numbers

a certain cologne
sunk into the small
wrists, balmed there
below blue veins like
clear rivers green glass
at the bottom carving soles
against sand and pebbles, i didn't
know this could happen so young, so
young.

Half Sister

I never had any of your mother
But I have all of your father
Old shoes, pillows and keychains
I kept what I could get my hands on
Paintings, photos and report cards
We kept what we could get our hands on

& tell me

Look at all my copes

& tell me I don't heal

Test out all my hopes

& tell me I don't feel

Try on all my clothes

& tell me I don't wear

Read out all my prose

& tell me I don't tear

Find out all my fears

& tell me I don't try

Count up all my years

& tell me I don't lie

Thumbing through thoughts

The sweetest library I've ever known
Was a papered mind across the table
All things simple and buttery and full
Brown sugar shelves, one stacked skull

Meet Miss Olive

Everyone, this is little Miss Olive. She's my newest friend and housemate. She's an excitable little lady. She likes to eat, poop and lick my face. The first night she was with me, we pulled an all nighter together because she was so excited/nervous about her new home. We are on a good routine now though. We love to cuddle and talk. And when I say talk, I mean talk. This gal snorts and snores and chatters all day long. Everyone loves her! 

She says "Oh hai. I'm Olive. You can call me Oli if you want. May I lick your nostrils?"

I haven't posted for a week

So here are a few pictures from the past few days to even things out.

Guys, don't trust Rachel Wood with your Gardettos. She will lick the flavoring off of every single one and put them back into the bag. Be warned.

Alright. Whoever owns this truck...date me. I think we could make each other happy.

Just a few hearts I made for my room. Easy peasy. Just some old pages, hemp string and hot glue.

Just me showin' off my wrap Megan got for me in Ghana last summer. She's road trippin' it to NY right now and couch surfing. I love her adventures.

eat, ate

matching platter to platter
you and I feed from kindred
sources

stomach linings cramp
knots of grace and stain
samples of our slurs
atlases of ago, past, gone
painted maps of pulpy memory
all belongings we wanted
ruined

and when abdomen acid
can't turn the trick
slated souls clip under the
neck

All things growing!

For mothers day, I took my mum to The Great Outdoors. It's this cool garden/nursery with all the flowers and plants you can think of. I bought her a cute little cactus and we walked around oohing and ahhing at all the beauty. Visit! You won't be disappointed. There's also a little coffee shop there so you can sit, read and enjoy the botany.

Heavy

As hollow as houses

the fists beat against

our drummed torsos

until we learned fills

cheap fills, pure fills

volumed by knowing

to swell and brim off

with swapped bearings

indian style fixations

stored in lit moments

between cigarettes that

orange off like peaches

weighting one another

with rare, tarted words

weighting one another

from sheeted libidos

caught in the crosswind 

trading skins for bark

paired hollowed trees

furnished with fortunes

we did nothing close to

complete one another

but we got our fills
yes we got our fills

draw in

there are tender mornings
when you wake up on light
propped up on hip & elbow
you sip at that pale amber
lungs two paper lanterns
an early bright begins you
room breathes beside you
throated windows inhale
mantled mouthes exhale
every cavity flushed

I felt your ache

And it held like

mine

Movin' on in

This weekend I moved into our place. I've been scrubbin', sweepin' and cleanin' all day. Yesterday my mom, sister and I found the perfect coffee table for the living room. Here is my sister magnificently posing in front of it, of course.

My sister and I are both pretty decor crazy, so I'm excited to start decorating. Whenever we get things together, I'll post pictures. But for now, you just get to see the fabulous bundle of fruit my new neighbors dropped of for us! So thoughtful. All my neighbors that I've met so far seem great. Friendly and kind. How could I ask for anything more? 

Do you know Alexa Hale McLatcher?

She's pure spunk, I tell you. If there's anyone who knows how to really laugh, it's this lady. I just thought I'd let those of you out there know that there might be a gap in your life. There might be a little space for a 4'11 spit fire and her name is Alexa Hale McLatcher. Get to know her. She is unforgettable. You will become a hard, hard laugher.

 Heads will turn. 

Ps. I just have one more thing to say: I love that my friends love books. I love that love. 

Hiccup

Study, study, study

Well, it's finals week. Meaning I'm in the library studying my derriere off till the wee hours. So I thought I'd send y'all a little lovin' through my study-break snack. For those of you powering on through your studies and need a slight chuckle, just imagine me dumping out all my trail mix on a table in the library and sorting through it like a little squirrel for the sunflower seeds. And then go ahead and imagine about 4-5 people staring at me like I'm a nut. Because that's definitely what happened. Have a great week, guys!

Art shows and townhomes

Friday night my sister had an art show at a co-op in west campus and me and a few friends of mine went and checked it out. A group of people showed their art, most if it being brilliant. I hung out around her pieces for a while and talked to strangers about how good they were. "Yeah, I know. Mhmm, mhmm. I agree. She is! She is, she's very diverse. Uh huh, and look at what she did with that one. Brilliant!" I'm allowed to be the proud, gloating little sister. I was talking to one guy for a while and when he found out she was my sister he asked "So, what's her muse?" Accordingly, I responded "Uh. Black metal and wizards?" 

Here are her pieces that were shown:

And in other news! She and I finally found a place. It's a cute little townhouse in south central Austin. Our landlord is great: he rides bikes, kayaks and has a dog-circus! I can't wait to sit on our balcony and watch him with all the dogs and a unicycle. It's on a culdesac and perfect biking distance from some of our favorite places like Bouldin Cafe. I can't wait to walk my cute little dog around the neighborhood. We went to Central Market, got some coffee and smoothies and started filling out our applications, all giddy and excited.

J'adore un bon livre!

I got all of these for only $11.25. I can't wait to read each and every one.

-Wicked by Gregory Macguire

-The Love poems of Elizabeth and Robert Browning

-The Girl with the Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier

-White Teeth by Zadie Smith

-Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

-Emma by Jane Austen

to die dyed blue

take a piece of the sky with you

William Fitzsimmons

Saw him on Easter. It was a good night.

Six belongings that swell my heart

Today I was sitting in my bed just surveying my room when I realized how many things I have around me that are terribly sentimental. I'm really big on material objects having stories or significance- I like keepsakes. A friend of mine calls his special souvenirs from wonderful experiences his "romentos", a combination of romance and mementos. I think about that quite a bit because I think it's wonderful to remember the full and beautiful experiences we live through. So, here are just a few objects sitting around me that are highly special. I hope you enjoy and look around your room for things that mean the world to you not for what they are, but for what they mean to you.

1) Dirt jar

This is a little jar of clay red dirt I got last summer in Togo. We were going to a village for a well digging ceremony and we stood in this gaping round hole in the ground that was the future home of the well. (See picture below)

Afterwards, I pulled a ziplock bag out and kneeled down to scoop up some of that vibrant red dirt. A group of a dozen or so men from the village just surrounded me and stared at me. They didn't understand why I wanted the dirt, how I thought it was beautiful and wanted to take some home with me as a keepsake. For a few seconds they just stared at me like I was crazy and then before I knew it, all of them had plunged their hands into the ground to gather up dirt for me. They all pitched in and in just a quick short seconds, they had filled the entire bag with dirt. I didn't need but a fraction of that amount of dirt, but their help and thoughtfulness touched my little heart so dearly that I just thanked them and walked away with my pound of African dirt. I like my little bottle of dirt because it reminds me of that trip. It was a particularly hard trip for me and it's taken almost a year to fully reflect on my time in Togo and recognize some of the grand changes that happened within me and outside of me there, for better or for worse. All my friends on my team and all my friends that I met there, I miss greatly. I treasure that time I spent there and think about it often.

2) My victorian ring

I got this ring for Christmas a year ago from my sister. It is so incredibly precious to me. My sisters life and my life have recently begun to grow together and I can honestly tell you, it is one of the happiest beginnings of my life. Having her by my side cultivates this strength inside of me like nothing I've ever felt before. As the little sister, I look up to her. I notice the way she treats people, the way she lives her life and enjoys her life. I see her creativity and her originality and am instantly inspired. The other day she was explaining her attachment to a tattoo that she has and I was loving every minute of it. Because everything that she was telling me about her being inspired to be strong, independent, kind and "the head bitch in charge", that's everything she inspires me to be. My respect for her is great. My relationship with her has become one of the most important relationships in my life and I can't wait for it to continue to grow and strengthen. I adore her, I adore her.

3) The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society!

Although this was a sweet little book, it's significance to me is the family that gave it to me. I've had a best friend for a very long time. We sat next to each other on the bus in 7th grade and have been dear friends ever since. She is the kindest and sweetest girl you will ever meet and she is absolutely a 'chip off the old block'. Her and her mother have held such special places in my life. Her mother is the most genuinely hospitable and caring woman I have ever met in my whole entire life. And her daughter has wonderful received all of those qualities as well. Their family has done nothing but accept me, love me and support me. There is true love woven throughout them and I feel absolutely blessed to have them in my life. Even this book was something given to me to experience, to enjoy. They share so much with those around them. And dear God, that is one of the most beautiful qualities. To share that which makes you happy? It makes me tear up just thinking about it.

4) My Puerto Rico bracelet

I've never been to Puerto Rico before but a dear friend of mine went last summer and brought this back for me. I wear it often and appreciate it because it reminds me of the person who gave it as a gift to me. The friendship that we have is so dear to my heart. This person has taught me so much just with their actions. I've seen wild examples of strength and humility and care through this person, it's absolutely inspirational. This person is going to have a wonderful life, I've always thought this. One of my all time favorite qualities of this person is that under no circumstances do they take themselves seriously. Oh, how I admire this. And if I didn't mention, this is one of the funniest (most ridiculous) people I've ever known. The laughs are always with us.

5) My Memory Books!!!

Oh my, oh my. For Christmas this year, two of my closest friends both made me a memory book. I miss these two girls more than anything in the world. Each book was filled with so many sweet, sweet memories and an abundance of inside jokes. I've been in a transition phase for a while now, but having these two individuals in my life have made it a possible journey. They support me and adore me. I love that I know them. I love that they are my friends. I love them, I love them, I love them.

Flipping through these two books bring me so much comfort. Have you ever been overwhelmingly loved? These two overwhelmingly love me. And that makes me blessed.

6) My picture frame with friends

I really adore this picture and this frame. All 4 of these girls (notice the fourth one in the back creepin') have supplied me with so many fabulous memories. The shenanigans we got ourselves into. The traditions. The jokes. Some of my best years were with these girls. It makes me all tingly to think of everything we did together. Such a great group of friends and each one of them are BRILLIANT. They are hilarious, talented, beautiful and just plain wonderful human beings. I plan on having them in my life for quite a while. I want one of these pictures taken when we are all in our 60s sipping margaritas. Dear, dear friendship.

Bridges: Bones, wafers and pennies

I went to the museum today and stood around this piece in silence for the most of an hour. It's called Missaol Missoes (How to Build Cathedrals) by Brazilian artist Cildo Miereles. It's made out of 600,000 coins, 800 communion wafers, 2,000 cattle bones and 80 paving stones. This evocative installation critiques the Jesuit missions established in colonial times to convert the indigenous Tupi-Guarani people to Catholicism. It is a contemporary "cathedral" to expose the social and political forces behind these missions. The column of communion wafers show religion's role in linking the creation of wealth (the coins on the ground) to agricultural exploitation (the suspended cattle bones), suggesting that the conquest of the Americas was as much about economics as it was about religion or saving souls.

Affections and flowers

It was in this moment the other day where I found myself falling into a trance while eating granola. I was grabbing some breakfast before work and just lookin' around at the people surrounding me when my eye caught a 60-something women out the window pushing a cart. The cart was filled to the rim with flowers, from afar looking like bundles of broken crayons, and she was attempting to maneuver it around with only one had and some coffee in the other. She was dressed in all white, from her pants to her top.  I always thought people dressed in all white had something to say. Obviously, most of the people we know in all white are just dying to say "I do." but I think there are a select few that intentionally put on a white outfit in the morning with a dab of intention. 

Anyway, her cart dipped into curve of a drain and her cart swiveled around like a tire swing. For a second, I scanned the easiest pathway to the door because I was considering running outside to help her save all her beautiful crayola flowers. But she got her shit together and even flipped her hair once to show her cool control of the situation. I wondered to myself if she was a buddhist. 

I loved everything about that woman. I loved her Jackie O glasses and her milk linen pants suit. I loved that her pushing cart was so full with flowers that she didn't even have a few inches available to put down her coffee inside it. I've always thought that as women age they develop this extraordinary appreciation for flowers. Over ever little painted petal, they swoon. Patting seeds into brown dirt under oversized floppy hats. I'll be washing my hands in a public bathroom and two or three women under the age of 30 will walk past me and into their chosen stall. But the 65 year old women with Audrey Hepburn eyes strolls in there's a gasp as sharp as a knife. "Oh, those are wonderful!" as she walks up parallel to me and touches and smells the butter yellow flowers resting in a vase between the sinks. I gave a scrunched-nose smile and directed my eyes to the pained expression in the mirror. Maybe pained isn't the right word. I was softened and moved and it showed in the face that was trying to hold back unnecessary tears. I just love people's affections. Even the little ones, to objects like flowers. The affections that shoot out of mouths to the sky. That big blue drape can't send any I love yous back but it certainly blushes come sun down. 

I sat and stared at that dipped part of the parking lot where the drain pulls down the concrete for a good 10 minutes after the women in white drove away. I liked her so much. For no particular reason, really. Maybe because she had a cart full of flowers. Maybe because she was dressed in all white. Maybe because when her cart was swiveling, I expected her to loose all control and for her cart to topple over and all her flowers to withdraw from their pots and go flying across the pavement while her cup of coffee spilled streaks of brown across her bone white outfit. But instead, she flipped her gray blonde hair, pushed her Jackie O sunglasses farther up the bridge of her nose and drove away. Maybe that's why.

Defeated skittle

This afternoon I went to a George Saunders book signing. It was so exciting to have a mind like his in town. He read a short story and I felt as though the backs of heads between me and the microphone his words were spitting into didn't even exist. He's one of those authors that take you mindlessly. Before you know it, you're in his world with no idea how you got there. And when you look back expecting to see a door that maybe you came through, there's a fence with a dug-out hole beneath it. Looking down at your fingers, you realize that they're little mud pies, rimmed with dirt beneath the nails. And a tightness taps underneath your forehead and you think to yourself "I was just over there. And now I'm here. What could've possibly of pulled me that hard, injected me with so much curiosity that I'd dig out of my own reality and trespass into another's?" 

After I talked to him and had him sign my copy, I walked onto an elevator headed down. I was alone which was good for what happened. I like to recognize my limitations in small areas. If I'm in an elevator, it's very apparent that I'm enclosed and limited when it comes to an escape plan. So I was surveying the edges and the ceiling and all the way down to the corners. As I was doing this, my eye caught some sunflower seeds in the bottom corner of the elevator and a squished orange skittle directly in front of me. When I hung my head to observe it, I was fascinated. The little previously round skittle was about directly between both of my feet, just laying there defeated like a murdered spider. It's bright orange shell spread out in little flat silvers while it's dull orange center held the mosaic-like candy piece together. It was so beautiful and simple. I reached down to touch it, assuming it was fastened to the floor in a sticky mess. But right as my finger went to feel it, it moved a little. Realizing I could pick it up, I held it between my pointer finger and my thumb like a tiny disk. For half a moment, I realized how odd the whole situation was. If someone were to walk in on me right now, crouching there oohing and ahhing over a crushed skittle. And by this time, the elevator dinged announcing it had arrived on the 2nd floor and was waiting for me to get out. So I gingerly laid down my small orange treasure in the center of the elevator floor and walked out. I wouldn't of noticed that special little broken sun if I hadn't of just spent an hour in the colorful, literary world of George Saunders. 

"To Hannah, with every best wish for your work."

Give to gather, gather to give.

Sometimes you find little treasures like this at garage sales or at thrift stores and you hold it close to you, square up against your chest, until you've put those few dollars in the curve of someone's palm. And then suddenly, it's all yours. You tuck it under your arm and time passes along with the cars until you're standing on some chair with a nail and a hammer in your two paws. You pierce that flat wall and hang up your treasure like the Mona Lisa. Days fill your days with more days and before you know it, you've got them stacked up in your memory like used milk jugs that you've convinced yourself you'll find a use for someday. In the core of this sahara of sour smelling plastic containers, one has a little bit of liquid time left at the bottom and crusted around the mouth where the cap pops off. This time pulls you back to your Mona Lisa day and you swing your glance like a baseball bat up to where that treasure is fastened to your wall. Your index fingers partner with your thumbs to peel it from it's location like tree bark and import it to your lap. And you sit there, neck arched and cheeks heavy as you clench and cradle and cherish your framed fortune. And you feel exceedingly fine.

Finding Yourself in America: A Hotdog Story

This weekend I went and saw a production a few of my friends put on called Finding Yourself in America: A Hotdog Story. Two of my dear friends, Jessica and Rachel, have been telling me about it but I didn't know what to expect.

Basically, these wonderful group of people created something from scratch to encourage people to embrace their individuality. The show was based on the idea of hotdogs, an American staple. Where is individuality amongst our culture? What stays and what goes? Each person puts something different on their hotdog. But it's still a classic, delicious hotdog. Except, individual.

Each cast member propelled segments of who they are at the audience, little glass shards of their life. We're all sharper than I think we give ourselves credit for. What rolls around inside of us can do more than imaginable, and to let it loose? That's exactly what these individuals did. They stood up and faced who they were, for better or for worse. They encouraged those around them to take a look at what's swelling inside of themselves and to embrace it. Hold all that you are dearly, your potential is wild and free and unfettered. I'm a fan of anyone who uses creativity to inspire someone to continue, whatever that may mean for them. Experiencing something as special and powerful as this just makes my week. I wish that you could've been there with me to see this performance, so I'll leave you with a little treasure that I hope you'll remember: "To thine own self be true." 

Blood petals

I walked by this patch of flowers today. I stopped and slit my eyes at them. After a few passing seconds of indecision, I decided that I was fond of them in some macabre way. They made me think of clots of blood. I wanted to rip one out of the ground and ring it out like a piece of used gauze peeled off of a head wound. But I didn't want to ruin their show. They just sit there in such thick confidence, bleeding wildly into the world.

I have a tendency to consciously identify all my innards as household objects. I'm always afraid people are going to catch on and grow weary of my metaphorical anatomy. I mean, I could tell you my heart is a block of burning amber. But why say that when it's really a block of melting velvetta cheese. Anyway, here it is. Today I felt like this was inside me. If I were to stand behind one of those black x-ray blocks like a cartoon character, this is all that would show up. These bleeding flowers in my middle.

"Books are humanity in print."

I've added a few new friends to my collection. Each book I found for under 4 dollars. I know. I can't even handle how wonderful that sentence is. I am a sucker for cheap, good books. But I am currently already reading 3 other books, so I can't get to any of these guys right now. But give me a week or two and I'll dig in! 

Currently reading:

Lit by Mary Karr

A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver

Diary by Chuck Palahniuk

Jumpa-jumpa

This will probably always be one of my favorite shots. How can I not be happy looking at this? How can I not feel something worth holding onto? How can I not jumpa-jumpa?

A little bit of color

Poems from 2010

Here are a few poems from this past year, enjoy!


Headache, heartbreak

My head is sloppy percussion

corn-fed toddlers armed with metal spoons

chastising pots and pans on kitchen tile

unrhythmic beats immune to Advil and sleep

All due to paradigm shifts stretching through

this mind snapping the commonplace with artistry

disheartenment pioneering like the pilgrim I never knew

while the rest of me folds into itself at the crusade I never wanted

Still

bare days;

nothing can reach

but the hues and

tints of light busy

swimming backwards

and forwards across

grainy walls while i wait

for my backbone to click

back into place

i never wanted you

to love me for my

posture

anyways.

Help Wanted

I watch upper lips plunge into thin horizontal lines with

no curve to call themselves a smile, when dimples no longer

come out to play on the apples of cheeks but instead desolately

flatten themselves into vacant faces as the street lamps flicker on.

This regard, this vinegary observance, leads my jeopardized smile

on a rampage checking rusted tin boxes and bottom drawers for

any left over hopes waiting to be spent on an emergency like the

possibility of unemployment for a glittering little expression.

Dearest self

you balance no light like

lamp stands, your eyes

are no sun dials for his

afternoons

and

brave these barbed realities

with your pillowcase courage

if that's where you lay your

head

but

your intentions turned anemic

no warmth, no poise for radiance

renounce this gapping love greased

vocation

please

Slip, slip

I let go because

my grip is made

of sticks of butter

and engine grease

I let go because

moving with you

was ice skating

carving new paths

with bladed feet

Until our rink thawed

into everyone else's

pond.