Light wash jeans, O.H.I.O

Last night I has a dream about you,in New Zealand.

I was doing something in the dirt, probably planting as I often do in dreams,but I was watching you playing with someone or something and I woke up overcome by how happy I am for you,how proud of your life I am, in spite of how we don’t and maybe can’t communicate. It’ll be seven years since we last really saw one another and more than 10 since we met .

Some days on bikes across bridges in fogs or at long benches in neon-lit watering holes were I only write but no longer drink,I feel the ghost of us,planning big things you managed to carry out and then so much more,and I am happy. I’m sorry we each broke the other’s heart because we were water and air that made a hurricane.

I’m still not healthy like I wish I was. my insides of my brain were born sad, and my back pain looks like the *gosh darn night sky. Twenty doctors later,they still can’t give me a solid one answer,just a laundry list of physical issues, seemingly floating in isolation. I know my getting sick was hard on you and I remember that tribal scream as old as the place your blue eyes came from. I never stopped hurting,I just got better at hiding it,keeping few friends and plenty of people who think they know me as I lean across the service side of a bar,or have a conversation from the driver’s seat of Lyft.

We could’ve been better to each other. We could’ve been more honest,both of us,but mostly me,the Best and The Worst thing.

I forgive you for pushing me to do the thing I’d have done anyway. You were right about how hard it was on me,and I hated you for how hard it was on my soul. It’s a hard choice to make, and you took the choice part away. I’m not sad for what we did,just how it went.

I’ve been a few people since then. All of them are proud of you, Kyle.

I’m moving to Sweden in August with my husband, leaving behind the only city who ever loved me as much as I loved it, and maybe that’s why you make wine in my dreamscapes right now, because I never got the goodbye down with you. I don’t day goodbye.

Maybe we’ll see each other another place,maybe not. Here’s to your life, hopefully full of blessings.

l’chaim.

Advertisements

everything is endless

I think I need to take you to highway 1. Come for the trees, stay for the living moments beween the leaves and the sunlight.  You’ve told me you don’t see the way that I do, but I do believe you can. You can smell me inside your hear,clear as if I were next to you, what else can you do you haven’t touched on yet?
I was unlocked by the wind whispering old words in trees, and I suspect your heart is in every wave in the ocean, and you can walk around this blue green rock and never be alone because of that connection.  I’ll take you to talk to the ocean. 

Then, Talk less, because I’ll take you to where I see “god”. I don’t believe the gods are ours, I don’t think they’re a power to “envoke”, but the endless voices of  now and then and never,emboidied in ways we’ll recognise: Enegy and spirits older that time showing up when they’re needed most.

Everywhere on this known earth has gods on every bit of land. I like to think each culture that came though our own new Colossus carried in charms and pots and lace the gods exiled with them in the name of “progress”.
(A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles)
Personally,  have a suspision a few made it out to this  Currently -united state’s golden side in 1959 en masse whisperin’in ears of burning blind, hysterical minds the thoughts we needed in the ryrthm of the times, Anthems and chants to start revolutions,  I suspect there were as many gods in black leather jackest and black Ray bans, aiding the Party of Self Defense againts the hate-twisted words of an old book made legislation by men with no mind to what god(s) really meant.
Whenever a prophet is murdered in his own country, A journalist marytered for reporting on human rights violations, there they are in the midst.
I suspect gods stood in tienemen square, suspect they burned with arms wrapped around monks who sent the odor of commitment and sacrifice to the sky.
God met me out there in the woods one time and I wonder if he hung around. He wasn’t a solid thing but raining light voice and he opened up all my eyes until I saw for endless days and only seconds.
Don’t figure They’re the kind of thing that stays in one place very long, or  stays one thing very long. The last time I saw Them, they were crossing the street and the middle of Santa Cruz, walking a pitbull. Another time, they were a little girl who know me from the last time she was a little girl. I didn’t know her at all. 
I do not know that there are gods, my darling. I do know my own belifes, my own life. I suspect there exixst more in the Spaces between that we have words for. 
 There is no hyperbole to what I am about to say.
I was possibly 12, angry, walkman,pants with a velvet dragon on them. I believed in nothing, maybe less.
I saw a man pass me  on my left. I look in his face and saw eyes like worlds on worlds, blue hollow worlds,and as he passes, I watched him walk away, and then he was gone.
Gods or no, there’s more that we can put names to.
 Find a new word for god. demystify the mysteries through communication.
listen to yourself.
I know nothing.
So do you.

Come get your cat

There’s a special place in hell for people who move into an apartment complex and just decide(like assholes) to let their cats be “indoor/outdoor cats”. BRUH. of course your cat is going to (probably) like that, because it’s a tiny murder-ball. Our little familiars really aren’t that far removed from proud, wild things. So, when let outside, they form weird carnivore-musical cliques. 

Here’s 2 of the jerks. 

Tbh, they’re adorable.

My husband is defensive of our cat and actively roots for the destruction of our local tribe of switchblade-pawed assholes. It’s precious. Also precious, was his confusing “West end” with “West Side ” which I think we can all agree would have  been a very different ‎Leonard Bernstein experience .

I’m writing this on the couch while watching Kathleenlights tutorials and wearing dinosaur pants. It’s almost 11, and I shouldn’t be in dinosaur pants because there’s shit  want to do  out in this beautiful, green world before I leave for work at 4:00.

So, I’ma do them. 

You do you.

PS. 

I know that if you’re not a Trump supporter, you’re pissed right now. I am fucking livid and also worried. Remember to breathe,  remember to fact – check, and live your life as an act of beautiful resistance. I love you.