Monday, January 30, 2012

{let's write a song for us, and sing until we're old & grey}

i got to see them last thursday.
they were so delightful live.
(they also desperately make me want to be in a duet).
... i'll add this to my wishlist for france.

hapy listening.

The Civil Wars
:: forget me not ::

Sunday, January 29, 2012

{some say to survive it: you need to be as mad as a hatter}

{the only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live,
mad to talk, mad to be saved,
desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn, burn, burn,
like fabulous yellow Roman candles
exploding like spiders across the stars,
and in the middle,
you see the blue center-light pop, 
and everybody goes ahh...}

-jack kerouac
on the road

Saturday, January 28, 2012

mermaid // wind voice


{last night at bingo, sylvia won the last prize.
"what am i going to do with a mermaid?"
she asked.
"learn to swim in the murkiest water,
reinvent yourself,"
the mermaid said.}


{there's a quiet wind voice inside of me.
it's the same voice inside of you.
delicate and persevering,
it led us towards each other.
across desert sand,
traffic noise, solitary sky.
i found your little house by the sea.
and i never wanted to leave...}

Friday, January 27, 2012

oh, i hope (and dream).

lately i've been making lists,
and keeping lists.
of things i hope and dream,
for the days when i live in europe.
if even only a few of these things come true,
that would be alright with me. 

for now, i'll keep dreaming,
and hoping. 

join me...


Wednesday, January 25, 2012

this week i fell in love with twitter

i typically view social media like 
'the mean girl' in highschool.
my life would probably be better off without it,
(my self-esteem sure would)
but i feel like if i have any chance at surviving,
i need it.
(it's very good at what it does).
i go through the same thoughts as everyone else:
"why do i even have this?"
"who are all these people on here?"
"i don't think this person ever talked to me once in highschool."
"i should delete these and be forced to live my life (what's right in front of me), 
and be intentional with my relationships."
"oh gawd, would anyone even notice or miss me??"
"every girl is prettier than me."
"everyone is having more fun than me,
and doing better, bigger things with their life."
it has a natural talent to foster insecurity,
and fear,
and some weird level of popularity.
it makes you want it,
and check it, 
and feel sad.
and jealous.
(when you probably have no reason to).
my life is a mess, but i'll be damned is it doesn't look FANtastic online.
online, i'm cool...and hip...and as pretty as i want to be (cuz i can 'un-tag' any picture where i have a double chin or look like a doofus)...and artsy...and happy & fun.
(like me (please, like me))

this week i fell in love with twitter.
i've been on twitter for a few years now,
but this week was just so fun.
(and it's only halfway through).
this week i laughed myself to sleep, twice.
this week was full of:
political rants
hilarious & sweet memories
clever banter
one man comedy stands
sibling love
good music
good photos
great blogs
funny, funny friends.

this week, twitter did the one thing that social media has never been able to do before.
it made me feel closer to the things that i'm far away from
(instead of farther away).

this week twitter, i love you.
i'm not sure how long this love affair will last,
but for now, i'm into it.

as for the rest of social media...
i'll keep hangin',
and tolerating,
and not trying too hard to be cool,
and not getting too jealous of how pretty girls are,
and grand notions, and 'likes'.
and setting boundaries to protect the emotional state of my heart.
i'll keep appreciating your value in staying connected with the ones i love.
the ones who are far, or near,
or just need a good laugh via a poke or inside joke.

i befriended the 'mean girl' in highschool by the way,
and she was actually quite nice,
and really insecure.
we're still friends (barely),
but she's happy with a couple of kids,
and we mean something to each other. 
something significant.
hell, we're friends on facebook.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

if yer lucky.

{life isn't divided into genres. it's a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel. you know, with a bit of pornography if you're lucky.}
-alan moore

Friday, January 20, 2012

{parisian dreams}

it's friday afternoon.
i'm laid up in bed,
dreaming about Paris,
and all that awaits.


luxembourg garden: fontaine de medicis :: photoCredit: Mr. Usaji

sainte-chapelle: Ile de la Cite :: photoCredit: Baloulumix

avenue des Champs-Elysees: famous street :: photoCredit: Herve Boulben

avenue des Champs-Elysees: famous street :: photoCredit: Jean-Marie Hullot

luxembourg garden: luxembourg :: photoCredit: Herve Boulben

catacombs of Paris: Montparnasse :: photoCredit: rlanvin

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

i'm just a silly girl.

I’m simple.
I like good food, good company, fine spirits, great coffee, and things like naps in the sunshine.
I would wear a grey t-shirt and boots everyday if I could. (I guess I can, but I won’t).
I’m thankful for the people who surround me.
I like running. and yoga. and hiking.
I love tattoos.
and sparkles.
and laughing. (a lot).
Laying on the floor and listening to vinyls is my favourite.
I think I have the best dog.
I like making things with my hands.
and dancing. and singing. and playing. and being silly (and talking in accents).
I love photography and making new friends.
and kissing (I like kissing a lot, kissing is good).
I’m complex.
I over-think most everything.
I get excited too easily,
and feel too deeply.
I’m too honest, and too available. (if that’s a thing).
I try really hard at life and to be good to people.
I’m my worst critic (and even after getting into Parsons Paris, question my ability as an artist).
I am kind to strangers and other drivers (mostly).
I go to bed with way too many thoughts swirling in my head.
I own too many colours of nail polish. (and sunglasses).
I dream dreams.
I like to remember things. (and how they felt).
I think about the ‘what ifs’ and all the things that I would go back and do differently.
But, when I lay my head down at night, I make a habit of having no regrets (mostly).
I feel good about who I am (mostly).
I try to be here now (mostly).
I feel excited about the things to come (mostly).

I just wanna do life together and figure out the rest along the way.
I wanna walk places holding hands, and discover new things.
I wanna enjoy the rain and sea together.
I’m simple and complex.
I’m just a silly girl.
Keep me.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


lately i've been missing my photography.
i miss the dark room.
i miss the smell of developer on my hands.
i miss rolling film in the dark.
and clothespins.
and test strips.

here's some b&w that's been inspiring me lately:

Friday, January 13, 2012

and say!

{and say my glory was i had such friends}
-w.b. yeats

take me to the salt of the sea,
and the salt of the earth. 

...california here i come

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

{reckless abandon}

Lately I’ve been confronted with this phrase: reckless abandon. I suppose it’s more of an idea really; an action even. I have spent most of my life avoiding things that would require ‘reckless abandon’, things that are overly zealous or driven by spontaneous emotion. It’s not that I’m not a passionate human being (in fact anyone who knows me well, probably would laugh out loud at that last sentence). It’s just that I like to think thoroughly about things before I act. I like to weigh my options and have a Plan B. I’ve always been taught ‘not to put all my eggs in one basket’ and to ‘step wisely’ into my decisions. Lately however, I’ve become convinced that there are certain things that absolutely require ‘reckless abandon’; that there are some instances where it is truly the only option (and you will be better because of it).

I’ve always viewed recklessness as exactly that: reckless (profound I know). Of which the literal definition is: utterly unconcerned about the consequences of some action; without caution. Some people love to live like this, the thrill of everything, not thinking but a step ahead. As I’ve thought more about the idea of ‘reckless abandon’, the word reckless has shifted in context for me. Abandon is defined as: to leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert. When you put these two things together, it equates to something like: to forsake completely, utterly unconcerned about the consequences.  So, when I think about it in regards to myself, my actions, it represents the idea of caring so deeply and passionately about something, that you are willing to forsake yourself completely, despite the consequences that may come.

That’s pretty powerful.

Why then, do I not practice this more often? Why don’t we all? (because it’s scary as hell, that’s why). I’ve always viewed being reckless, the same way I view being foolish. That if you stopped to think for just one second, you would have made a better choice. I’m now convicted that the idea of ‘reckless abandon’ means to fall completely on hope; to throw yourself fully unto it. To act with complete anticipation of your desired outcome (which also means you are willing to assume any unpleasant consequences that may befall you as a result). To be afraid, and leap regardless. This notion doesn’t imply that you will fall, or you will miss; it just implies you could. No one would willingly leap if they thought they were more likely to fall than land. It means they think the risk of falling is worth what they stand to gain by leaping. Even if it’s just a 51% chance, there is still a greater belief in succeeding, than failing (that and the internal push that whispers or screams, “you have to try… you have to.”). Additionally, I believe what makes the act of ‘reckless abandon’ significant, is the scarcity in which you practice it. If we went around fully and completely throwing ourselves into everything, it would lose its very meaning. It would not be noble, it would not be grand; it would just be reckless.  It requires an intentional choosing; a known sacrifice.

I hope this year reveals to me, the things in my life that will demand reckless abandon. Above that, I hope that I will respond accordingly. That even if I am afraid, I will leap regardless. 

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

short skurrrt &a lonnnng jacket

{delish.ous tuesday trends}



Friday, January 6, 2012

{Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! :: These are the days that must happen to you}

i choose door number 2

Song of the Open Road
Walt Whitman

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)
You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all
that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.
Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the
illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the
drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the
town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.
You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.
You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined
side! you distant ships!
You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd facades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to
yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces,
and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.
The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is
not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.
O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not--if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied,
adhere to me?
O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.
I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all
free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever
beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.
From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that
would hold me.
I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.
I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.
All seems beautiful to me,
can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me
I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.
Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it would not
astonish me.
Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.
Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all
authority and all argument against it.)
Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the
excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes
it out of the soul.
Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the
spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.
Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied--he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love--if they are vacant of you, you
are vacant of them.
Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?
Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?
Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd gates,
ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight
expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious
thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always
drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by
and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good-will? what
gives them to be free to mine?
The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.
Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of
man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day
out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet
continually out of itself.)
Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the
love of young and old,
From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.
Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.
The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude
and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling
we cannot remain here,
However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we must
not anchor here,
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted
to receive it but a little while.
Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
We will sail pathless and wild seas,
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper
speeds by under full sail.
Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.
The stale cadaver blocks up the passage--the burial waits no longer.
Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
Only those may come who come in sweet and determin'd bodies,
No diseas'd person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.
(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
We convince by our presence.)
Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call'd riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd, you hardly
settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call'd by an
irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those
who remain behind you,
What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with
passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd hands
toward you.
Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road--they are the swift and majestic men--they
are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habitues of many distant countries, habitues of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of
children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious
years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded
and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights
they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you,
however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without
labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one
particle of it,
To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant
villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and
the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter
them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave
them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for
traveling souls.
All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments--all that was or is
apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners
before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.
Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of
the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.
Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best--toward something great.
Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though
you built it, or though it has been built for you.
Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.
Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and
bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the
breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.
Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.
Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
Now understand me well--it is provided in the essence of things that
from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth
something to make a greater struggle necessary.
My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
He going with me must go well arm'd,
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies,
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe--I have tried it--my own feet have tried it well--be not
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the
shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the
court, and the judge expound the law.
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself. will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Monday, January 2, 2012

11 years old: prodigy

she's only 11 years old, 
and she has some of the best moves i've ever seen.
(brim, sar- i mean, whoa. i feel like you will greatly appreciate this)

look at her go,
and feel inspired to move your body.

{fireball: willow smith, feat. nicki minaj}

Sunday, January 1, 2012

read these leaves in the open air.

{This is what you shall do; love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.} 

-walt whitman