Get Things Right

i didn't get tickets in time.


i'm slowly killing the plant on my windowsill, and i can't seem to make a baked potato. it tasted okay, kind of chewy. baked potatoes are not supposed to be chewy.
today is a new day.

it tolls for thee

i'm sitting in the sun and my black jeans are soaking in the heat - still with a breeze i'm warm in that way that the sun just wraps you up, and you never get hot, just lightly toasted. this park is not exactly luscious, but it is grassy and it is well used, the way a park should be.

nearby a group of men sit, rough looking and dirty sneakers, one with ropey dreads, some older some younger. strolling through the green space a man plays a clarinet, stopping at the fountain for sips. i am alone, killing time before meeting a friend. the man with the dreads states out loud, this is the life - sunshine, good music, beautiful people.
at first they're talking about getting busted, for pot, in the park. i must have just missed it, their buddy it seems. which turns into a discussion on public consumption and the legalization of marijuana. they are sipping tall boys as they speak. suddenly they are talking about wine, about some new law passed in Europe, about mixing red wine and mineral water to make a fake rose. one seems to feel that the anything-to-make-a-buck mentality only leads to diminished products. minutes later i hear talk of Valerie Bertinelli, and her weight loss and Jenny Craig. the older man seems to think her new bikini body is hot, another disagrees. then it's back to discussing that friend of theirs, and his drug addiction, his crack. they don't seem too impressed with him.

i see my friend coming up the block. just as i get up to leave dread-man wonders out loud, where is so-and-so, another comments, no man's an island, he will be back.

and now i'm falling towards the sky

this, while listening to Patrick Watson's piano playing.

Le Louvre Abu Dhabi, 2012

click for detail/tiny bits of light

You can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.
-Junot Diaz


i keep trying to run.

birth day loot

beer-cupcakes with cream cheese icing
lilacs
lily of the valley
commemorative Blue Jays keychain (1989)
found Joker
stainless steel flask
sixteen special beers
potted flowers
lemon cupcakes with strawberry mascarpone icing
handmade bracelet (Species by the Thousands)
handmade 'poo' names book (V. Maltese)
1 coupon for a free Dome beer, at any date



i spilled on my dress, i drank some beers. i mostly thought, until July. i mostly thought, to slip away quietly.
my room smells like lilacs and i turned 23 years yesterday. snippets of sleep, it's 9 am it's tuesday it's all gone.

to-do list (one of many)

everyday: stop forgetting things
soon: watch Synecdoche, New York already (everyone keeps telling me it's bad but still), return, pay late fee
next tuesday: eat breakfast

so far so good.

good deed

he was walking his dog, and 80 dollars cash slipped from his pocket. i was walking behind him and picked it up.
that's me, on the lookout. somehow my eye just catches.

what will i do with them all, one day. maybe nothing. they will stay slipped into the folded white envelope for a long long time, squeezed in between books on my shelf. my collection remains tucked away neatly.

I said you do

the man across the street was mowing his lawn at 9am, loud and monotonous. pacing and pushing and pulling, waking me up too soon. and everything outside was wet and slick, sort of silvery and faded.
i rode with a sideways smile, that sideways smile. and the streets smelled sickly sweet from the chocolate factory nearby. pink petals blanketed my route.
now home for a minute and my hair smells like cut grass, and i'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and the day before that. mostly i just want a cup of coffee.

cheer up king bee, your stomach turns over but your lungs are free

to just be sad, and we were just babies.
or maybe i was the babe. and you, you smelled like soap.


white and grey and cold and tired. the sky and i collide on days like this, on tuesday.

here's hopin'

nice things about my new job:
free booze at staff meetings
staff meetings which turn into gossip sessions
being invited to play on the Queen kickball team
being invited to be part of the store bike gang, jackets included


semi-drunk phone calls through Trinity, the sky is closing up, i'm talking too loudly. i am marching along, tripping on home. then i'm dragging out the recycling bins, they are falling over. i'm swearing and laughing.
it's all so simple, right now.