Wednesday, May 1, 2013

.. …. .- …- . .-.. —- … - .— —- .-. -.. … .-.-.- .. .——. -.. .-.. .. -.- . - —- -… . — —- .-. . .- -.-. - .. …- . —- -. ……-. . -… ..- - ..-. —- .-. … —- — . .-…- … —- -. .. - .——. … .-…- .-.. .-.. -.— …. .- .-. -.. .- -. -.. .. .——. -.. .-. .- - ……-. … .—. .. .-.. .-.. ..-… .-.. .. -. —. … .. -. - —- … —- —. —. -.— … - -.— .-. —- ..-. —- .- — -.-. ..- .—. … .- -. -.. .— .-. .. - . .. -. — —- .-. … . -.-. —- -.…-.-.-

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Perpetually tired. Perpetually tired of tumblr. Going to have a Before Sunrise/Sunset marathon (and dream about Before Midnight, because Delpy and Hawke steal my heart) and smother myself in the scent of Easter Lilies. My dreams are not my own. I’ll be back soon, hopefully with poppies in my hair.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

I would just like a muse, someone to read poems with (and possibly exchange the words we read through kisses) and a very big bag of all dressed potato chips. Is this too much to ask for?

Sunday, March 3, 2013
I am truly a snail but I’ve finally updated my blogspot. New post here!

I am truly a snail but I’ve finally updated my blogspot. New post here!

Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Channeling Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard with my new turban and wishing I was actually on Sunset Boulevard right now but instead I am planting snowflakes tonight as the snow falls and falls and falls into a little slush puddle under my bed. Hi.

Channeling Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard with my new turban and wishing I was actually on Sunset Boulevard right now but instead I am planting snowflakes tonight as the snow falls and falls and falls into a little slush puddle under my bed. Hi.

Friday, February 22, 2013
Long nights tangled in velvet silk threads planning a million and ten escape routes. Longing to be in 10 places at once. Longing for the buzz you get when something is new and vulnerable. Everything outside keeps melting and freezing, freezing and melting. And I feel just like that these days in my silly robes and crooked crowns.

Long nights tangled in velvet silk threads planning a million and ten escape routes. Longing to be in 10 places at once. Longing for the buzz you get when something is new and vulnerable. Everything outside keeps melting and freezing, freezing and melting. And I feel just like that these days in my silly robes and crooked crowns.

Monday, February 18, 2013

I once caught a shooting star and held it in the palm of my hand. It soon burned into a nothingness of ash and remains of gold that had no value except as a curiosity to lock in a jar for the book shelf—a conversation piece the guests never seem to notice, anyhow. That’s the thing about stars, we only catch their death and down in their mysterious distance. This convinces us they are wishes worth making and promises worth holding on to. I should throw out the remains, shouldn’t I? Let go, let go, let go said the little star.