Infinite

Love to find old writing... there’s something about it turning up that lights up my heart. Mostly because I’ve lost writing & photographs over the years... the whole non-attachment Buddhist thing doesn’t always help with those losses but I’m a work in progress. I won’t tell you how to cope with letting things go because I still get devastated like everyone else when I lose anything creative or meaningful I’ve invested myself into... school, work, love, people and sometimes material things. Rediscovering things also fills my heart with joy because it’s a reminder of who I was at that moment. It’s a nice reminder to make note of my evolution and wonder if I could still get in that mental space to write the same before wondering who I’ll be in a few years.

Here’s an old piece that I’d found a few years ago and rediscovered again today.

Do you like to remember who you were, reflect who you are now and wonder who you'll become?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Infinite

(8-8-2011)

The darkness, the shadows, the lights & the breathes that take up the empty places between us. It's not the closeness that's scary. The tremble of my breathing & tightening in my chest is something I resist as I watch you push away once more promising to return. Distance feeds & breeds fear in the mind but love is infinite & vast enough to fill the empty places. It's a long road in this life, there's nothing holding us back from living. Live, knowing that love is the absence of fear; an energy strong enough to overcome all. Release your fears, embrace and give love. As long as I breathe you’ll have my love between the dark, the light and the shadows.

The Highest Good

The Highest Good

What’s the highest good mean to you? I don’t have witty buddhism to give you but I’ll explain. I think I like to believe everyone can guide themselves so I will share what I know... from what I know of the highest good is that the universe only wants what’s best for you and me so while something sounds or seems great, it may not be. So it doesn’t happen or falls apart. 

How can love not be the highest good? I don’t know but this is the conundrum I am faced with explaining over and over again at the moment. Watching opportunities manifest only to fall apart & leave is hard for anyone, including me. But I have faith in a higher good. 

 

We are presented with choices in life. There isn’t simply one path, one person or one way to do things. The universe is a tricky thing in that it’s not a thing. It’s more like spiritual balance. And that balance wants you to have what is in your highest good. So it places you on the path that is meant to keep you growing, learning and heading towards your purpose. There’s always going to be things that fall apart but it happens for the highest good. Lost a job, love or a friend? It’s for a reason. Could you have the courage to dream up the next step of your life had things stayed the same? Exactly. This is your path and you will be supported. 

 

For myself I am relieved every time things fall apart because I know it would happen if it was meant to. Everything will happen when it’s meant to and be to the highest good. Waiting reminds me that whatever is being held back is for a specific reason. 

So whenever it feels like the universe is holding you back from pursuing a specific relationship, new job or new opportunity, etc… it may not be the right time. If it was time then it would be right in front of you. The hold up may be that something is needed before it can happen.  Perhaps you require more training for work or the emotional work to maintain a relationship. Maybe there is a better work opportunity altogether and the partner you are meant for is the one who has the emotional work & reflection to do? Whatever the reason, if things have not yet made themselves clear, it is because it is not yet time for them to come to you..

Sometimes the waiting is the biggest challenge in trusting the universe to bring you the highest good. Here’s an old one about waiting...

Are you patient?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

On Ice

(8-12-09)

On Ice. 

There are things you put on ice. 

Sore necks. 

Bad news. 

Hot tempers. 

Vodka. 

Dead bodies. 

All of which are among the countless uses for frozen water. 

My teeth start to chatter. I’m pretty certain my lips are blue. Hypothermia can set in the body in a matter of minutes depending on the temperature. Which in this instance the warmth in the room is anywhere in the vicinity of below 59 degrees and continuing to drop. Upon entrance to this walk-in freezer I disabled the controls to the thermostat in the hope it would extend my life while I wait.

As soon as I enter the room and secure the door behind me I began removing my shoes and clothing. I carefully step into the vat of ice. Delicately I submerge my torso inch by inch beneath the cold blanket of ice. The blood from my open wound spills out staining the ice. Slowly the flow of crimson begins to lessen. The waves of freezing set into my body as I wait. My skin takes on a new color and my face feels the blush of winter. My breathing is slower and shallow. I’m getting sleepy.

I’m not certain how long a person can live without a kidney and proper medical attention, but I wait. He promised he’d come. Follow shortly after I did. Rather after we did this. See you can’t cut out your own kidney. It requires assistance. 

Chance said, “I’ll be there in a matter of minutes behind you. Wait. Don’t do anything stupid. You can not risk your life. Just wait for me.” 

So I wait. Keep in mind. Neither of us are doctors. Actually Chance was excommunicated from the world of medicine for a similar abuse on school property during his last term as a med student. His calling as a surgeon washed away with one foolish irresponsible move. But we didn’t have time to find someone else. He gave me a local anesthetic and promised it would hurt like hell. Well, it didn’t tickle. Laugh. Pain. Smile. Chatter.

Wait.

Now why am I missing a kidney? Money. Of course, right? I would be thinking money. Not at all. It’s quite the contrary. To simplify it, Chance asked me for it. I agreed. What woman gives a man her kidney? A crazy one. I trust him with all my heart. This explains why I’m waiting here instead of the emergency room at the nearest hospital. This rationalization seems ridiculous when I think about it. The long story isn’t much clearer in my opinion either. 

Chance returned home quite distraught. He wouldn’t speak to me or look me in the eye for over an hour. It was clear he wrestling with something in his mind and it was winning. When I could no longer bear to watch him suffer I grabbed him and refused to let go until he told me what was going on. 

“I need a kidney,” he says like it’s a gambling debt he has to repay. I can tell he’s quite serious though. I mention cadavers. With that thought he breaks free of my grasp and shakes his head no, moving his entire body in this denial. 

“It has to come from a person… a… a… a living person.” He’s terrified and shaking fiercely. “I don’t need to keep it. Just need it for a little bit. And his voice gets quiet and stops with a pause before dropping the final blow, “TONIGHT!” 

I walk over and hold him to stop the shaking. 

He whispers, “Its life or death. Mine.” 

I love him, so I offer. 

He declines and pushes me away. 

I pause. 

He asks, “Are you sure? I won’t unless you are.” 

I am. We agree. He promises to come for me. So here I wait for him to return, with or without my kidney.

The icy bath has the rancor of death. Frozen slow death. It’s my blood mixing with the ice. Red, glistening, breathe taking, numb, creeping in without a warning. 

Chance, where are you? I think I’m dying. On ice. Alone. 

There’s not enough life in me for anger or sadness. It’s cold. Quiet. I trust him. My breathing has slowed even more. The precise hole in my torso has temporarily cauterized from the cold. I’m thankful that bleeding out isn’t what’s killing me. I manage to stay coherent a little longer. 

My eyes flutter. 

The door swings. 

Eyes closed then open. 

It’s Chance. Maybe it’s too late. 

Closed. 

Open. 

He’s bent over next to me with both hands fiercely digging in the ice to free me. 

Closed. 

Open. 

Red ice. 

Closed. 

Closed.

Maybe not. 
Open. 

Chance.

In Fashion

Fashion roadkill or fashionably discarded? How about being fashionably woke? Telling the same story as someone else won’t necessarily make your version better... try telling your own story and let others enjoy it. 

Here’s something about fashion... 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Murder on the Runway

(7-9-2009)

Murder on the Runway.

Yvette & Cosette hobble out onto the runway. The unnatural pair of Siamese twin descend the cat walk and move forward in a seesaw walk that was neither fierce nor provocative. Both sewn into one garment – conjoined at the hip. Neither of these novice divas willing to give up a star spot in a Nigel Rockford show. Uncertain of the world they have entered, but knowing that it will change their lives forever.

Designer Nigel Rockford: “I wanted circus freak meets Russian doll via the Orient Express…”, and the interview went on and on. “I’ve brought two Scandinavian beauties to model my new collection. These fabulous dolls will be my next stars! My show will be the most extravagant thing anyone has seen all year!”  This designer extraordinaire was trying to be the next avant-garde visionary ala Alexander McQueen. As if. This interview would be his undoing. 

Show begins. One by one the models walk out, stop, spin, and walk back. Clomp, clomp, stamp, stamp. Strut. Fierce. Arms on hips. Work it for the crowd. As each goes out, the mood gets bitchier and cattier. Katarina making her pass throws elbows hitting Lexa in the chest and nearly tossing her to the ground before the crowd. Nina prancing out as brilliant as ever, is taken out by the errant feet work of another diva. Down on the platform! Fashion Roadkill! At this show the models are moving forward in rapid succession with the intent to do damage; walking down the runway fiercely stepping on Nina with the purpose to aim and trample. The first steps directly on her hand – Broken! The second on her face – Ouch! Third, well she nearly trips and kicks Nina in the ribs for the near-miss faux pas. Nina eventually slinks off the runway with a broken nose bleeding profusely on Nigel’s Japanese silk, crème colored creation and leaving a trail of blood along the way. Red meets pristine white, illuminated, on display for all to see. It’s smearing as the other girls take no notice and keep on strutting through it. Nigel is flabbergasted, yelling and throwing furs backstage. How dare these bitches ruin his show? 

What set these beautiful (and deadly) creatures off? The coveted spot! The piece de résistance, Nigel promised each and every one of the models the prized slot - the finale. Being the fickle yet fabulous Nigel Rockford, he’d recruited two unusual and unheard of beauties instead of using the ‘already seen that’ standard. Yvette and Cosette silly creatures, foreign to the scene, delicate, and completely oblivious; the pair never saw the ambush coming. The day he posted the clothing assignment, a devastating blow was dealt. Two very public, high profile models attempted suicide that day, each believing her career to be over since Nigel had chosen fresh faces. The pair was replaced immediately without hesitation. Nigel shrugged it off as typical catty drama. “You know what. I’m actually glad those prima donnas are out of the way! There should be no bitterness at my show. I wish those ladies the best of health and a speedy recovery.” Yes. Those were his comments to the press. How very? Indeed!

As the first model hits the backstage and the curtain falls, the fight begins. Models start removing hair and shoes. Each diva figuring that one less competitor would lower the odds to gaining the desired spot. One goes down after a hand mirror pegs between her eyes, scattering shards of glass across her face. Another model grabs and pulls the hair of another, proceeding to drag her down a staircase and then shoving the young woman down the remaining steps. Hair extensions are being ripped out, pulling out bloody clumps of hair directly from the scalp and tossed aside. Its wrestling meets Haute Couturé. Unreal, but ever so entertaining! Flat irons being used to singe the skin off faces. 

A model starved to the verge of insanity was typically the most dramatic headline you’d see in a newspaper these days regarding the industry. Not any more. DEATH BY MANOLO BLAHNIK might sound a bit more appropriate after this show. 

Brawling ensues. Heels, jewelry and handbags all being used as weapons. There are a thousand tiny pink feathers in the air floating down into a sea of women tearing into each other. Not a pretty sight. Clothing is flying about. Half of Nigel’s collection on the floor covered in blood. Each new model heading backstage is thrust into this pit of unequivocal carnage. Nigel is still trying to maintain a show. On his side of the stage, models are being thrown into clothes and shoved out and down the runway. No one wants to go out anymore. Those who are left know too well what awaits them on the other side of the stage. 

Nigel so desperate to gain back control of his show, he arranges for assistance. Knowing that the impending scandal was far too reprehensible to live down he attempts to bring in security. Security, HA! It really should have been the SWAT team. Typically large men should be able to take down a toothpick of a woman. Unfortunately when you have 50, crazed and beyond recognition, it becomes complicated. Two security officers entered and were instantly devoured in the sea of women. Scope rifle, anyone? 

In a sense Yvette and Cosette were lame sitting ducks, unaware of the doom that awaits them. Sequestered away from the common girls; Nigel’s prized dolls. No one was allowed to speak with them before, after or during the show. There would be no chance of the madness outside entering into that crystal ball dressing room. The room that was custom crafted from the finest crystal in the world especially for the twins. Orders from the Queen supreme herself couldn’t penetrate the perimeter. One minute until destruction, ahem, Showtime. 

The two-headed monster wobbles down the runway, clop-clop, stomp-stomp. There’s a hush over the crowd. Actually Nigel’s last piece is quite breath-taking. It really was a masterpiece. Such a shame. The girls walk out and it seems as though time has stopped. World Peace is possible. There’s a cure for Cancer. Flying Stiletto at 3 o’clock makes contact with the left temple piercing skin, meeting skull and incapacitating with its menacing intention. Razor sharp weapon. Yvette is going down like a sinking ship. Cosette tumbles with her. Bodies on the runway in a fashion. Crowd gasping and someone screams, “She’s DEAD!” Yvette’s eyes have rolled back into her head. Cosette is chained to her corpse twin unable to function and run without the life of her other half. Art imitates life. If one should die then so shall the other? The stampede ensues. People have begun to flee the show. Bloody, half dressed and mangled women pour out from backstage onto the catwalk towards poor helpless Cosette. The horde devours Nigel without effort. He’s been trampled to death by his own creation. 

Poor little Cosette. There was no time to escape. A frenzy of grabbing hands and kicking feet swarms forward at the girl enveloping her within. The small creature never emerges from the mob. Pieces of the fabric can be seen in the clutches of the depraved women. Eventually there are body parts coming out of the horde. Soon enough it becomes clear that there is no more of little Cosette and the pack begins to cannibalize upon itself. The models continue to rip each other to shreds. One might assume this was truly a moment in the wild, where a pack of animals has initiated an all out assault on another. Only the strong shall survive. 

The aftermath of war leaves the battlefield strewn with the bodies of wounded soldiers. The Showhouse has seen the better of days. Today’s unfortunate fashion civil war has left the once immaculate House of Rockford in shambles. The arms, legs and other remaining pieces of these once beautiful creatures are strewn across the blanket of red covering the floor. The lights illuminate and intensify the crimson effect on the catwalk. It pops. Jumps out. Screams, “Buy me!” It was to be the shining moment when the world would finally recognize the Nigel Rockford brand. Nigel was right about one thing, people would definitely stand-up and take notice. Well, no one would ever forget this show. Especially after all the bodies were found how could anyone possibly forget that? Definitely the “most extravagant” anyone had seen this year.

Time Travel with Andy Warhol: Contact Sheets

Took the time machine to The Factory to see Andy Warhol...

Andy was looking at contact sheets of himself eating a bowl of Corn Flakes when I arrived.

“Moni, do you like them? Corn Flakes?

Shaking my head, before I could answer Andy interjects.

“Of course you don’t, I like boring things. Well since you’re here, help yourself to a glass of champagne while I work. I have to work. I’ve got a lot of mouths to feed. Someone has to bring home the bacon.” 

As I start to sip the champagne, he asks “How do you feel about bacon?”

Stories

Of course you can tell the same story a thousand different ways... but why would you want to tell someone else’s story when you can tell your own? I prefer to hear people’s own stories instead of them replicating anothers tale.

Love yourself enough to write & live your own story. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

When…

(11-4-11)

“When the music used to play…” he tells me in the sweet drawl of a voice that reminds me of being a little girl sitting under the lemon tree listening to his yarn. And just like then my grandpa pauses for a moment so I can ask the question that sets at the front of my mind. Because he knows I have a question. 

“Tell me about the music and how it used to play,” I tell him with a smile. It’s the same bright wide-eyed smile that only the inner child can produce from true sincerity. That inner child is something we never lose, some people simply forget that it’s there waiting to be released. 

“Well then, let me tell you about the music.” he says before telling me the story. 

Now a story from my grandpa was always a surprise to be sure. Sometimes wasn’t what I expected to hear but it ended up being what I needed to hear. There are some men in this world that some might call a prophet for the knowledge they possess and share is true. When these men speak that truth they tell it with the hope that others will soon discover the truth for themselves. I like to believe my granddad was something of a prophet for all those things he used to share with me always made sense in their own way at some later time.  

“And how it played on and on so very long ago.”

When the music played the good old boys in the band always sparked up the same way. It lifted their spirits and took their melodies soaring to new heights. Yet it was the same ol song no matter how they played it. And sadly it was the only thing they could muster the courage to play. It was the only one they knew. The only one he taught them to play. 

Reese De La Beautran was an interesting fellow. He had the gift of music from an early age. Earlier than most folks but later than others. He wasn’t a prodigy by any means. None in the least. But something happened when that boy picked up the violin. Magic and the movement of the soul. Reese couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but the people all around him seemed to come alive when he played. And that made his heart soar. It lifted and grew to new levels of joy within to see others happy. And it was by something so small that he could gift to them. As he could put no price on the value of their joy. 

Joy and happiness followed Reese wherever he went. It wasn’t something that he’d often thought twice about. His luck was something of a gift and whomever he was in league with benefited from that good fortune as well. It was something of a knack, his sweet music and so he went along playing it. Took his song with him to every city and every town. 

Now Reese was a happy type of fellow but like any other man he fell upon bad times once and again. Yet it wasn’t like other men when he did. Something about Reese went directly hand and hand with his music. Some might say that it was a blessing to be able to put your emotions into the work. Other simply called it curse. Mostly on account of what happened. 

And there are many accounts of what happened… it could only happen that way once. 

It was a show out in the middle of a tiny poke of a town, not much bigger than a dot on the map. Something was in the air that night. The folks that were there that night said it was like a hand crawling up your spine. The energy in the crowd was mighty strange. They didn’t know whether to enjoy the show or give into that odd sensation that had come upon them.

See, on that night before the band started up there had been a bit of misfortune. Reese learned about the passing of his mother. It wasn’t what one might call a simple passing. It was one of great pain and suffering. To talk about the pain won’t help you understand only know that what was told to Reese went without question as a nightmare come to life. The man wrestled with his thoughts, his wits and his own personal character before summoning the courage to walk out on that stage. 

But in the end all the wrestling couldn’t stop Reese from giving a performance. A show that some might have called the performance of a lifetime as it was purely driven from his soul. Others say something wicked took hold of that man when he stood out there playing his song that night. For what happened in the crowd was something unforeseen. 

When the band played it wasn’t the same. Reese called upon a new song that he’d been deep in thought about. When he told the boys “play it by ear” they knew it wasn’t the some old song they’d done before. Well the people took it in sweet somber, just like the same melodies they’d known. Starting out slow and crawling up their spines. Nice and slow it went. Richer, deeper and a bit of melancholy for flavor went the new melody. With every beat the crowd grew intoxicated by the rhythm. Some danced. Some cried with joy. Some laughed. Some made no sound at all. 

You see listening to someone’s song is an intimate experience. And on this night people where taking in a part of that man’s soul. Much like a painting captures the soul, a single note music heard carries a piece of that musician’s soul. And when Reese poured his soul into his craft on this occasion it surely changed the way a man takes a hold of another man’s music. For the melody shifted into a faster frenzy just as Reese transformed the sound something about the crowd shift.  

Much to people’s dismay there wasn’t not much anything that could be done.

One by one the silent people began to collapse without rhyme or reason. Tears moved to hysterics. Laughter became screams. Dancing became feverish.  And many stayed on listening without affection other than a foot tap or hand clap. Yet all involved were entranced by the song. A song that kept them facing onward. Reese curiously watched as both joy and pain wrapped into an interesting combination before him. An unusual spectacle to be sure of. Every person in the audience ensnared in the final moments of chaos. 

The band loved every note of it. Like a hungry animal they ate at every inch of direction he led. Nearly exhausted Reese kept the band moving upward and onward with the sound anticipating what would come next. The climax. 

Without a doubt it came. And Reese came down with it when it came. The end of the music and along with it came both applause and screams. It was as though they had awoken from a trance. The man saw his masterpiece equally as a curse. He saw the aftermath. The bodies of the unconscious strewn out among the happy and sad filled his heart with a small sadness. Even as he listened to the band weep behind him, begging for more he knew that this was it. Deep down from the grief he felt inside for his mother, Reese knew that there would be no more like that song. A song that he’d never forget but would tear at his soul. 

“And now when the band plays… they play the same ol song. It just never sounds the same way twice. But it’s sure enough the same.”

“It’s not the same if it’s different?”

“How can you be sure?” 

“I can’t. I guess I will know when I do.”

“And you’ll know when the band plays…”

Composure

“You’ll lose your mind, trying to understand others”

No matter what you think you see... it’s how you compose yourself that counts. 

How do you deal with things?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Relax

“Relax,” the way he says the words reminds me of my mother because of his smile. 

 

Whenever I’m receiving less than pleasant news from my mother she purses her lips and gives me a smile that is the bearer of a consolation prize. It really isn't a bad face, but I can recognize the look a mile a way. The first time I can remember her making the face, I was five years old. They were sending my cat Giana St. Matthews away. I was allergic to her hair and the medicine made my hands and face break out in hives. I remember how much I cried that day Giana was given to my cousin Dina. I knew she would be happy and taken care of, but it still didn’t make me feel any better. My mother told me to relax with her best smile while my father handed me a puppy. 

 

In this moment he stands before me. I know he’s only trying to calm me and there’s no consolation prize. No puppy or pressing of lips into a smile that will mask my disappointment through placation. There’s only a reassuring calm in his voice that keeps pressing onward. Comforting my mind and reminding me that although nothing can make this feeling improve it can be released. As this moment progresses and expands into an unending din in my mind he continues to be the voice of reason. His voices soothes and reminds  me that I’ve worked myself into a tirade of worry for nothing; that all of my anxiety is unnecessary and I am overreacting to situations and things that are beyond my control. I know that the only chance of releasing my panic is to let it all go. 

 

“Relax,” he says and smiles again. 

 

 

Drive

Drive or no drive? No matter which way you go or how you live your life, someone will have some opinion about it... I like people that just tell me stories about things instead of their opinion. You can capture the same moment but it’ll never be what someone else experienced. Instead of worrying how they experience it, just let them enjoy the moment.

You can enjoy those who are on the same road as you and let the others who aren’t driven by the same impulse do their thing. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

There’s No Dance Music in L.A. 

(5-6-16)

Lost. I’m lost on the highway and there’s nothing but a voice on the line. She’s been talking for a least a half hour. The woman on the line was calling and hanging up when I answered, so I stopped answering and put her on speaker. She hears me breathing and knows that someone is listening so she keeps talking. 

Confessing. Dying. Wallowing.

“Chloe, I’m sorry. I think I’m dying. I love you.”She says it with a conviction that tells me she’s not playing. I can feel you crying for her so I imagine Chloe is a bitch like Felicia to make you disappear. But you don’t. 

I released this beautiful voice to the road and decided to follow the setting sun because there’s nothing on the radio. I turned it off when the girl blowing me at the airport announced that “there’s no dance music in L.A.” and decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. I told her I wasn’t a DJ but she wasn’t amused about my being a musician so she climbed in the backseat for a nap after telling me to find Sunset. 

Somewhere on Sunset the lines on the road start to merge and the buildings around me are taller than I thought they’d be. I need a hit. But I keep driving. 

“There’s nothing like driving in L.A. to teach you patience,” Wayne said to me when we were stuck in traffic on the 405. It’s the only last real memory of Wayne that I can conjure up without thinking of the violence. 

Violence breaks the silence when the girl in the backseat starts screaming. I think she’s hurt or something but she’s just dreaming. This girl is dreaming of the terrible things that will come to take her away from living while the one on the phone is begging for something terrible to make her stop living

Walking into the house is like a dream. Wayne isn’t playing when he says, “time’s up” and goes over to the bar in his study. He’s making a Cognac on the rocks when Gina sits me down with a push of her hands on my shoulders. I’m not sober and you fucking left again. I can see the skull of that man Wayne “handled” last year. It was an “accident” but not the kind where people walk away. It’s something of reminder that Wayne keeps when people piss him off. He leaves it out on the table with all the implications that remain with it. It implies nothing but betrayal between best friends and love for your enemies. Somehow I can’t stop staring at the skull while I take a hit my brain starts to wander...

“Alas, Poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred…” 

The dialogue of Shakespeare snaps into my brain bringing with it the sharp and quick sting of a dagger being shoved through my skin. I can feel the memory of words crawl backwards within and there’s nothing I can do because I’m losing my mind without you. It’s nothing like I thought it would be like. You’re not here and I’m all alone. Just like that girl on the phone was when she was dying with her tears looking for her lover, Chloe and all this is happening. Happening. Happening when I look at the skull on the table. I can’t help but feel the pain of knowing that I didn’t know anyone. Not truly the way that man knew Yorick. He knew him and there’s nothing and no one that I can speak the same for. It’s like watching my body leave me behind and I no longer want another hit. I just wanted you gone. And now I’m alone.

I think of getting up and leaving the room and maybe I do because I feel like everyone is gone and I just wanted you gone because all you think about is her. I finally move because that fucking skull won’t stop reminding me of dying or losing you. 

“Where are you going?” Gina sings into my ear and I keep thinking I said something or that she’s reading my mind when the thought of finding you comes back into my head. 

“Fucking Adrian, where are you? Look at me! Come back!” Gina’s pissed but you’ve taken off waiting for me to find you again and it’s always like this when things become less than clear. 

Clear. The water in the bathtub is clear when I get in. Jemma watches me as I get into the water. I’m naked and I wonder as she’s still looking if she’s thinking that we’re sleeping together. I don’t want to sleep with Jemma. But I don’t stop her from getting into the tub with me. 

“Adrian…”

“Don’t talk Jemma,” I kiss her and tell her I miss her. It’s not a lie because I know you miss her. This means I miss her too. But I can’t feel that pain of loss. I’m just in the moment holding her. She’s trembling. I wish she wasn’t living this life. It’s hard to watch her stop being herself but it doesn’t matter. She’s in my arms and she’s my Jemina again. 

“I love you.” She looks in my eyes and says it before putting her head on my chest. I can feel her warm tears on my skin as she sobs. Between her tears and breathes I want to feel like I’m home but I can’t. I’m lost. 

I’m lost.

And I’m at the beginning of the one place I can’t remember being before I decided it didn’t matter if I found you. 

The Hollywood sign. 

It’s bigger and smaller than it looks and there’s a good chance you’re somewhere dancing with the reds while the bottle of pills stays empty in my pocket. I must have said something out loud because before I can look for another color of candy a voice reaches out into the night. 

“That’s not the Hollywood sign,” the stupid spoiled whore in the backseat who won’t blow me or get the fuck out of the rental car says. “You’re parked next to the billboard on Sunset that lights up for the tourists. It’s a fucking eyesore.” The little bitch shuts up and starts snoring again. It’s then I decide I need another car. 

Vogue

Sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down. It’s when you’re down that you realize your potential and decide if it’s worth going back for more. 

Here’s an old one about... ups & downs.

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m. 💋

Ride The Wave

(10-23-14)

“Ride The Wave?”

“Something like that... I don't get out here too often nowadays. The daily grind with work and wife, the kids, keeps me from enjoying the surf like I used to.”

“Life'll do that to you. The things you work towards, start to work a little against you. But you wouldn't trade it would you?”

“Not at all. As a matter of fact, the golden goddess on the wave out there is my wife and the kids are making sand castles for me in the surf. You know we don't get to do it much often. The waves & sun. But it's so amazing to take it in. The wonder of living seems so overwhelming until you stop and realize your life is just full.”

“Full? I've not heard it phrased that way before. Tell me more. I'm not ready to hit the water just yet...”

“Imagine life is a glass of water. When you are single it's filled with water & ice. You can remove ice if it's too full. When you're married or just a parent there's no ice. You have a full glass. No where to empty out until you complete things.”

“I see. So my being a single gal makes my life...”

“Before you finish. No, your life is so full & amazing as it is. Never doubt where you are. Just be ready for when the ice melts.”

“Is it hard when it melts?”

“A little, but it's worth it. You adjust when you realize what you have and appreciate everything life offers. Sometimes the things it doesn't.”

“The things it doesn't? The things you lose, right?”

“Yes, but you won't miss them...”

“I imagine not.”

“Well here comes my better half and something I'm not missing... a chance to ride those waves!”

Into

Into the great wide open... everyday is unknown. You choose to keep going despite the fact that nothing is certain. Fate is an interesting concept that I’ve thought a great deal about recently. In Buddhism it’s Destiny that directs the path that life takes us. It’s influenced by our previous karma. Regardless of what's been or meant to be... sometimes the only thing you can do is walk forward and face the open unknown. 

What you think about Destiny? How do you feel about the unknown?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Open

(7-26-2011)

“Open… The door. ”

“Pardon?”

“The door’s opening. Just swinging real slow.”

“I see. It must be the wind. Would you like me to close it?”

“Nah. You ever hear about open doors?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s a shame. There’s so much an open door can tell you.”

“Really. Can you tell me a little?”

“I’ll do more than tell you a little. It’s not so much that there’s a lot to say but there’s more than a little.”

“Alright. I’ve never heard it said that way before but I know what you mean.”

“Alright, kid. Now an open door may seem like a coincidence or a man’s lazy tail needed to be yanked up but that don’t mean it’s not a good sign just the same. An open door is like an invitation to step on through. Embrace whatever rests beyond that threshold. Whether it’s daylight, nightlight or a bit of rain, the door being open means that you ought to take a chance and step through.”

“Wait. I don’t understand. I just got here and I want to sit down before I leave again.”

“Hush, child. That’s not what I’m saying. The door is telling you about an opportunity to take in. When the time is right, you’ll know it. It will call you tell you that it’s been too long.”

“I don’t know. Why did it swing so slow?”

“Ah child, the uncertainty is your fear and the swing… The swing of the door is calling you to arms. Some folks tell me that slow is sneaking in unexpected. While a rush of a door is sending you the sign that the unknown is prompting you to act. It should feel like an impulse in your skin to be sure. So child…”

“It’s wide open.”

1953

Roman Holiday is one of my favorites... it’s about a princess secretly escaping her life & playing hooky because she’s so frustrated by the tight constrains of her daily schedule. Sometimes you need a break to stop and smell the flowers. Other times you need to work harder to keep afloat ... everything requires balance. Now and again that balance feels wobbly... 

Do you ever escape the monotony of your routine? If you don’t, you should. I would if I could. ;)

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Together

(10-21-2010)

 “Can we?”  He says.

“It’s been one of those days at the end of a very long week. Can we have a daydream together?” He insists with a smile and leans his head a little to the left and touches the back of my neck with his warm hand.  

A long week that never ends. Work. And nothing but that. When it seems there’s no chance for escape, then you find it. Resting in front your thoughts and granting your soul peace. The golden light of day shining vividly across the bright waters of paradise. Miles and miles of coastline. White sands and the sounds of surf crashing along the line of coast. Birds call and dive in and out of the cool bright waters.

 “Oh I don’t know it’s been a very long day.” I tell him in a small jest. “And it’s the end of the week.” He lowers his face to look me in the eye as his smile widens with my unconvincing response.

“Please. You know you want to.” He insists. “If I want to, then you know you want to.” He looks at me and presses his lips together with a smile. I can’t remember ever saying no to him when he does this. So I don’t.

“Yes of course I do. I miss it a lot lately.” I smile and blush as he grabs at my hands that try to stay busy.

The warm sunlight touches my bare skin. I ask him if maybe we can stay longer this time. I tell him I like it here. This is my favorite one. He agrees and suggests we keep looking for find a place to enjoy it. With this he keeps walking and I follow with my hand tucked around his waist.

“Oh, how I do miss it.” I stop to look at him and nod.

“See. What better reason for it.” He tells me and pulls me closer toward him again.

“Alright, let’s have a moment in the clouds.” I’m curious and the thought of a temporary escape from the day to day banal sounds divine.

He tells me to look at the water. So I ask him what is there. He points out all the birds diving and catching fish as they rise. I can feel the breeze sweep across my skin and the goose-bumps that run up and down his arm.

He is full of animation and laughter with my agreement. I can see the wheels in his head turning already with anticipation as his arm holds mine tighter and pulls me inward further. As I lean against his chest I can see that unmistakable look in his eyes. It’s the one of pure wild imagination. He’s probably thought of how we’ll get there. Wherever there will be. It’s half the fun of not knowing where we’ll end up before this begins. So he gets ready. Setting the scene. Placing the idea of spontaneity in the front of his mind and preparing to run with it.

The air has the distinct smell of the ocean in it as the wind continues to carry through my hair. In the sand his feet lift and fall in a less than routine pattern. The moment feels like forever as we’re walking and I’m leaning. He runs his hand across my skin and touches my neckline before asking when I want to go. I tell him just a little longer. It’s been a long week. And he says we can take as long as we need.

“Where would you like…” His mood is more subdued when I ask him this. He looks down into my eyes as I smile waiting for his response.

“How do you feel about the Pacific Northwest?” He tells me through a smile that shows a few teeth. I know this is a joke and play along.

“Eh? How about something a little more arctic? Alaska? Antarctica?” I wrap my loose arms around him with a play shiver and look into his gaze that pretends to drift but stays quite present in the moment with his grin.

“Use your imagination. Think a little more worldly and exotic. And not like that last one. I loved the African jungle. But why not…”

“Oh, exotic and worldly. How about uncharted?”

“I like that. Now you’re getting into it.” he says and wraps his arms around me tighter.

“Nothing like before. Let’s do somehing…”

“Different. How about a walk on the beach together?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Shall we?”