for Shoof just as much as i was, and we all knew it silently and it anchored us together in all of that wind and wide open space. he swore he’d give me a copy and it never happened. his wake was painful, jay and i were quiet for the most part, even in the car. he put his arm around me to lean my head on his shoulder when he realized i had been crying silently, so long that my face was slick with salty shine to a point where there were no longer little lines and patterns of drips but a sheen across entire cheeks. nowadays i am beyond grateful that he took so many photographs while in korea, and even more that his family left his facebook up for me to visit.
