if you're a thought you will want me to think you, and i do, and i did

"what do you plan to do with all your stories"

spent the last night late night awaiting the last book in the twilight series (well, the supposed last, i am still hoping for midnight sun). i am influenced so heavily by music, by the vivid play of sound and vision that plays between the blinking of my lashes as i read a book that takes me - and yes, these books have taken me.

i suppose they have more than taken me, they have actually returned me to myself, connected me closer to my daughter, and woken me up. it is hard to explain, and i am not sure i wish to bother explaining, how a set of young adult books gave me back pieces of myself - all i know is that they have.

typical me, i have been building playlists and mixes to accompany the books, jules and i both have, and this is one that seems to be nudging at me to include in the yet to be finished breaking dawn soundtrack. and now i return to reading - excuse me while i let myself get a little lost in pages this weekend.

i'm aware of what the rules are

"these tears i've cried,
i've cried 1,000 oceans.
and if it seems,
i'm floating in the darkness,
well, i can't believe that i would keep,
keep you from flying.

and i would cry 1,000 more,
if that's what it takes,
to sail you home,
sail you home,
sail you home.

i'm aware what the rules are,
but you know that i will run,
you konw that i will follow you.
over silbury hill,
through the solar field,
you know that i will follow you.

and if i find you,
will you still remember,
playing at trains?
or does this little blue ball,
just fade away?

over silbury hill
through the solar field,
you know that i will follow you.
i'm aware what the rules are,
but you know that i will run,
you know that i will follow you.

these tears i've cried,
i've cried 1,000 oceans,
and if it seems,
i'm floating in the darkness,
well i can't believe that i would keep,
keep you from flying.

so, i will cry 1,000 more,
if that's what it takes,
to sail you home,
sail you home,
sail you home."

say you don't want it again and again

"she's addicted to nicotine patches,
she's addicted to nicotine patches,
she's afraid of the light in the dark,
6:58 are you sure where my spark is?

here,
here,
here.

she's convinced she could hold back a glacier,
but she couldn't keep baby alive,
doubting that there's a woman in there somewhere,
here.

you say you don't want it again,
and again,
but you don't really mean it.
you say you don't want it,
this circus we're in,
but you don't,
you don't really mean it.
you don't really mean it.

if the divine master plan is perfection,
maybe next i'll give judas a try,
trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin,
here.

you say you don't want it again,
and again,
but you don't really mean it.
you say you don't want it,
this circus we're in,
but you don't,
don't really mean it.

how many fates turn around in the overtime,
ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find.
you thought that you were the bomb,
yeah,
well so did i.

say you don't want it,
say you don't want it,
say you don't want it again,
and again.
but you don't really mean it.

say you don't want it,
this circus we're in,
but you don't,
you don't really mean it.
you don't really mean it.

she's addicted to nicotine patches,
she's afraid of the light in the dark,
6:58 are you sure where my spark is,
here."

when pianos try to be guitars

just because it is one of my all-time favorite songs...

northern lad ~ tori amos (live)

& album version

"had a northern lad

well not exactly had

he moved like the sunset

god who painted that

first he loved my accent

how his knees would bend

i thought we'd be ok

me and my molasses

but i feel someting is wrong

but i feel this cake just isn't done

don't say that you don't

and if you could see me now

said if you could see me now

girls you've got to know

when it's time to turn the page

when you're only we

because of the rain

because of the rain

because of the rain

because of the rain

he don't show much these days

it's gets so fucking cold

i loved his secret places

but i don't go anymore

"you change like sugar cane"

says me northern lad

well, i guess you go too far

when pianos try to be guitars

i feel the west in you

but I feel it falling apart too

don't say that you don't

and if you could see me now

said if you could see me now

girls you've got to know

when it's time to turn the page

when you're only wet

because of the rain"

ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find

spark ~ tori amos (the video)

& live on jools holland

"she's convinced she could hold back a glacier,

but she couldn't keep baby alive;

doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere,

here

you say you don't want it,

again and again,

but you don't really mean it.

you say you don't want it,

this circus we're in,

but you don't you don't really mean it;

you don't really mean it."

someone i'm close to called me today and told me that she had a miscarriage last night, and as she told me about what happened, about having to tell her four year old son, and how it felt like she was dying herself i had to keep remembering to breathe myself.

there are some pains in life they say never fully go away, and this one, i'm pretty sure this is a never goes away one.

i still find it hard to talk about, or write about, which is something for me. though i never forget when it happened, or when that child's birthday would have been, or how old they would be now.

it was truly the most painful experience of my life. seven years ago, and it still hurts.

i did not want to say that to her, though. instead i told her i was there for her, to take care of her, and that i understood.

being a grown up really fucking sucks sometimes.

sure that star can twinkle

keep art alive; art by sas christian

first of december, and i had quite a few winter holiday plans. but, what is it they say about making plans? instead of the winter arts festival and my favorite diner, by the beach, it has been me wrapped up in a blanket on the couch feeling too sick to move. if i felt better i’d be driving around taking in the twinkle lights, which are on my list of my 100 favorite things ever. maybe tomorrow night, if i can shake the fever and sore throat.

for now, i’ll have to settle for tori singing twinkle, a copy of love actually, and my well-worn copy of high fidelity. i hope the first of december is treating you all well, and in solidarity to anna’s reminder, let us not forget world aids day.

i worry sometimes that the next generation will have forgotten, or somehow minimized, the risk of aids. perhaps it is more significant to me as i lost three amazing friends to the disease in the early and mid-nineties. like anna wrote, sexy safe sex…yes.

undefinable

"some of the most wonderful people are the ones who don't fit into boxes.”

tori amos

i never left you for a banjo

i think you still remember me as a girl who taught you to drive, and i know i remember you as the boy who helped me learn to trust. i know we still close our eyes and see the kids we were, driving down the coast every other day because we had nothing else to do. back then they all knew us for what we showed them, and you knew how to fit in with anyone and everyone. they all loved you, and as you held my hand i felt bold and brave, and almost healed. you would light my cigarette and laugh at how fast i smoked, kiss my lips and tell me i was beautiful. we were beautiful together.

and i remember that night, twisting up the road in all that fog, you telling me to pull over to the side of the road. i turned to face you and the tears fell, as you half-whispered to me things that night that no one else knew. i took your hands in mine, felt how much you were shaking. and, i showed you my scars then. we traded the stories and let each other breathe them in, and we held each other until we were stronger. i think we sat there for hours, together.

and later, sitting at your extended family's house, we smiled at each other and i knew right then that i loved you with every piece of who i was. yeah, i remember it, of course i do; how could you possibly think i'd forget? but, we were kids, and we have grown. i have learned to breathe and be brave all on my own now, even though i do miss you; i will always miss you.

but, these new things you see, i wonder if it is really me, or just a memory of who i used to be. have i just become a symbol of the things you feel you may have lost? because sometimes the past can be seen that way, a fading black and white image of what came before; and that less then vivid picture can often seem so much better than what is now. she was right, though, when she wrote me that i am tired of being a symbol, and that i just want to be seen as me. once upon a time you saw me as me, more than anyone ever had before. but, i wonder if the only me you see now is that once upon a time me. i'm guilty of it, too. i know i see you as that boy from before, the one that was near impossible to let go of. and perhaps that is the point of this all, to recognize what we meant to each other and say goodbye.

"i'm trying not to move

it's just your ghost

passing through

i said i'm trying not to move

it's just your ghost passing through

it's just your ghost

passing through

and now

i'm quite sure

there's a light in your platoon

i never seen a light move

like yours

can do to me

so now i'm wishing

for my best impression

of my best angie dickinson

but now i've got to worry

cause boy you still look pretty

to me

but i've got a place to go

i've got a ticket to your late show

and now i'm worrying cause even still

you sure are pretty

when you're putting the damage on."

putting the damage on ~ tori amos

because they'll soon know where i live

keep art alive; art by sanithna phansavanh

enough rope

she packed all she could fit in a backpack,
nothing more, nothing less, and ran.
down the stairs, out the door, 'cross the highway,
never looking back.

"hitchiking is suicide",
her last friend from the world had said,
"might as well get a rope and just hang yourself.
get it over with."

over with.
over with.
over with.

well, he wouldn't have to know, wouldn't have to see,
her thumb stuck out,
in defiance,
in reverance,
in some sort of jelly-filled desperation.

"where to?" he said, through yellow-crooked teeth.

where to?
where to?
where to?

she wanted to lose herself in the mountains,
paint tales of wonder on the sides of trees,
crawl down into civilization long enough for a cold glass of coke,
slice of pie, a smile.

she stepped up into the elevated cab,
a slight shiver trailing to the base of her spine, l
aughing to cover fear.

"i guess, just to the next town." she said, in a half whisper,
half gasp.

and the road spread out before them.

before them.
before them.
before them.

he smelled of marlboro reds and coffee,
like her father before he left,
same flannal, too.
she wanted to touch his hand,
for it to be his,
for it not to be some kind of a come-on.

but she was used to this, by now,
how the smell of her skin brought out the animal.
guava. vanilla. and something more.
and they all wanted the more of it,
she opened her mouth wider,
closed her eyes,
thought of blue skies,
buttered popcorn at the main west,
double-features,
the last line of 'blue'.

he dropped her off. crumpled. torn.
the neon blinking no vacancy.

no vacancy.
no vacancy.
no vacancy.

she lifted up her backpack,
spit,
went to the pop machine,
a cold coke,
and kept walking.

the mountains had to be here,
somewhere.
she would make her stellar entrance there,
shed her clothes,
her scent,
lose herself in the green and grub.

"if i had enough rope, i might just hang myself.
here."
(written by me)

me & a gun ~ tori amos