Sneaking into Eilen

I've been writing very lyrical stuff lately...just because it takes a comforting turn from having to over think pentameter, line structure, blah blah...good stuff but tiring. Lyrical writing is about rhythm. It's about transferring a feeling through sounds and meanings.

When we toss our heads,
tambourines they tink-link linkle,
shaking dreams into our hips
they trip.
Got no boyfriends
just the trends, just the trends
to lend their dances.

Castanets, castanets and folklore
grant us,
borrowed time, for the time,
swing sunshine, on borrowed time,
on borrowed time.

I got snuck into a folk gig tonight where Eilen Jewell was playing and hearing her inspired me to keep picking up that guitar to sing and make music, because music transcends skill, it is so much more. Music is cutting out your mind and heart and soul and pasting it to the air, it is the most humbling, frightening, beautiful act.

Dye me red

http://yooani.deviantart.com/art/red-54598274


When I cross my heart
I hope to die
than face the cross
of hopeless lies.

Dye me red
and wipe me white
tonight. tonight.
tonight.

pagan fingers

Sucking mangoes on the porch
we paganly deny the close of summer
before we slam the screen door
wash our hands
and clean ourselves for winter

SOMEWHERE NEAR TAPACHULA from stefan hunt on Vimeo.

Sometimes everything that stirs you hits you all at once and you know that there is meaning and hope in every single moment of your life. Check out their blog it is amazing. Just a couple of Aussies who had the choice to leave or to meet need at its head. And also it's great to see indie kids who have recognised that you can actually take those creative arts and use them to help a kid who is a little bit stuck and a little bit lost in Mexico town http://goodcheer.tumblr.com/

Sidewalk Pickups

I found everything I ever needed
on the side of the road,
all the things that once people needed
got superceded
by the time I set eyes on a them


Were you shining when inside
you sat wide eyed, used, and prized?

Now, when under late candle light I watch you
I'm glad for your round rusted edges,
charmed and warmed, still perfectly formed
delicious and worn.

When they start to trade the faded
I'll be 'round
I'll be 'round to collect you

Wait out front
I'll bring the truck
I'll be 'round to collect you

Never asked for you to be shiny new
just asked for all the pieces.

I found everything I ever needed
on the side of the road
I'll be round,
I'm coming down
I'll be 'round to collect you

Laughter spills like wine...

This is an experiment in stream of conscious writing. Alot of writers use it to get to the core of what they want to say...the idea is to just write whatever pops into that head of yours and not to stop til your hand gets tired. It doesn't need to have flow, it is a very loose prose.

Laughter spills like wine and we drown in fun. I'm a particle of truth and I dissipate in this house of lies. At the bar I buy a schooner of I-don't-care-anymore and I wonder who I have become and where to find the peace of all the pieces of this life. I wrinkle in the night and wake with sleep queued up before me. I turn to tattooed arms in the prayer that ink can save my world from spinning. And I touch the tattooed arms and I am satisfied that it still moves under the skin and that only God can change me. And I pray; but for what I do not know. I live numb, then sad, then brave, then powerful, then sad. Powerful comes before sad. Always. I wonder if I feel these thoughts from a life that has told me so or if it's because there is truth in them.
For the spirit is life and the flesh is death. So can we tattoo the flesh so no one will ever know who we became?

Under Your shoes

Sadness comes in under your shoes
and you leave it
when you're gone.
You want me
but I am nothing
I cannot blink when you get here
cannot breathe
in case you leave
I cannot breathe
in case you leave