tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76154619548338176472012-02-12T10:41:24.899-05:00de tinta y papelPoetry. Madness. Random babble.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.comBlogger3151100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-14119615259464047112012-02-10T10:48:00.000-05:002012-02-10T10:48:29.914-05:00A Day In Californiatime passes so quickly.
created by Ryan & Sheri Killackey
w/music by the Cinematic Orchestra
Enjoy!
Happy Friday!
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-61574685168271475262012-02-08T15:19:00.001-05:002012-02-08T15:28:32.039-05:00Super
If you watched the super bowl, you saw this David Beckham for H&M ad and thought, "Wow, nice marketing!" I know. I did, too.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-521064984136102002012-02-08T15:11:00.001-05:002012-02-08T15:22:51.390-05:00Marni
Marni for H&M
directed by Sofia Coppola
Super awesome.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-71424789778871554352012-01-25T09:26:00.006-05:002012-01-25T09:35:37.433-05:00What I'm Swimming InSwimwear Goes Cuban
Mara Hoffman Summer 2012
I know it's only January, but
It's never too early to think about swimwear,
Or to draw girls in swimwear.
Or to write poems about summer.
Or to run around your living room naked,
Covered in nothing but self-tanner.
Or to hunt for these (or look-alikes of) at your local thrift store!
Happy Wednesday!
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-45525412302878949462012-01-20T15:08:00.000-05:002012-01-20T15:08:25.616-05:00Friday Lovelesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-21215124094737161462012-01-19T11:30:00.002-05:002012-01-19T11:48:02.740-05:00Thursday DiscoveriesDear Universe,
Thank you for being so grand.
I love that there's always so much to discover. Not so much in things, but in the feelings they bring. Life is about reinvention. I imagine my true self is somehow intertwined with a page. New stationery makes all of me new. But then today I discovered these gorgeous Rings of Paper!
And whoa!
I'm over the moon*
*as in "a state of untrammelled lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-82934087229729804572012-01-09T19:24:00.003-05:002012-01-09T19:28:54.634-05:00Wanna play?
Video Games ~Lana del Rey
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-55712770778386642212012-01-06T14:32:00.001-05:002012-01-06T14:33:42.190-05:00Farewell to LardFat is the pork chop that bleeds
On this page. Slash off that fat
Without fear. Of retribution
They know not. Dearest darlings,
Mere chunks, Goodbye,
Oh-so-lovely excess lumps!
It's January. Time to diet and edit, diet and edit.
Happy Friday!
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-58686993476738286672011-12-28T12:40:00.012-05:002011-12-28T13:13:09.634-05:00So this is itThis being my last post of the year, I wanted to marvel you with something incredibly incredible. But that's not going to happen. So here’s this:
1. I ran a search for the best blog posts of 2011 (oh, what could they be?!)
2. and ended up on the Huffington Post’s Best Post50 Blogs to Bookmark article
3. where I clicked a few links and decided I needed to update my blog subscriptions
4. (lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-46128445406725683822011-12-27T14:40:00.000-05:002011-12-27T14:40:13.239-05:002011 closes in
Sow seeds of love.
Renew relationships, set sail,
renew yourself. Drink in
all that is life.
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-19564113215538073302011-12-19T09:48:00.002-05:002011-12-19T09:50:21.091-05:00The other side of the pathIt’s the thing you curse that becomes the beauty of it all. Because when they say, “This too shall pass,” they know that it will. Perhaps you don’t want it to. Perhaps you want your grief because you fear that it’s all you have, that without it you’re empty.
Truth is it matters little whether we cling or let go. No choice we make will bring anyone back.
This is it. This place is the place lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-23987299395435498882011-12-13T11:38:00.002-05:002011-12-13T11:41:53.422-05:00Dreaming of...It’s Tuesday. I’m tired. What would make me feel awesome? A purse. I know. I’m not a fashion girl. But I’m a purse lover. It’s true. I can’t help myself. I know what you’re thinking: but you don’t need another purse!
But I do! Oh, soft new inner pocket, I’m dreaming of you…
Here’s a picture.
(I'm happiness just looking at it!)
Also, I want to live here
That’s all for now. xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-83645672042864247022011-12-09T10:42:00.003-05:002011-12-09T10:57:13.698-05:00Salud!Drink responsibly. Get a serving of fruit in with that buzz.
Basic Sangria Recipe:
1 bottle (or 2) dry red wine
1 tbsp sugar
1 cup club soda
Juice of 1 large orange (use the orange peel too!)
Sliced apples, pears, cantaloupe, kiwi (improvise with what you have/like)
Add ice, refrigerate (the colder, the better)
Enjoy!
I know I haven't been posting much poetry here ever since I went back lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-23531459884247435812011-12-06T13:23:00.002-05:002011-12-06T13:26:24.430-05:00How I love madeleinesI’m at my desk, but I’m not here at all. Usually, I go out for lunch. I need the sun, space, trees, fresh air. I drive to the park, park far and walk thru the path covered in seeds that crunch and bleed beneath my sandals. One day, I crunched one with my bare foot and it stained my heel cranberry.
So I stayed in today reading an excerpt from “Remembrance of Things Past” by Marcel Proust that lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-80720957484816960352011-12-01T14:31:00.000-05:002011-12-01T14:31:42.647-05:00Our common afflictionToday I feel stifled, muffled, cornered, restricted, pinned
down.
I spend all of my free time
writing poems, drawing flowers, making faces
and pacing. But
it’s never enough.
I need more.
I know you do
too.
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-84577086206140071982011-11-23T12:40:00.001-05:002011-11-23T12:41:13.305-05:00A few of my favorite thingsHappy Thanksgiving to all of my beautiful blog friends. Hope your day is filled with happily-drunken relatives, lots of love and delicious food. I'll be having the traditional Cuban Thanksgiving: Picadillo-stuffed turkey, arroz congrí, yuca, maduros, flan, sangria and Presidente beer. Can’t wait!
So I plan on doing a lot of eating over the next four days, probably followed by a lot of lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-91676332909055543882011-11-16T20:04:00.003-05:002011-11-18T19:08:15.809-05:00Mixed media Incense Girls...Ivy
and my attempt at sketching the fashion girls from my previous post...
These girls live in an old librarywith rollers in their hairread, write and light incense
all day long.
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-35369403142639505132011-11-08T11:17:00.000-05:002011-11-08T11:17:31.790-05:00Mildly obsessedYou know I go through these phases.
Sketch diary:
I want to draw you.
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-85909847734760102262011-11-04T10:20:00.003-04:002011-11-04T10:29:12.938-04:00The Musical Genius & The Proper Noun Enemy: a love storyHer: You remember that song from that band with the weird name that was in that movie from the 80’s that I love about the girl with the short hair that likes the guy with the red hair, but he doesn’t know it because he’s a dumbass and they’re just friends and it’s got that actor that I really like that was later in Pulp Fiction?
Him: Yeah, that was Eric Stoltz and Mary Stuart Masterson in Some lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-19410194895364945372011-11-03T16:11:00.005-04:002011-11-03T16:22:47.094-04:00Awesome things I found/read/saw todayA pretty t-shirt for all of my beautiful photographer friends. (And it’s environmentally friendly, too!)
And one for me.(and the rest of you peace/tree lovers)
T-shirts by Marla of WrenWillow
Via The Etsy Blog“If you were to pack a bag today, never knowing if you’d return home again, what would you take? At the Willard Asylum of the Insane, a hospital in operation between 1910 and the 1960s, lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-50191256445201033512011-11-01T12:39:00.000-04:002011-11-01T12:39:06.161-04:00Wanted: flowery salt and sun loversI want a balcony garden.
Like this:
Ooooooh! Or maybe like this:
Is this too much?
Or this?!
I know it’s November but that hardly matters here. So I’m thinking this will be my holiday side-project. I want lots of colorful pots and pretty flowers that won’t mind full sun. I have two beautiful pots out there now, and I’ve had them for over 6 months (and they’re still alive and happy and lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-35595529240194157822011-10-27T14:54:00.004-04:002011-12-09T13:20:42.583-05:00Does the universe tell you what to read?The universe is always telling me what to read. Sometimes I try to read things that the universe disapproves of. But it somehow takes them from me, gives me what it knows I need.
One New Year's Eve, I was traveling alone on a train (with my mom's copy of Angels and Demons) when a cargo train traveling ahead of mine derailed. My train had nowhere to go. So I was stuck until the tracks were lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-88181855947040004612011-10-25T12:34:00.002-04:002011-12-19T16:37:05.901-05:00Because I can't say no to love...Just an update for anyone who followed this post: they won!!
Read more here: http://blog.mustardseedphoto.com/destination-wedding-giveaway-winners/
Thank you for voting!
xoxoxo
__________________________________________
So my friend Adriana's friends are getting married in Italy next year, a tiny wedding, just their closest, closest friends and family.
They weren't going to have a lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-53014495793550409662011-10-24T09:10:00.000-04:002011-10-24T09:10:40.843-04:00Feathers and beautiful thingsThe world is full of creativity. I’ve been inspired by my new printer (so many colors!), the slight change in the weather (it feels like fall in Miami—the scorching heat has subsided and it’s been in the low 70’s since last week!), and all of these beautiful things: Some of my favorite things (click here).
Desert Rose Feather Headdress by Malinda FisherIsn't this awesome?!
Corn Field Art Printlesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-28562359212696156982011-10-10T12:13:00.002-04:002011-10-10T12:23:50.029-04:00In honor of Post Some Crap About Nothing DaySo today is Post Some Crap About Nothing Day! And maybe a note self:
Don’t take me (your-
self) or life
too seriously. You al-
ready know
how it ends.
Happy Monday!
XOXO
PS. Because I wanted to give you a PS. And because I know it would have made you feel awesome, I tried to insert a video here [Good Vibrations].
Feel it! Feel it!
Oh, Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch, why wouldn't you lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-25128700295394509782011-10-04T10:12:00.004-04:002011-10-04T10:15:41.935-04:00Witch LoveI've loved witches for as long as I can remember. I had this book when I was in second grade called A Magical Afternoon (I think). And in it there was a story called The Little Witch, about a little witch with a big hat. I dressed up as a witch for Halloween that year and walked around with my giant witch hat pretending to be The Little Witch.
So I was looking for The Little Witch (so I could lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-81443132663367930262011-10-03T10:51:00.002-04:002011-10-03T12:18:59.923-04:00Word of the day?This is fog.
I have a friend who knows everything about science
and physics. She’s obsessed with the weather,
and reads the dictionary for fun. When she talks,
she uses words like, “miasma.”
“Miass-what?” I say, “Dude, seriously,
what the fuck is that?” And she says,
“Let’s hope knowledge is floating, my friend,
somewhere in the miasma that is your brain.”
Now ask yourself, arelesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-71536610964844216112011-09-30T13:02:00.008-04:002011-09-30T13:22:36.992-04:00Burial Perspectives“All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.” ~Christopher Marlowe
“There is nothing quite so good as a burial at sea. It is simple, tidy, and not very incriminating.”
~Alfred Hitchcock
“She wanted to be buried in a coffin with used paperbacks.” ~Sherman Alexie
(Me too!)
"I could never bear to be buried with people to whom I had not been introduced."
~Norman Parkinson
"Corpseslesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-15169329130899419382011-09-23T08:43:00.001-04:002011-09-23T08:46:12.497-04:00Random ThingsThings I tell myself:
I am not a creature of habit. I enjoy change.
Friday morning events: a dramatization, I think.
I open the refrigerator door. “We are out of milk AND creamer?”
“Can’t you just drink coffee when you get to work?”
“This is going to throw off my whole morning.”
Things I hear:
And the bees are just flying and they’re landing on the bowls of sugar water and I say, “don’t they lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-15530727198570208142011-09-12T09:41:00.000-04:002011-09-12T09:41:36.115-04:00Wynwood Art Walk - SeptemberWynwood's 2nd Saturday is an art walk that takes place once a month a few blocks from where I live. This Saturday I fell in love with a bronze nude reclining on a hammock in the sand.
There was no lengthy biography about the artist, just a single plaque with his name, Cornelis Zitman. Of course, I googled him.
There is a short bio on his website and a ton of fascinating work. Find him herelesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-18232409060555555632011-08-25T12:02:00.000-04:002011-08-25T12:02:30.023-04:00CarnivalMusic for a rainy day...
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-29097656514561625892011-08-15T14:19:00.003-04:002011-08-15T14:23:05.614-04:00Rolling In The DeepOn a three-hour flight home
I found Adele.
Never knew her before
Yesterday.
Complimentary head phones
Make me sing out
Loud. In a B-seat
Sandwiched between
Two snorers
I roared, “We could have had it
Alllllll, rolling in the
Deeeeeeep!
It was awesome.
Happy Monday!
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-43053002444538552012011-08-10T09:32:00.002-04:002011-08-10T09:35:49.656-04:00Days 4-5: Wish I had FusilliI wrote this poem yesterday. I'm not sure what it's called yet.
Stuff. Stuff. Stuff.
Stuff. Stuff. Stuff. Stuff.
Awesome Stuff. More
Awesome Stuff! More, More
Awesome! Awesome Stuff! Stuff's Awesome! Note:
remember stuff.
I feel the break in the second stanza really adds depth.
Also, I'm reading lots of awesome stuff.
I wrote this poem called Dear B:
I'd bake you a cake,
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-45308535374957780032011-08-08T08:59:00.001-04:002011-08-08T09:01:07.199-04:00Day 3: Silver liningsI’ve been freezing since Friday so last night I climbed the furniture and shut the vent. I’m still cold, but last night I slept the whole night thru and didn’t wake up once.
I’m a lot like a corpse on the outside. But on the inside I’m full of heat and in fact according to Ayurveda, my dosha is horribly unbalanced and I’m overheating all the time.
Yesterday I learned about line breaks and lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-46490091503738373062011-08-07T08:32:00.003-04:002011-08-07T08:38:38.300-04:00Day 2: Warm-upI wrap my numb fingers around my chest and breathe into my sweater. Air conditioning will be the death of me, if warm-up writing doesn’t kill me first.
Direction: employ mise-en-scene and montage theory. My face is still buried in my chest but my eyes are focused in her direction. Please don’t leave the podium. Come on, say one last thing. Promise me no one will read this.
“Relax, it’s privatelesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-67010890660658497692011-08-06T07:44:00.004-04:002011-08-06T09:52:01.856-04:00Day 1: Time TravelsFun Facts
The captain says we’ll be taxing for the next few minutes. It is now safe to turn on our portable devices. I reach for my phone.
Saturday, January 5th, 1980. 8:00 PM.
I look around, just in case I’ve entered a time warp. These things happen—I read about it in the National Enquirer.
I check, but no one is wearing weird 80’s fashion.
I turn it off and back on again.
Saturday, lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-66287579919272981202011-07-29T09:58:00.002-04:002011-07-29T10:00:20.529-04:00Suds
1. Just walk out the door, see the sunshine, you know, that kind of thing.
2. I speak in run-ons. More is my common affliction.
3. I hardly know me outside of fragments. I say, “Surprise!”
4. Or, “Hold me. Thrill me,” and believe I’m complete.
5. I speak in terms of advertising.
6. What we dream up on our walks is solid like perfume. And more than Waikiki.
7. Give me a glass of Pacific Rim lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-87758618394179083422011-07-28T11:11:00.003-04:002011-07-28T13:45:21.459-04:00Tiny heavens and infinite wildflowers“Do you ever get the feeling that you’re spinning in circles?” he asks.
“Sometimes I contemplate circles, mostly when it’s late at night and I can’t sleep.
So I think about possibilities and about how everything is possible. But I guess we all do that sometimes.
So I try to think about all of those things that I can’t even consider because they’re so far removed from everything that I lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-42421585607138441892011-07-25T15:01:00.001-04:002011-07-25T15:01:59.311-04:00Buy Organic
What gives your life meaning?
mean•ing noun \ˈmē-niŋ\
1:
a: the thing one intends to convey especially by language : PURPORT
b: the thing that is conveyed especially by language : IMPORT
2:
something meant or intended : AIM
3:
significant quality; especially : implication of a hidden or special significance
What fills you with purpose?
pur•pose noun \ˈpər-pəs\
1:
a: something lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-81550521623798673072011-07-15T07:19:00.000-04:002011-07-15T07:19:19.615-04:00July skies
A late Independence Day sky rains fireworks on us. From the balcony, I try to capture them all. But only a few smears pierce my tiny lens.
The bay mirrors our color-filled sky, and I picture her in swirls along my hip.
“She will be beautiful,” he says.
A pale mid-July moon stands stark against the same shade of blue I once streaked in my hair.
Now brown and gray. “These fades don’t lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-50012431431625137942011-07-12T09:48:00.002-04:002011-07-14T11:39:42.029-04:00Western all'italiana?
“Spaghetti western,” he says outside the elevator. The doors open and we scuttle in. A man dressed in a light summer suit and a woman in a soft green dress stand silently in opposite corners. Maybe they shared a one-night stand and are now sharing an awkward morning moment, or maybe they’ve never met before and are only sharing an elevator.
“I don’t understand what that means,” I say.
“lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-60892008313935267032011-07-08T18:32:00.003-04:002011-07-11T08:53:47.701-04:00A simple guideWomen: a man’s instructional guide
(in 5 easy steps!)
“Knitted fur is so modern and light, it makes this retro shape cool again.” –Elle Magazine, July 2011
1. We like pretty things. And ugly things and new things and things that are old and worn and comfortable. We like things.
Those of us who claim not to like things-- love things (our CD collection, our books, our great-grandmother’s lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-13596263247793099072011-07-07T09:31:00.002-04:002011-07-07T09:38:03.277-04:00These days
These
relaxed and drizzly days of
summer
salt sticks to my hair and
I find sand in my purse.
I am
my own compass
these days.
Rain spatters the gold-rimmed
face on my wrist
tap tick tap tick
but no thud.
It’s all calm
these days.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-15738490766105904262011-06-28T13:03:00.003-04:002011-07-15T16:23:40.985-04:00West of hereEarth made
or
not? I think about
where was i—
Is there a world, you see (a distant universe perhaps), within
that W of yours
that I
here across this stretch
(long, too long, perhaps)
of road
no longer
hear or here or anywhere begin
to fathom?lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-89253347083395444502011-06-27T13:35:00.001-04:002011-06-27T13:36:23.787-04:00Pink skyIt’s all gone now
Evaporated into vanilla with my steamed latte
My neck cracked and my
Back gave and my
Eyes spun wild
But I only felt the pale
Pink bursts of my
Morning sky settle into
Me. Where the
Sun sets on my finger and
Is calm again.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-84046383414810732772011-06-21T11:08:00.000-04:002011-06-21T11:08:06.491-04:00Partings
My name is Ariadne. I hold an emerald in one palm and a paper card in the other, gifts from beyond this horizon.
I wish I were protected by your talisman, sheltered by your calligraphy, but they only serve to engulf me further.
I feel pain. Is it my heart or my mind? Am I being born or divided? Were these gifts a farewell or a warning?
I pace and circle the room. My clothes on the floor, lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-14555609422339724732011-06-16T20:32:00.003-04:002011-06-17T07:36:43.880-04:00Modular
Itineraries make me nervous. This one is full of modules and other distant words.
“Where’s Ohio?” I say. (It’s irrelevant, but I need to know.)
“Distant,” he says. Then he pats me gently on the head and calls me pretty.
I laugh, but only a little. I drive to Borders that same afternoon, buy a book about stuff I used to know.
___________________
I hold my breath as we walk past the lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-56356157463178169792011-06-12T09:58:00.000-04:002011-06-12T09:58:41.081-04:00Real World Scientifics
The world of organic perfume-making is littered with obstacles. I’m beginning to realize they’re on their own schedule. I need to know things about how and why and if and where. And combinations don’t always make sense. But I can’t ask. This room is empty.
They tell me the alchemist cancelled due to low enrollment and both my grandmothers are dead. They joined the afterlife—that strange bandlesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-73249553798678133632011-06-08T20:16:00.002-04:002011-06-08T20:18:48.853-04:00SubmergedI know what it feels like to have your head split in two.
Head split in two—
Your temples throb and your eyes
Bulge and your brain
Protrudes. It’s a little like squeezing your skull into a torture device
The kind with the long screws that digs into your brain until it shatters and gushes.
Except nothing gushes and
No relief comes
Only pressure so intense you fear
The only membrane lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-18162215420046368002011-06-02T11:56:00.002-04:002011-06-02T16:59:52.251-04:00Submission guideline prejudicesMy talking crocodile went places yesterday. First, she made a friend who (although he could not keep her) was so great she wanted to hug him. But instead she said thank you and included some exclamations because she wanted him to know that she meant it and that’s the way that we do things here in our universe. Then she went somewhere where she was not welcome at all and made no friends because lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-66498504570953648112011-05-27T12:48:00.002-04:002011-07-15T16:32:07.767-04:00Instructional ladderAnother thing you’ll do here is decorate.
I was trying to explain duties in the simplest way, but I could tell it was all very foreign.
Decorating only happens three times a year. It’s important because it makes people feel festive, you know? And you can’t count on the weather for that so decorating is everything. Last year I was hanging bats from the ceiling when the phone rang—I go all out. So lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-12008505675230227062011-05-26T12:36:00.000-04:002011-05-26T12:36:33.511-04:00Cellular examinations
They took a piece of her broken wing today and said she wouldn’t feel it. It’s true and she didn’t at first but later when she sat alone, she knew something was missing. Maybe it’s the bandage, she thought, making me feel all weird. But when she swallowed she felt a hole where the wing used to be. It never flapped or anything. It never moved. It wasn’t there, she thought. But in some strange waylesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-16428658071742821562011-05-23T14:00:00.005-04:002011-05-24T07:41:38.968-04:00Welcome to post-doomsday Monday.Back when I used to volunteer at the old folk’s home, several men in their 90’s made daily predictions about the end of the world. Some women did too, but they were less eloquent and more diplomatic about it, condemning everyone (equally) to the same hell. I didn’t quit my day job, spend my meager life savings and travel across the country broadcasting their predictions though. I knew about lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-41500497940786037902011-05-19T14:15:00.003-04:002011-05-19T16:11:21.173-04:00Route 40
This meal--gift of my universe—
is my earth.
This work—gift of my earth—
is my sky.
May, come and take me and spin me and whirl me away.
May, come and tell me in the midst of this chaos who am I
who am I here
to you?
in this laminate
in this shield
in this place I don’t recognize
in this seat, on this bus
in this chatter, in this speak, in this babble,
at this stop,
is this home?
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-16270509945092602462011-05-17T09:39:00.001-04:002011-05-17T09:40:31.317-04:00May Reading
“Here’s what I think, Mr. Wind-Up Bird,” said May Kasahara. “Everybody’s born with some different thing at the core of their existence. And that thing, whatever it is, becomes like a heat source that runs each person from the inside. I have one too, of course. Like everybody else. But sometimes it gets out of hand. It swells or shrinks inside me, and it shakes me up. What I’d really like to do lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-76201908953926814682011-05-09T11:03:00.002-04:002011-05-09T11:06:30.833-04:00On Titan's Shores
Last night we planned our escape route of sorts. Because inevitably, life will one day shift and we will shift along with it. Because we are life too and we will look, and everything will look, a little shifted.
Because existence in its entirety is vast and ungraspable and maybe for a moment we won’t even recognize ourselves. And maybe for a moment we won’t even recognize each other. But then lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-19912905070262849102011-05-04T10:24:00.007-04:002011-05-04T12:42:13.145-04:00memorandummemorandum
TO: Leasing Office
FROM: Resident - Apartment 20N
SUBJECT: Stolen Vehicle
DATE: 5/4/2011
______________________________________________________
Sometime between 5:30 PM yesterday afternoon and 8:00 AM this morning, my car was stolen from the sixth floor of the parking garage. I immediately alerted your office and called the police. The officer arrived quickly and filed a report. We lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-69683976995114591902011-05-02T16:28:00.011-04:002011-05-03T07:40:31.301-04:00So I heard on Facebook that Bin Laden is dead.
Hay, Facebook, Dios mío, en que líos tu te metes!
What are your political views? Religious views? (Chances are I already know more than I care to.) But facebook asks. Apparently, people want to know.
Are you a Christian? A Muslim? A Hindu? A Buddhist?
Are you a democrat? A republican? A liberal?
Are you a Sikh? A Jew? A non-religious spiritual type?
Are you an atheist? A communist? A lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-82133915326056435972011-04-29T11:05:00.000-04:002011-04-29T11:05:14.640-04:00Blackjack and Goodbye, April.
I do simple 3-card readings now
because I’m not
searching, just reaching
for you.
Hello, life.
But not
Dear life,
the way I reach
during standing splits.
It’s all
they’re all
very different.
And the hanged man says listen.
And the pentacles say trust.
And the world says,
“It’s all here, love.”
It’s all here
for you.
She never writes about dreams
because “oh, you know,
it’s all
they’lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-62630255964813047192011-04-26T07:42:00.000-04:002011-04-26T07:42:45.583-04:00TuberoseI want to know you, tuberose.
I close my eyes, inhale, experience you.
She calls and says Osiris and C.S. Lewis sleep under the same stars,
within the same museum walls.
I sit up in bed,
ask if mummified bodies smell of cedar, wool and pine.
She says no.
At the morgue we held hearts,
experimented with their tiny ventricles.
They smelled of nothing.
But we washed our hands anyway.
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-8431954776103273792011-04-19T10:18:00.005-04:002011-04-19T10:28:22.454-04:00How to breathe like a professional
she stands on one foot, face
facing earth
the other foot points
straight
into the sky
toes expand
hands relax
waves of hair curl
gently
like roots
into the earth
arms wrap around her
stable leg
steady breaths of air
exhale
in perfect harmony.
_____________________
I stand on one foot, face
buried in the carpeting
my other foot points
straight
into the vertical wall
toes contort
hands lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-72864763191179060462011-04-18T14:49:00.004-04:002011-04-18T15:27:29.085-04:00Jill's Fountain
Though she didn’t see it, Jill’s face was expressionless, hardened by pomades and injectables. She’d spent 15 years searching for the fountain of youth inside chemical-filled jars. When she’d exhausted their possibilities, she’d turned to needles and scalpels. She was careful never to laugh, smile too broadly or squint, lest she’d create creases.
Jill’s friends were equally careful in their lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-25579225561865374472011-04-15T11:17:00.002-04:002011-04-15T11:20:26.813-04:00Falls
Today, for fun on this happy Friday, I will merge some journal entries—because (coincidently) I read them back-to-back and enjoyed comparing their distance. Then, (coincidently) my mom sent me this awesome panoramic 3-D shot of Iguazu Falls in Brazil and the universe momentarily made perfect sense. Funny how it all comes together sometimes.
From afar____________________________________________lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-78562781674070855982011-04-11T10:36:00.004-04:002011-04-11T11:15:43.695-04:00Branches of Darjeeling
I’ve been in the Himalayas for months.
It began innocently, a subtle evening excursion into Darjeeling and Kalimpong with an orphaned teenage girl, a retired judge and a lonely cook. I drifted.
Night after night, I wrapped myself in blankets and prepared for the journey. Soon after, that familiar, comfortable place called fiction blended with that illusory, legendary realm I may never lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-17479111531414957932011-04-08T06:59:00.002-04:002011-04-08T08:41:59.899-04:00To night
I wake in darkness.
On the outside, a million tiny lights signal my civilization.
On the inside, I’m bare,
unrefined, savage.
I pray for freedom.
I rise in darkness,
shielding my eyes from the sun.
I own its setting,
its final rays, its sleep.
I pray for night.
A hint of sapphire sky says
it’s time to go now.
Jim creeps into me then (the way he often does) singing,
“I’d really like to lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-43751306241154921782011-04-07T06:45:00.000-04:002011-04-07T06:45:35.594-04:00This woman’s fictionWhat possessed me
at that moment
was pure
lemon-ginger
tea and
the smell of my own wrist,
a vine-decorated
porcelain espresso-cup
experiment
in grapeseed oil and patchouli.
I’m going to give you this,
I thought.
This woman’s fiction,
A road trip, perhaps.
Perhaps a road trip.
But I could not elaborate.
Because we could not,
after all,
ever possess each other.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-6035791845095691522011-04-06T06:39:00.000-04:002011-04-06T06:39:38.704-04:00Death of DaylightAcross the Venetian
at 7:52PM
Daylight is dying.
Dear apple,
You replaced the black and white Beatles on my favorite wall
with a giant ipad.
Billboard,
you speak of
seriously? and
why?
Oh, night
Come quickly.
Come and wash away this worlds marketing
In your emptying dark.
Perhaps beauty and righteousness
are mere matters of perspective
but this, of all things, this
is undoubtedly
a sin.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-77807096427398638272011-04-01T10:48:00.002-04:002011-04-01T10:51:28.112-04:00Decompositions“Vultures have beautiful virtues. In the way that they dance their celebratory dance, they’re the first to welcome us home,” I said.
But I wanted to say:
Vultures are beautiful
In the way that they
Dance
Their celebratory
Dance of freedom
And welcome us to their
Flight.
This is the way the words were spaced—scribbles, nearly illegible, in my driving notebook.
I edit, if only to question my lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-50602498636434383782011-03-31T15:21:00.000-04:002011-03-31T15:21:25.809-04:00April is National Poetry Month!
Tomorrow is April 1st. April is National Poetry Month--the most exciting month of the year! I will celebrate by posting poetry all month long. How will you celebrate?
Here are 27 ways, courtesy of Poets.org.
1. Celebrate Poem in Your Pocket Day
The idea is simple: select a poem you love, carry it with you, then share it with co-workers, family, and friends.
2. Read a book of poetry
"lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-3466855945409849592011-03-29T10:22:00.004-04:002011-03-29T11:35:58.666-04:00Extractions
Remember when we covered our skin in oils?
We sat by candlelight and created our own ointments and balms made of herbs.
We danced in fields under the sun, extracted aromas from plants.
Under the moon,
we combined them with vegetable oils.
Healed ourselves,
each other.
Remember when we spoke the language of the land and understood the call of birds? Back when we chased our own calls intolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-73115734444553444942011-03-21T13:08:00.003-04:002011-03-21T13:41:47.170-04:00Got SpringI finally got around to seeing The Social Network this weekend, which got me thinking about how much time we spend on Facebook. I like Facebook, but I think of it as a way of keeping in touch with friends I don’t see on a regular basis. Too much distance, not enough time--life takes us in different directions, and it’s nice to share pictures and comments and still keep in touch even when we’re lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-13782906598941956822011-03-15T11:34:00.001-04:002011-03-15T11:38:48.051-04:00Walk
We walk.
4 miles last night, to the grocery store and back, 7 on Sunday, to the movies, where we sat in a dark theatre eating homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
I sneak things in, but I’m no criminal. These are my petty crimes of love for substance.
We were made for walking. We stretch our legs out into the isles. Later, we stretch them out into the sun. Our feet are brown, worn lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-27867859795839198212011-03-14T10:24:00.000-04:002011-03-14T10:24:39.286-04:00Inspired by NatureI have this overwhelming desire to swim, to cover myself in sand, to immerse every part of me in nature.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-46343346645917958432011-03-07T10:26:00.003-05:002011-03-07T10:32:24.452-05:00Morning Traffic StudiesI was thinking about subjunctives on my way to work this morning. I read somewhere that if Bill Clinton were president, he would do many good things. I read that this is a correct statement because, unlike me, Bill Clinton has already been president so he can never be president again. I also read that if it were possible for Bill Clinton to become president again, then the article would have beenlesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-57757285661672014542011-03-03T16:14:00.000-05:002011-03-03T16:14:52.287-05:00Elemental Perspectives
She stepped into the forest and was suddenly filled with green rays of sun--suddenly reminded that she was a small part of a much greater whole, one that had been here long before her birth and would remain here long after her death.
Nature gives us a sense of perspective, and we find ourselves suddenly aware of the wind and the trees in ways we never were before.
She took a single step and lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-26005946415043613672011-02-21T16:01:00.003-05:002011-02-21T16:04:46.646-05:00Ode to the seaI am on the shore covered in sand. He extends a warm brown hand. I take it and run. In the water the breeze stings. My skin is suddenly shy. Exposed arms embrace me. We dive. I listen for fish, confident because I speak their language. “Come closer,” they whisper. It’s a soft hushed whisper—swirls and engulfs me. I curl around him and smell mermaids and incense. Paddle, paddle, fall lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-45259746881910172322011-02-16T15:21:00.003-05:002011-02-16T15:52:32.724-05:00News & thingsCheck out the February issue of The Scrambler here: http://www.thescrambler.com/
My story, On the Fire Escape, is featured. Also, be sure to check out Rosa by Robert Beaird--it's absolutely fantabulous!
In other news, I completed my capstone project. If you're interested in reading a magazine about communications (hahahaha! but seriously...) go here: http://www.acapstoneproject.blogspot.com/
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-18924408999555971272011-02-14T10:42:00.005-05:002011-02-14T14:27:26.897-05:00February 14, 2011
YOU ARE AN ARTIST OF THE SPIRIT."Find yourself and express yourself in your own particular way. Express your love openly. Life is nothing but a dream, and if you create your life with love, your dream becomes a masterpiece of art."~Don Miguel Ruiz
Love.
The greatest thing we ever do,
The greatest thing we ever feel,
The greatest thing we ever give,
Is love.
"And think not that you can lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-82186447062150177492011-02-11T11:25:00.000-05:002011-02-11T11:25:55.725-05:00Week EndClichés are all true. Time heals a bad-funk Wednesday no later than Friday.
I will take one can of spray paint, one bottle of Purpose, a carton of eggs (he makes the best French toast in the world on Saturday mornings), one gallon of skim milk, a sponge and a dish drainer, fruit, flowers and one random cheap and pretty thing.
I’m in the mood for incense, paper, ink, sharpies, acrylics and him.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-41965488887647753012011-02-08T08:35:00.007-05:002011-02-08T10:44:05.176-05:00What we dream up on our walksWe were made for walking. 22 miles in one day--that day we really hallucinated.
This one happened during a regular 6-mile walk along the Venetian, with no pen because I haven't yet figured out how to write while walking.
And the setting is post-apocalyptic anyway so maybe we wouldn't have had a pen?
No. That's not true. We would have had a pen.
“I love oranges and mango-peach tea in lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-15311963431193841282011-02-02T10:23:00.002-05:002011-02-02T10:27:25.062-05:00Chicago Blizzard 2011My friend is making a movie! Here's your chance to support independent filmmakers!
Go here, join and submit a video or picture slideshow!
(You do not have to live in Chicago to submit footage. Contrasting images will be used to show what was going on around the globe while Chicago was experiencing the blizzard of 2011.)
You can also follow the project here.
Happy Tuesday!!
xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-60147176907106374302011-01-29T22:20:00.004-05:002011-01-29T22:25:52.561-05:00Dream Chaser
When I was a darker girl chasing darker dreams, I never let up. I chased my nightmares hard, claimed them, made them mine.
When the thing hunted me, he never let up. He chased me, clung to my body, tore through my hair,
spread in my bed,
smiled.
I’m a lighter shade of dark now, chasing lighter dreams. But the thing came to me with a message.
I have chased you through worlds unlike my ownlesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-27382658045509370302011-01-24T10:50:00.002-05:002011-01-24T14:34:26.921-05:00Tribute: Mary OliverToday is Monday. I used to save tributes for Fridays. But it's impossible to determine what day of the week inspiration for a tribute will strike.
The Journey
"One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,though the voices around youkept shoutingtheir bad advice --though the whole housebegan to trembleand you felt the old tugat your ankles."Mend my life!"each voice cried.But you lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-32995158037466967062011-01-21T09:06:00.001-05:002011-01-21T09:06:52.316-05:00Friday Morning
There is nothing like oatmeal in the morning.
He steps out of the shower and steam rises. Kisses my neck and my eyeliner slips. Our mouths curl into smiles in the foggy mirror. I curl into him and fall.
I feel the earth vibrate as I walk to the mailbox. I cross the parking lot where ducks line the lake like chubby, web-footed soldiers. I inhale the calm of the trees as they stretch, majesticlesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-66504963346180324012011-01-17T09:23:00.001-05:002011-01-17T09:23:48.803-05:00Smooth Coconut Truffles
The argumentation of Jan happened in January, the day after she’d shoplifted nearly all of Godiva’s mall chocolates. She tried the Strawberry truffle first, then moved on to the Hazelnut Praliné, Double Chocolate Raspberry, Extra Dark Chocolate, Smooth Coconut, French Vanilla and Cappuccino. The Strawberry was her favorite.
Jan’s boyfriend was against chocolate on principle. But he didn’t lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-79806451020111211052011-01-10T16:43:00.005-05:002011-01-10T16:51:30.036-05:00The girl sails away
Age 6:
The girl’s mother can build a 2,500 piece jigsaw puzzle in 60 seconds.
“Everyone has a talent,” she says.
The girl has never known hers.
The girl's father can shoot a can off a fence from a thousand miles away. He can shoot anything without missing.
"In another life, I was a bow and arrow hunter," he says.
The girl has never known what she was.
The girl's sister can draw fantastic lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-86303209968639521642011-01-04T13:37:00.000-05:002011-01-04T13:37:22.932-05:00Mights
I suspect that, like me, you’ve had your own cycle of incarnations. I suspect that, like me, you’ve been elsewhere, lost and found yourself, been within and without this place we call home.
I once lived in a loveless, loyal-less city where no one slept. She was home to no one. Their loves and loyalties, like mine, were elsewhere.
Like the stranger on the plane who said she’d never considered lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-30565263988710753622011-01-03T11:35:00.001-05:002011-01-03T11:43:53.163-05:00New threatsWelcome to the future!
Here we are, new year, new day, new week, new decade, new dreams, new chapters to write.
This year, I’ll be spending a little more time buried in sheets of all kinds—snoring through textbooks, praying for fiction, but mostly immersed in the pages of that book I keep threatening to write. Because I too want to write something I can grab onto. Maybe just something I can lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-57692149926529306932010-12-23T09:01:00.001-05:002010-12-23T09:02:38.065-05:00May your days be merry!A gift for you. You can find these adorable gift tags here. Just download and print.
I'm off to spend the holidays with the man I love. Much peace, love & happiness to you all.
See you in 2011! (Yikes--we're in the future!)lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-68089317141556682902010-12-22T09:42:00.004-05:002010-12-22T10:11:27.622-05:00Morning birds
He forgot his coffee on the counter where I’d left it. I added milk and sugar and thought about him as I drank it.
I did ordinary things, typical of an ordinary morning,
fluff, fold, fold, stack.
Except each fold whispered words I’d never heard. I listened and marveled at the sounds, at the fact that I understood their meaning, at the simplicity of a language once so foreign.
I thought lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-70039456231944666732010-12-21T07:32:00.001-05:002010-12-21T08:34:44.076-05:00Godzilla knows best
Is public opinion Godzilla?
Is it Mount Everest? Is it our sun?
Is it an animal of our own creation who others perceive just as monstrous and encompassing only to keep from feeling alienated?
Is the opposition the majority, or just a loud few?
Does magnitude create a pendulum? Are we swinging puppets? Do we fall when the dust settles, or just settle for a partial view?
What keeps us from lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-8779478823856771372010-12-20T11:17:00.003-05:002010-12-20T11:22:16.381-05:00Death on the morning expresswayGod, is that what I’m doing here? Spinning circles for you?
What’s wrong with that?
I suppose spinning requires recognition of patterns.
I love fabric, love the way it feels against my skin.
I’m working with new materials now.
How’s that for etching?
It’s like that song you know you’ve heard before,
maybe just once, and the words, you know,
they’re all distant
and you tell yourself they’re lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-12554198816292960152010-12-17T12:06:00.001-05:002010-12-17T12:07:09.116-05:00Mixed Media LoveThey came back with stories. I'll try and post some soon. My love of textbooks has been keeping me busy, or something like that. Here are some more sketches I've been working on.
Happy Friday!!!xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-64026647180933124132010-12-14T14:38:00.002-05:002010-12-14T15:00:15.382-05:00What I do with my ink when they're gone.
When I have no words,
I sketch. Because I have to do something.
Happy Tuesday!xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-60397663128284502212010-12-13T07:54:00.005-05:002010-12-13T11:51:10.479-05:00Consolations
Because I cannot deny that they’ve left me.
Though last night we played games to bring them back.
“Perfume,” I said.
And while his were magic, mine was a lonely bird with no way home.
Because when they go, as they often do, I have to let them.
And I cannot call them at will and say,
“Come to me!”
So I pretend I don’t need them.
“Go!” I say. “Leave me!”
And I pretend I don’t love them.
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-45874848645306397952010-12-07T12:30:00.001-05:002010-12-07T12:30:48.617-05:00Ordinary Transmissions
We’re all good people. We all want things. We label those things good or bad or in worse case
indifferent.
But from the moon, they’re all ordinary.
Fuel injectors, coil igniters and serpentine belts.
What on Earth are those?
I once knew a girl who wanted them all.
She was predictable. The day her car underwent surgery, her phone evolved into a time machine.
"Its time has come," she said.lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-22237508459172185302010-12-03T09:05:00.000-05:002010-12-03T09:05:36.361-05:00Art Appreciation: A How To GuideJust in time for
Play It Again, Sam Woody Allen
Observe.
Stand like Picasso.
Appreciate.
Make Art.xoxolesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-76284841505878298022010-12-01T10:02:00.002-05:002010-12-01T10:03:28.718-05:00ThingsI’m in move-preparation mode. I’m a moving professional, so I have a system (sort, purge, organize) that I perform ritualistically. Also, I love decorating. I’m inspired by these:
I’m putting together a manuscript for an application. I’m sorting my writing into categories of Yes, No, Maybe. My No pile is sky-high.
I have one semester of insanity left. Once I’m done, I’m going to use mylesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-28437617487859492322010-11-30T12:23:00.002-05:002010-11-30T12:24:25.652-05:00Loose figsShe came through the water in parts and knew most of her body was missing. Her color, all faded and gone. It was one hour past dusk in her own time, but that mattered little.
“Don’t look so disoriented,” he said. “We have much to do.”
“I’m tired,” she said. “I need sleep.”
“You are sleeping,” he said.
She saddled her horse and rode east through the storm. She arrived at the fig two hours lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7615461954833817647.post-85397653457754516732010-11-24T11:27:00.000-05:002010-11-24T11:27:17.031-05:00Give LoveIt's Friday on a Wednesday. I have a four-day weekend of peace, love and turkey to cheer about, and a wondrous world to be thankful for.
Much love to you all.
xoxo
lesinfinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12193660170785018142noreply@blogger.com7