in jerusalem


things i found in my small coral bag with the long strap:
  • two soft pills filled with tan powder, unidentifiable
  • a broad wooden disc bead with rounded edges, one of the beads davida gave out in cal anderson park before she moved to humboldt county
  • two orange earplugs from a punk show at the sugartown house in salt lake city two days ago
the only books i brought with me are philosophy and self-help; the only others around written by a man who makes me angry.  and tonight i only i want to read poetry, and i want to turn pages, not scroll screens. but i sit anyway on this machine, reading what i can find of wisława szymborska, turning my lips to tripping attempts at prayer. i am not so scared tonight. things feel soft. i let myself breathe without too much tension held. these mountains are not those of my childhood, claimed by children of a faith that scares me, but i can ask them to cradle me. i may do that if i wish. i am. tonight i am in a room in an ashram made of dark wood in the semi-rural utah valley, beneath the curves of a lace tablecloth pinned to the ceiling and ganesh on the wall --- tonight i live with peacock feathers and the beat of mrdangas where the wagons of the descendants of brigham young made long-forgotten ruts in the sulfur-rich soil --- tonight i will dream of places i'd never thought i go --- tonight i love what i float in and i can forgive anything that helped bring me here.

this great expanse of land that is my three month home was once an inland sea

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  • Current Music
    anna calvi
in jerusalem

eight hours

is there anything more beautiful than opening a bag to put things in for a journey and finding riverbank sand of months before? now it's getting mixed up in my books. thank you for the grace that is...........
in jerusalem

sober hallucination / make the headaches go away

my teeth are little pillows, after all, next to diamonds - light in my mouth, clouds swollen to the point of breaking, my heart has kept beating no matter how i have denounced my body and been unable to see it in any light, i have spent years in a sleep pattern that makes me forget my teeth. they are pillows, my blood is warm syrup... i am sugar, the element i hold in my pocket is water, let me dissolve.
in jerusalem

long, your hair looks nice underwater; short, it dries quickly

I made the conscious decision to be happy and it has worked. I realized that part of this only-believing-in-these-cells-getting-to-live-this-life once thing is that there's really no point to breathing unless I can find contentment and beauty, since this is all I got. Without a bright repository for your conscious self after death, why live if you don't get something out of living? With these cells I have to and want to do many other things beyond creating my happiness, but my own contentment (see: clear mind, not luxury) is the most important. And I have the capacity to be happy. So I am happy. I am happy when I breathe deeply and smile at passers-by and focus on all that makes warmth grow in my bones. I wake up happy, I go to sleep happy, and I'm still awkward and unsure sometimes and I pine sometimes but even in pining I'm happy. So there's that. And I am now making the conscious decision to be comfortable with the decisions I have made and the person that I think myself to be. See how that goes.

This afternoon and evening I harvested sweet peas, sat in the sun that makes my Scottish skin rosy, climbed the old climbing tree on the other side of the lake, wore black corduroys that made me miserable in the heat and talked to an old friend who seems to be much more sure of all of his decisions than I am. It gives me hope for myself that I can feel strong divisions between me and another and love them still.

I care about being healthy. I care about making sure that other people are healthy and helping them get there in little ways, if I can. I care about people having good food in their bellies and peace in their hearts. I care about my mother. I care about my father. I care about the bees we keep. I care about living the life I dream about, turning it from dream to daily life. I care about the friends I don't think of nearly enough. I care about watching and tasting and learning and stretching and dancing slow dances and dancing fast dances and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and the loud songs you can scream in a basement and the boys and girls I know with dirt on their faces and dirt in their nails and notebooks crammed in the jeans they've worn for years and the kindest wild in their eyes and words to help you get by and working my childhood into words that make it make more sense and trying to let you in always trying to let you in and breathing deep and deeper still and the bats my papa says brushed his hair outside and looking up at the stars on warm nights and feeling like nothing needs a conclusion, like anything could happen and it will all be okay and it will all be enough

because how could it not be, it is, it is, it is
like you are, you are, you are

of course

and I know that it is what I do with this caring that is important.

by angelhead on flickr

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in jerusalem

(no subject)

Grey hair and thick tortoiseshell glasses is a combination so full
of lyricism that I'm at peace with the thought of growing old.
in jerusalem

given to children for treats after tea

days like this I feel like I've accomplished nothing -
really, I've learned so much. Worthwhile, I say

I think I am losing some of my sensitivity. I am so glad.

celery soup with artisan cheeses and sour cream dollop, crusty bread, nutella and sleepytime tea, my American diet, my soy yoghurt, my soy substitutes of many colours, my fear of too much estrogen, my acknowledgment that you should make art anyway in the comforting glow of the lightstring, my sadly washing chemical hair sludge down the drain. I read a lot about plants and poverty this evening, and am thoroughly pleased with my apple line dreams and cottage tips and tricks

at the moment, I smell too strongly of synthetic passion flowers and want a hand to hold sometimes

this is a photobooth image of me posing and wearing proper clothing to try to convince myself to stop wearing my comfortable robe and other sleep attire and get dressed. Hallo, Fiona, get dressed, you have handkerchiefs with game boards on them to wear after all

I am very pleased that this semester is nearly over, and excited for the new one to begin.
I love my high school. I love many of the people who go there. Really, with all my heart.
  • Current Music
    good morning, pink sugar elephants

(no subject)

what will you do when you realize that your body didn't just appear out of thin air from some spirit, that it's made of all the things you've ever fed it and all the air you've ever breathed and all the potions you've ever smeared on it and all the people you've ever held or licked or fucked? will you start putting more thought into all of these things? will you start seeing that all of these things are as holy as your body? will you take more care?

and will you break off some spearmint leaves from my garden and put them on my tongue?

I don't know much but what I do know I will teach you. I don't know much, so we will go out together and learn which herbs help and which herbs kill and what tastes nice with what and what feels good rubbed on your bare skin, and yes, you can map my freckles. yes, I know you want to do that. no, they're not quite like constellations, but yes, they are cute. yes, I'll show you the source of my fox scent - no, it's not a secret. no, it's not even mine. it's about as mine as the hot leafwater I pour down my throat daily and it's old, much older than me and I think the woman I met on Roosevelt Ave. has more of a license on it than I do.

maybe this will all happen when the weather gets warmer
maybe I will sleep better when the weather gets warmer
maybe we'll all love each other more when the weather gets warmer
but maybe we should start today


two songs for people who won't drown:
tom waits
sandy denny and the strawbs

(I have also worn corduroy pants.)
in jerusalem


This beautiful lady is my oldest consistent friend. She's a sharp tack.

We met when we were six. She has a pretty way with words and can always make me laugh.

We've been in and out of each others' lives (more out then in lately), but we always seem to be able to pick up our friendship easily from wherever we’ve left off. I'm grateful for that. I hope when she's at Stanford or Harvard and I’m somewhere tramping in the world that we can still find ways to relate to each other. I don't have anyone else that I could call a sister.

I'm very fond of that photo, for some reason.
in jerusalem

(no subject)

you know how when you're eating something cold and sweet your world numbs a little - dumbs down and focuses just on what you're putting in your mouth? - you start shivering slightly, and you try to deny that what you're eating is what's making you shiver, you try to deny that the more you eat, the colder you will be, but you just keep eating, and then you try to deny that you're shivering at all.

i feel out of place and have a little sense of wanting.
but somehow i feel safe and okay and beautiful and a part of something that can't be contained or even wholly defined, and shit, that's a place, isn't it.

i hate it when single eyelashes defy their alignment and start working their way into my eye