you're like a rain cloud

magick ~ ryan adams & the cardinals

"what goes around,
comes around."

west of the south dream side

grey carpet and burgundy pillows,
strewn around without concern,
all of it inviting, invisible permission,
to crash into each other,
feet to head, head to feet.

will you teach me to make a lemon meringue pie?
to make magic with an old 50's sewing machine?
how to forget the way his sweater felt,
the tiny balled up threads still clinging to my hair?

my face burrowed into him,
wind blur stung tears,
bottle of red wine,
half buried in the sand,
hand in hand, hand in hand,
make the picture frame crack, stop, dismount.

pull back the nylon shower curtain shame and
mismatched shapes, sighs,
you can't see me if i keep turning, leaping, jumping.

another five pills and my eyes begin to dilate,
the blackness take me over the west faerie bridge,
to the southside, girl, to the southside wind.

and you were there,
and you, and you,
all in this alice in oz and her seven horned dwarves,
weave it all in my veins, in the blood, in my soul,
these are dreams that wake the dead.

and i lie back on pillows,
let my thoughts fall careless in a slip and slide
pattern,
the water spurting out between my legs,
across a green summer grass stain.

you help me forget where the lines are drawn.

you are my sweetest downfall

keep art alive; art by joshua petker
samson (video) ~ regina spektor
samson ~ regina spektor

five minutes in and i feel the collision of desire and death; that cling to you sticky sense that it all leads to an ending of a beginning. all those tucked away reckless notions of self-destruction they peek their dyed heads out to whisper at you; fabricating the realm of fuckwits and faerie tales. want a piece of dark chocolate to go with your next beautiful mistep in judgement? tripping and falling with daisy chains wrapped about each ankle; you pull me along into a trance of indecision. die on the vine, and coerce my skin to wake up. again.

what about me

accidental babies (live, video) ~ damien rice
accidental babies ~ damien rice

"and i know i make you cry,
and i know sometimes you want to die
but do you really feel alive
without me?"

today the music is speaking to me
carrying me off to an embrace of melody
the trigger-gun reaction of emotive lyrical flash-floods
with every song that shuffles towards me
i am gifted something impossible to turn from
or ignore

today i feel the music sweeping through me
lilting, luscious, lush
as i try to wash clean a grey day
a grey mood
a grey me

this one right here plays in the shape of my memory case
causing me to realize that music is so fluid
so full of pieces and words and feelings
often the turn of phrases laden with things i wish i could speak aloud
to you
or to anyone
really
all things left unsaid seem to melt right into the next track

everyone i meet becomes part of the pages of my life
every song i take the time to memorize
and sing along with
becomes the soundtrack behind the images that pass as a day

and some of these i keep for good
so that i can go back
re-read
put on repeat
turn back open the liner notes and have that moment
when a line i heard in my head
is different
and redirects the way i see things now

this afternoon could become
the side of the tape i will rewind
and play
again and again
until the neighbors bang on the wall in pleas and agony
begging to never play that fucking song again

and i wonder now through stinging eyes
how the stories will hold up in the end

will i sit with my grandchildren tugging at my sleeve
holding the hand of the love i take there with me
and will i read to them from the lines on my hands
show them the flickering images of a life
that will still play behind my half closed eyes
will i still remember the refrain before the last verse
of all those remembered melodies

maybe you will be there next to me
laughing
mock at what a sentimental thing i've become
while inside you smile
because we all cherish the stories shared
of our own existence

perhaps you will correct my additions
and enhancements
add in the erased letters that i choose to forget
whisper that the truth does not need painting over
with glitter
or exaggerated pause

but they all know that sometimes
that is just how i am
and anyway
colour changes everything
just like the contents of a song

i'm keeping you

keeping you ~ tanya donelly

"my heart's not new
i'm not like you
i've loved, and been loved well and badly too
my body's been through everything
i've used and been used
i got over it
there's something that you learn on a tightrope
just outside the spotlight there's a big net waiting for...
my return to wildlife."

(this song will always remind me of you)

*

& a little something else, seems to lend itself to the song, and the visual...or something like it.

momentary magic

he sat idly on the right side,
smoking section,
the back booth.
the exhaustion of a lost adolescence,
baking into his dark skin.
weary blue eyes,
the borrowed light reflecting from them,
oh, those eyes.

she was draped in crinkled up lace,
too much skin trying to hide
her volunteer insecure shake of a soul
hands shaking from the adrenaline,
or the drugs,
dark circled rings,
giving her a masked superhero guise,
straight from the shadows.

and they were not supposed to meet,
it wasn't what the fates provide,
that kind of magic.

he caught her wavering conversation,
took out a needle and thread,
weaving their words into one.
a giant quilt of blue and black,
their eyes casting the gossamer net,
into the ocean disguised as a hotel pool,
and they dove right in,
interlocking the dangling parts of who they once were.

but this kind of thing is not stable,
and there isn't room in the show for it,
that kind of wonder.

he left her in a bright spark of blue waves,
she followed soon after in a blackened sleep,
bottle of cures cast aside the bed.
both of their demises failed,
and they walked onto shaky ground.
spilling the dust of lost love and splinters,
wondering where they used to belong,
settling for less than that dream.

for the soul is only initially entwined,
when there is that kind of unexpected

lap it up, sink, devour

cat eyes (and candy-coated fangs)

(mine)
inspired by poebegone's writing & shared music

under the beads of sweat and crystal and blue flicker
of light, we moved, we danced,
we fell.
you in your obsidian beads and crushed velvet pants,
pale skin luminous, glowing,
feathered.

i traced lines around your lips on the floor of your
room, pucker up baby, show me a smile,
collapse.
our hair made out of the same bottles, staining the
tile around the sink,
droplets of blue and black,
tears.

he circled around you, then me, in the pace and
demeanor of saints and death, crashing stars,
bewitching.
we drove there singing in unison, voices raised and
lit up, bottle of absinthe in between your legs,
green goblins of fire, lap it up, sink,
devour.

there was so much passion in the most mundane words,
the music sweeping in wafts of colour around us,
pulse racing, too much of everything,
nothing.

but no one would remember, crossed out names in the
sand, made up aspirations, titles,
goodbyes.

yet we have the same mark on our backs, the napkins
and paper mache, i still smell your flavours,
tongues twitching and trailing our souls,
again.

years have dwindled away, and these are just hidden
embers of time, decay, but i hold them up to my
ears, hear their stories, close my eyes, feel the
drumbeat,
and the light again, reflecting off your sway,
destiny.

change

your eyes flick back at me,
daunting, knowing,
reflecting the question i threw
up into the air.

for you to catch,
for you to throw back,
at me.

for you to throw away.

you have no answers for me,
i know.

no map of the world to spread out,
pin up,
trace with a magic marker.

"here's where we'll go, babe,
and then here,
with your hair pinned back,
my arm wrapped around you.
slurpees and mars bars,
for the road.
you and me, kid.
you and me."

spread your lies,
spread your paranoia,
spread your legs, sweetheart.

all for her,
all for him,
all for us,
all for me.

and you ask me if i am afraid to change,
without opening your mouth,
that tongue-tied up in knots,
robbed of beauty.

i lie back and stare at the plastic stars on the ceiling,
fifty to a package,
glow in the dark.

"hey baby, it's the fourth of july."

i wish i could crawl into the song,
sit on your front step,
with a cigarette,
wait for you to come back and say i'm sorry,
again.

and i avoid your gaze,
chip the paint off the wall.

try to think of ten thousand ways to sign my name,
where i put the curls and loops,
the flair,
the heavier push on the pen,
leaving those indentations on the page,
my mark.

no, i don't fear change,
i like the feel of the clinking in my back pocket,
the smile from a stranger,
with a stain on their soul,
ripped hole in the arm of my sweater.

"can i help you, ma'am?"

"hello, my name is...
my name is,
my name is..."

i long for the re-identity,
a new mask,
new paint on the walls,
that new soul smell.

i live for second-chances,
first days,
ears that haven't heard my boring old tales a million and a day,
again and again.

like you, my dear.
like you.

yet i loathe the forgetting i'll do,
the names that will blur in my head,
directions to that little taco stand.

what was it you liked so much?

how the ice machine clamoured,
where you got that scar.

i'll miss that.
i will

and, now your eyes begin to close,
with a whisper,
a frozen denial that slides between us.

can you feel it?

under the bedsheets,
through our fingertips,
the kink in your hair,
my breath on the back of your neck.

"i know we'll never change."

an autumn mix

the name of it is "autumn"
the hue of it is blood
an artery upon the hill
a vein along the road

great globules in the alleys
and oh, the shower of stain
when winds upset the basin
and spill the scarlet rain

it spinkles bonnets far below
it gathers ruddy pools
then eddies like a rose
away upon vermilion wheels

the name of it is autumn ~ emily dickinson

it's the time of the season: when the love runs high: an autumn mix for amber

I Wanna Be Adored ~ Monsters Are Waiting
August & September ~ Elbow
I'm On Fire ~ Bat For Lashes
Mad World ~ Alex Parks
Black Dirt ~ Sea Wolf
I See Monsters ~ Ryan Adams
Northern Lad ~ Tori Amos
Anna Begins ~ Counting Crows
Colorblind ~ Natalie Walker
Run ~ Snow Patrol
Pretty In Pink ~ The National
I'm A Monster ~ Ours
The Call ~ Regina Spektor
Tonight I'll Have To Leave It ~ The Shout Out Louds
Creep ~ Damien Rice
Walking After You ~ Foo Fighters
Angeles ~ Elliott Smith
Song To The Siren ~ This Mortal Coil
Time Of The Season ~ The Zombies

autumn mix ~ zipped

*note: in another online community/space i am doing a theme mix project that i would like to share here, as well. if you would like to give me a "theme" of any kind, i will make a mix for you, and post it here. comment with a theme, or email at laurastarlite@gmail.com

i was gonna reach across the ocean & force you to look

unsent
(mine)

forgotten saturdays
yesterdays
lemonade stand driveways
sidewalk chalk bubblegum flavored
never ways

she tangles daisy chains and grass stains
late night coin operated washing machine
dreams

she asks the mislead father time
why has the moon gone bad
again

bounce the ball
pick up the jacks
one by two by three by four

finding answers in the skinned knee boy

kissed chapped lips like love
rose bush scratch scars
bloodletting
happy endings

she wonders where he left the remnants of a daughter
hair curls and five snaps down the backside
osh kosh
sears clearance sale
dirt

tear stains wisp of a promise
blown out candlelight birthday cake
shut your eyes

one by two by twelve by fourteen

she grows and grows
he never knows

august & september ~ elbow

& all of it
(mine)

i used to wear this black beret, everywhere. it was some kind of statement, i guess; or maybe it was the fact that a beret, all stretchy and malleable, was the only thing to fit this big head of mine.

she always wore the fanciest hats, picked from the shelves of vintage stores, estate sales; her hats had history, color, and intrigue.

i felt like my beret was ordinary, that it was trying too hard. but still i wore it. i was ever trying to project some kind of difference. but still i felt invisible.

i remember as a young girl, reading 'deenie' in my bed at night with a flashlight, far and away past bedtime. i remember deenie had scoliosis. she had to wear this hideous back brace that stuck out everywhere, but still she remained invisible to everyone else. i could so relate. i always felt like i got lost in the walls and cement sidewalks of every place.

and sometimes i still feel like that, too big and awkward, and yet still fading into nothing, nothing beyond forgotten. and, when that rush of insecurity flames through me, i try too hard.

yes, much too hard. i can hear it in my voice, and the way even breathing catches taffy stuck sticky in the back of my throat. i laugh a bit too loud, i tell too many stories. i find myself talking in these jangly circles that hold no real meaning.

inside i am screaming.

can't you see me?
can't you see i'm trying?
trying.
dying.
trying too hard (again).

those are the days that i feel as much of an outcast as a plastic spork in some faux fancy restaurant with no marked prices on the menus (if you have to ask...); you know the kind with eight forks for one meal. not that i'd know how to distinguish any of them from one another.

i'm really more of a diner girl at heart. milk shakes, jukeboxes on each table, lots of good, not strained, conversations. friends who know me for who i am, big head and loud laugh. gullible me, with or without a beret, and all of those contrived trappings of just trying to be. all of it, and none of it.

all i need ~ air & beth hirsch
all i need (video) ~ air & beth hirsch

you can't fly away, electric bird

story re-writes
(mine)

beneath the surface of love
interlocking webs lie
tangled and varied in direction
latching on and letting go

sometimes the synapse fires
inducing benevolence
belief
at other ends the water leaks in
laced in doubt
as we begin to sink

miles pass between us
even while sitting side by side
and the soul is seen waving
mailing a postcard home

wish we weren't still here

then we struggle upstream
break the mold while wet
unformed
and we carve our initials
into the glued up cracks
repairs from the fall

the fog will return again
our feet slipping off stones
and on better days
the parachute opens

no one ever said it would be easy
slips
because some cliches
write themselves
indelible

so we memorize and fluctuate our tones
remind each other we are electricity
that we begin to connect
only when we let each other
disengage

electric bird (live, video) ~ sia
electric bird ~ sia

and when i see you i really see you upside down

a lack of color ~ death cab for cutie

m, in color

(mine)

she was grey
scorched
languid
lacking
wrapped like a pretzel in the corner
swayingand i tried not to count the bones beneath her skin
tried not to see all the death surrounding her
i looked into her eyes instead
saw the swirl and the colors

her family placed her here
with revolt
and manipulation
they were still trying to make her a black and white character
something small to fit inside of their sitcom lives
but she had the bleeding tones
the bright hues
pouring out of her veins screaming for release

and she starved them
bled them
tore them
tried to kill the color of her soul
fit herself out of herself
for them

we worked in her garden
tried to feed the landgive to the ground something we couldn't give ourselves
i saw her slipping
fading
but i wanted her to just hold on
and i kept looking in the mirror in my room
trying to see myself as the sane one

there were always so many worse than me
like m

some nights the dreams would come
slamming doors in my head
in my thoughts
making me dizzy
weak
and i would just swallow
try to breathe
navigate the disarray of my subconscious

but, i was failing
tripping over my own stack of denial
just wanting to help m walk down the path
to the painting room
hold the can as she dripped her brush
at the ends

there were memories locked into those cement walls
tears
and we were all just passer-bys
biding our time
trying to smile and look "okay"

and, some of us made it to the other end
i did
once i grasped hold of the monster
in the back of my cloudy mind
and agreed to face off with the dragons
of being dismantled

i passed on through
but, m didn't

she painted her rainbows on pots and pans
on the ceiling
in the backyard shade
and then left us

sometimes in the color scheme of my night vision
i see her
not in a black and white re-runs
but riding the beast of sickness
conquering it finally
laying it to rest
in technicolor

* found writing of mine in an old composition book, written for a friend i knew, and lost, a long time ago.

marks & memory

keep art alive; art by joshua petker

alice ~ the sisters of mercy

marks & memory
(mine)

all the books on the shelf,
all of them were mine.
but she left her mark on each one,
each page,
each line that she highlighted in pink pen or
eyeliner.
her way of remembering,
of pronouncing importance and available logic.

these are the things she left behind:
markings between bent and dog-eared pages,
and the beading around the scars of my soul.

i am growing older now,
the weeds of time are choking my identity and luster.
i need to mow down the barriers that i built alone.

i guess i let her peer through the trellis walls.
once or twice or maybe a bit more.
she turned on the blinkers and turned right into me
well, i let her, didn't i?

and now i wonder if it was all just a ploy,
a way to get my attention and my coffee bean tree,
a way to step inside and mess things up,
then walk away.

regardless.

i have places to go,
these boxes to pack,
a train to catch and ride and forget on.

like i could ever forget her.

i want to paint secrets

missive swirl
(mine)

spread it out, spread it thin,
here it is.

this broken down heart,
this pleading sense of peace.
i want to drive circles around the how and why,
becoming the things of dreams,
or at least something more, something cascading.

i want to rip this mask off the face in the mirror,
even if it rips my skin clean off,
leaving drops of who i was in the sink,
drizzle, dripping, dry.
i want to stand in front of the world and admit everything,
and nothing.
that i was wrong with all of it,
and saw the warning signs along the road.

(they were right)

but here i am twisting and turning through this big fade,
my beloved crumbling eternal mess.
i want to sweep it all up in a brown paper box,
tissue paper, penny for luck, tuck it inside.
i want to fasten it to the underside of a demon,
or attach it to an angel wing,
whoever is the highest bidder,
or the losing straw.

which are you?

i'm this precious doubt, yes,
and i'm this burning sense of wish and must.
i want to lose all of it, some of it, none of it,
stand across the sea and dive as deep as i can, sink, sigh.
cloud my eyes with water, read the contents of all i already know.
we're losing you, young lady. speak up. say it again,
i can hear them already.

they spell it out to you.

my kaleidoscope baby,
my razorback girl,
you enter and exit the motions in me, emotions.
leaving marks with crayon.
on the interior of my eyes, my soul.

you read me.

i want to paint secrets on your toenails,
draw a map to a greasy spoon diner on your back, with pixie stick sugar.
let's climb to the top of the hello kitty factory,
search for our twin star, our scented life eraser.
scream mistakes and memories, lyrics to songs stuck in your head,
or just i love you's.

now.

ghosts

"who wants to see life as it is? it's the three gorgons in one. you look in their faces and turn to stone. or it's pan. you see him and you die--that is, inside you--and have to go on living as a ghost."

long day's journey into night ~ eugene o'neill

keep art alive; art by melanie moore

"i have a theory that every time you make an important choice, the part of you left behind continues the other life you could have had. some people's emanations are very strong, some people create themselves afresh outside of their own body. this is not fancy. if a potter has an idea, she makes it into a pot, and it exists beyond her, beyond its own separate life. she uses a physical substance to display her thoughts. if i use a metaphysical substance to display my thoughts, i might be anywhere at one time, influencing a number of different things, just as the potter and her pottery can exert influence in different places. there's a chance that i'm not here at all, that all the parts of me, running along all the choices i did and didn't make, for a moment brush against each other."

oranges are not the only fruit ~ jeanette winterson

sea-girls

"we have lingered in the chambers of the sea,
by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown,
till human voices wake us,
and we drown."

the love song of j. alfred prufrock ~ t.s. eliot

and so it is

"and so it is
just like you said it would be
life goes easy on me
most of the time

and so it is
the shorter story
no love, no glory
no hero in her skies

i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes...

and so it is
just like you said it should be
we'll both forget the breeze
most of the timeAnd so it is

the colder water
the blower's daughter
the pupil in denial

i can't take my eyes off you

i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes off you
i can't take my eyes...

did i say that i loathe you?
did i say that i want to
leave it all behind?

i can't take my mind off you
i can't take my mind off you...
i can't take my mind off you
i can't take my mind off you
i can't take my mind off you
i can't take my mind...

my mind...
my mind..."

one of my most favorite ever authors recently wrote this amazing post that just floored me. if you get a chance, give it a whirl: limmerance (a poem in three acts)

and this album, i picked it up last week at amoeba and cannot seem to get enough of it, especially this song.

and then i weave my way around to another of my most favorite authors and find this: goodbye sweet prince

beauty in the breakdown

the thing is...
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
when grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, how can a body withstand this?

then you hold life like a face

between your palms, a plain face,

no charming smile, no violet eyes,

and you say, yes, i will take you

i will love you, again.

by ellen bass

life and i have been having an arguement lately, the kind that have no sense or reason to them, fights that become their own entity and take over. i found myself in tears again this morning, the messy kind, with breathing compromised, things leaking out of nose and eyes, shaking and the familiar and unwelcome feeling of anxiety pounding inside my chest. but, breakdowns are messy, they are, and i know full well that this is what i am going through. i have no illusions that it is anything else. my emotions are overwhelming, as is this feeling of wanting to disappear. i feel misunderstood, even to myself, my own choice of words seem to betray what i want to say.

and yet, i can see outside the window right now at a beautiful day; warm sun, cool breeze. yesterday afternoon walking through one of my favorite spots in hollywood, right by capital records, and the music box, memories that all the connecting streets are full of. my mom let go of some of her angst and bitterness for a bit of time, and we laughed at what some of the buildings meant to us. julia piped in and said something about loving the way that los angeles was a mix of beauty and decay, and i thought how much of that is how i love life, as well - when i can remember that i do love it.

life and i have some making up to do, though i do not know how long it will take. i know that i am hurting, and that i am trying not to go numb. i need to feel all of this, and not worry that i am disappointing everyone by falling, and i need to remember that it is the beauty and the decay, the lovely and the ugly, that i have always loved in this life, and in the people i hold dear - and somehow let myself into that, too. i just wish i felt stronger, and not so alone.

you-ward

summons (or this won't hurt you a bit, and it'll cheer me up) ~ mary karr

for an instant i looked away, and an ocean
blossomed between us, 3000 miles
of wild silk rippling. on the other side

your unreachable body. listen,

the globe's meridians bore me,

and i deplore time zones and the lone heart's

metronome without your broad chest

thumping close counterpoint. no breath i draw

will properly fill my lungs till your fine spirit

again issues into me. no eyes will level pierce

this heart's core till your gaze again

sends the deep arrows flying. darling,

remember: our faces in proximity make

a pure small space -- a vessel or goblet

that could hold the whole atlantic. always

i stare you-ward: come spill yourself in me.

like a coin operated lullabye

five steps to disaster

five more steps to a dizzy debauchery

and he was you

yes, darling, and you were me

tricks of the trade

striped violin playing lines

dance around your legs, your hands

without you i'm nothing but sand

reeling and forgetting names, numbers

the drizzle drop trickle

bloodletting

her name is rio and she dances

days go by without tearing the pages

down, dear dark one, down farther still

you leave lipstick marks on my ankles

criss crossed tic tac toe stains

on your elbows, eyelids

the shadow of my dreamscape

post coital recall

asleep in someone else's story

pour me another, my monkey twin

pose your best pout for me

then twirl, spin, twirl again

without the onset of a recovery

we will be the sun