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Showing posts from 2013

because envy will never fill us up. or, RADICAL SELF-LOVE.

Please, please stop coming up with sugary words to replace “skinny”. If you’re actually going to comment on someone’s weight (as if that were ever appropriate in the first place), just be direct about it. It grieves me to read women commenting on other women’s pictures: “You are so tiny!” “Such slenderness!” “Your delicate frame is gorgeous!” “Look at how small your waist is!” I honestly want to comment back, “Who gives a shit?” or “Why are you making this picture about her weight? This woman is a beautiful creature in so many ways, and all you see are the pounds she doesn’t carry, as if that’s what makes up an admirable enough quality to be worthy of your praise?” But no, really…who gives a shit? I wish someone would tell me that my eyes have a rich and earthy shade of brown. I was born with these eyes, you know. Or that they like the sound my voice makes, or that my comfortableness in my own skin is emboldening, or that they can hear hope on the tip of my tongue.

because the skies will just keep falling.

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this is why we breathe. this is why we lift our heads. this is why we rage against despair and push onward, shaky yet doggedly fierce, unstoppable, bent on nothing less than an exuberant resolution.

fire & reflection | 8th of november

This one's been in the works for a while now. First in a series of several. Use your imagination for the imagery, because you'll have to. Starting in August of 2012, the idea of meeting/visiting Megan in Kansas City has had a steady spot in my travel considerations. The conversation began around cocktails and KC's glorious scene for them, but ultimately and over time and online chats, it boiled down to a simple "I've got to meet this girl." After 15 months and several failed attempts at arranging my schedule, we finally made it happen. FRIDAY | A delayed flight had me in a frenzy. I typically do not function properly under pressure involving connecting flights. (It's because of the time in 2008 when I literally fell through the Atlanta airport after going through security AGAIN, unnecessarily. Almost missed my connecting flight to Washington, D.C., and that would have been a disaster on my very first time flying on my own.) After risking stranding m

magic days

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outfit // loose charcoal grey tee, black leggings, and turkish kilim slippers with a messy topknot cleaning the apartment natural light new black shelf neatly stacked flours counter space fresh eucalyptus in the kitchen and in the shower making a gorgeous brunchy casserole cooking up a storm with my lover cardamom coffee windows open fresh air / changing winds toots thielemans. jazz harmonica. ne me quitte pas. modern film rendition of shakespeare in black and white (it was much ado about nothing) small (huge) revelation regarding happiness with one's body and being all of these small joys eclipsed by a lofty yet completely encompassing sense of belonging. however long the stint here ends up being... this is home.  

3 emotionally-traumatizing things in 1 morning

This morning was just too much. Waking up emotionally-charged and on edge, whether from last night's dream or from some happenings earlier in the week, the following three experiences fairly sent me hurtling toward despondency. They made me want to bury myself into my blanket and cry. How alarming. 1. The stove blew up. There was a flash like lightning in the room and a sizzling sound, followed by electrical smoke and opened windows. Someone nearly got killed by a tired kitchen appliance. 2. I spilled my favorite coffee all over the bus floor. I hadn't even gotten to take a sip yet. Tragical. 3. Writhing slowly on the sidewalk was a bat, wings outstretched and shivering. It was dying, I assumed. Tears flowed quite promptly. L moved the poor thing to a nearby bush branch and out of the way of careless steps. It barked. Probably in fear at first, but then in gratefulness. So much pain and danger in the world... it's enough to make one dizzy. Times like these make me gl

hunter's moon

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October the 18th | It is the night of the Full Hunter's Moon. There's a party to attend this evening. Shannon is in town. It had been her birthday on the 9th, so she decided to pay Oklahoma a visit. She is radiant and I see her and don't know what to say. What do you say upon seeing a friend from your on fire days, that you haven't truly spoken with in over two and a half years? You say that you don't know what to say, and you look into her beaming eyes and soak up the happiness that has flooded the room. I say it. We'd both had the same idea to plant kisses on each others' cheeks; she beats me to it. She hugs me and holds my hand. A prayer begins the potluck meal. Familiar faces abound and I am overwhelmed with indecisiveness. A few persons seem to vaguely imply that they have no interest in conversation with me, which I brush off and move on from, trying not to be hurt. [Looking back now, it very well could have been {and likely was} I who pushed the

scotch eggs and punsch, what?

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On the 24th of last month, I took a very last-minute flight up to New York City to see my Lawrence, who was in the area for work. We went to The Dead Rabbit . Great story behind that place. They're a grocery and a grog, which is twice as nice. Scotch eggs had been on my list for almost a year, so when I saw them on the Taproom's menu, my decision required no thought. It came with its own mini jar of Colman's Mustard, which is a lot of Colman's mustard, I would quickly learn. You don't know what real mustard is until you've tried it. And that's no lie. I paired the egg with Swedish Punsch, which was probably highly irregular. Most Brits probably order beer with theirs. But cocktails are my weakness, so I couldn't resist this concoction: Batavia Arrack Van Oosten, lemon sherbet, lemon juice, ginger, Lapsang Souchong tea. Scotch eggs remind me of The River Thames, because at some point I wrote a bucket list item that involved both the eggs a

thanks | a poem by w. s. merwin

Listen with the night falling we are saying thank you we are stopping on the bridges to bow for the railings we are running out of the glass rooms with our mouths full of food to look at the sky and say thank you we are standing by the water looking out in different directions. back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging after funerals we are saying thank you after the news of the dead whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you looking up from tables we are saying thank you in a culture up to its chin in shame living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you over telephones we are saying thank you in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators remembering wars and the police at the back door and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you in the banks that use us we are saying thank you with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you with the animals dying around us our

varietal fruits

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Here is some bounty I picked up this weekend, at two different light levels and sources: indirect morning sunlight late afternoon backlight, aided by yellow kitchen light in front

a miracle that threatened ordinary

An old, thin, darkly-tanned man with striking blue eyes was playing the guitar at the bus stop today. I was holding groceries, hot and tired, with earbuds in. A small decision to stop my music so I could listen to his opened a beautiful, brief moment in time that now I am eternally grateful for. He finished his song, and I cheered. He said he plays for people who haven't stopped to listen to the deep meanings of Johnny Cash's songs. Then he said, with eyes wide and passionate, "Now I'm going to play one that his mother-in-law wrote. It will change your life. Every person on the face of this earth needs to hear this song...just once." 'Keep On the Sunny Side' was the tune, optimistic and lion-hearted. As he finished the song, he stood and gave a small bow before walking toward the street. I thanked him warmly and he responded: "Take those words with you. God bless you." He crossed the road, slung his instrument to the side, mount

newport: a brief introduction

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brightest green sea moss. claiming coves like lost boys.  deep kisses to the rhythm of waves.  empire tea & coffee. horchata chai. scaling cliffs.  tearing up. history.  wine.  beer.  silence.  salt air. spice. gulls. miles and miles. full heart and braided hair this morning over an espresso breakfast. back to work today. loving life’s richness. overwhelmed by Love.

on being dirty

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insects in my hair. little jagged impressions on my calves from a good long sit in the grass. pink/red/white/beige/golden/brown skin, all at once. scrapes to the shins and arms from thorns climbed through in patches on steep creek ravines, a necessary sacrifice. feet hardened and dark after so much barefooted glory, trekking through various territories. i never had those angelic-looking feet in the lotion commercials. if i have to wear summer shoes, it's sandals. that's a lot of exposure to the elements, which i'm cool with. i hate this confinement to finery and polished appearance. why can't i sweat without being scornfully judged? why must i apologize when my body responds to the weather? this is oklahoma, for heavens' sake. if you don't know by now that our summers will get hot and humid, usually both at the same time, then i have nothing to say to you. and what about that moon? what about her glory? she is a great conversationalist, you know...if y

gratefulness tonight

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Rainer Maria Rilke. Yoga with a lover. Rainforest cadences. Twig tea. A late-night meal of homegrown cucumbers and 6-month aged white cheddar with adriatic fig spread. // These are 5 little things I find myself grateful for tonight. Welcome August in all her wordly and sumptuous splendour, with all the courage to live that you can muster.

observations of current blessings

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breakfast homemade strawberry jam yoga moon cycles kahlil gibran thunderstorms. hail so loud it made it into my dream. that was trippy. candlelight irish honey whiskey eisley whiny cat nurtured houseplants sleeping baby brother shakespeare in the park being dirty. yes, i crave it. how is one supposed to get clean when one never gets properly dirty? sexy strawberry jam recipe

it's a green, green, green july!

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The unlikeliest of storm systems has stomped through our city over the past couple of days in a giant way. The effects include an all-around darker feel, ominous, mysterious. Hocus-pocus July drenchings, what? But I'll take it. RAIN. The best effect by far is the blindingly green grass, trees, foliage of any and every kind. Guys, THIS NEVER HAPPENS. By this time we're brown and bitter and burnt and begging to be let free of the vicious heat that's humid but leaves no trace of being so - the earth has cracked, chapped lips, and isn't up for any kissing of any kind. But this July ...this sweet, supple, verdant July is rife with life. Moist. Profuse. Flourishing. Teeming. Rich. Dewy. I think of this lush greenness in terms of an optical illusion: When you put a kelly green plate on a dark surface, it appears brighter than when you put the same kelly green plate onto a light-colored surface. With all of these clouds hanging around and darkening the sidewalks an

muscle awareness and the journey we're on

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Tonight was about yoga. I've been daydreaming about it a lot lately, especially about doing it in exotic locales, or just somewhere devoid of human tampering. But since I haven't got the basics quite down yet, it seems better to practice in my studio apartment where I can quickly pull up a tutorial on which muscles to call on for the pigeon pose. (I keep waffling between extended leg support and folded leg support...still unsure.) Regarding yoga, involves a good deal of breathing. And breathing steadily and deeply. That is much different from performing an exercise motion or pose for a set number of seconds or minutes. Instead of gritting your teeth and trying not to feel anything until the set time is up, you’re required and encouraged to feel everything happening to your body, in the moment in which it happens. You breathe the moments. Yoga makes you aware. Beatrix tried to do the cobra, but she ended up more interested in chewing on my ankles. Not helpful.

verdure everyday

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Some of this resplendence I have the privilege of glorying in every day. The rest I see every other day. Look at the sheen on those hibiscus leaves! And those fluorescent petunias - they may as well be radioactive. The view from the top picture is my favorite. Tree canopy. En route from the terminal to the office this morning, I found some over-sized purple-headed clover buds, growing substantially taller than clover buds usually grow. The little rebels had sprouted where they weren't welcome, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the museum gardener decided that they were weeds and would uproot and toss the little friends away to be crushed and forgotten. Armed with this understanding, I rescued them and gave them a place at my desk. I'm sure it's boring, watching me type and hang up on robot telephone advertisements, but it's got to be better than being crushed and forgotten, right?

book titles. also, what happened to this planet?

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Listed below are books purchased today from Aladdin Book Shoppe, which is closing, tragically. After 83 years, they are closing. The owner of the place said she had planned to simply move locations, since it was their rent being oddly and crazily increased that was the original motivation for change, but there are SEVENTY THOUSAND BOOKS. And it would cost around $20k just to move them , which is just insurmountable. Thus, they are closing for good. This world is pretty screwed up not to allow bookstores to live in peace with the rest of humanity. I am angry. Just a couple of months ago, I had called them to see if they had a copy of Tremendous Trifles, since their website said they had a substantial G.K.C. collection. When the owner said they didn't have it and referred me to Barnes & Noble or Amazon, I told her that I wanted to search high and low for a locally-owned shop to purchase from, because I believe in bookstores and want them to stay alive as long as they possib

opera for lunch

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I'm having opera for lunch, at the art museum. That is amazing and has me excited. But all I can think about is the cliffs at Land's End, in Cornwall. Sunrises and cream teas and legends and Merlin's Cave and enough grass to cover my entire city. Cold Atlantic winds laden with salted spray. Woolen plaid. Painting with real greens and apricot blushes. Bedruthan, Cornwall, U.K. ( via ) Today is my day for quiet thought, though. Big-picture-contemplation. Sometimes you have to let go of something to find out how much it really means to you, to find your center, to find your footing. So there's no research today. Today, there is silence. And opera.

silent story | 06.23.2013

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