"After which, obviously, he will become president of the United Nations, train a flock of African gray parrots to perform free colonoscopies in the developing world, and launch himself into space in order to explain the human heart to aliens living at the pulsing core of interstellar quasars."
this is my lockbox. wrap it up and throw it in the river, rusted shut til kingdom come, water-proof lockbox.
self-medicating.
wind storms that grow dreams about pema chodron and snorkeling on the shell collector's beach. hesitant steps forward, yoga steps back (at least the shakti flows freely when i live this close to the center). tall lanky ones and plaid cranky ones, mustached and bearded and telling me stories about things that i've heard somewhere else before. yamuna ramakrishnananda clouds. self-editing. maybe i'm looking at everything that makes a sound. or maybe there is something else beneath the surface. studies in lady love, and it making sense in light of my personal philosophy on beauty - i've always declared that it is possible in everyone; why not now? still rabbit-hearted and falling for the wrong ones, but maybe this is the karma i deserve. genuine and generous of heart: teach me how to love indiscriminately. big sounds - there was a crack in the planet - and big moves. heart chakras and root chakras opening wide up and out blasting like cosmic breath into the atmosphere.
distracted and distracting (myself) with svarga dvidasana and bakasana. hamstar refugees. reese's pieces and bhujapidasana. baking and brewing and drinking gnarly head (oh gnarly head). planning to run half-marathons. nepalese travels with farsi for lunch. jade 50. exploring the bounds of a binary identity. i think it’s not so much the gender of a person but the person that inhabits the body, and that making all the difference. changing my whole world view. giving me the spark that i needed to restart.
at night this house sounds like a humpbacked whale. sea songs stuck to the inside of my head, echoing around the caverns and corners of the foggy gray cave. it'll get eaten some day, by rotting bricks and mouse hole tunnels and the city building inspector, but it'll live here in me forever. a return to 2006?
in penelope cruz' spanish curled english: i am a pleasure delayer.
teaching myself to trust my instincts. breathe in, breathe out. i have to follow my ribcage to concentrate, but it helps. oh, i have lived for ages i'm a thousand turns of tides | i got sixteen hundred tigers now tied to silver strings | oh the mighty heart will sing | oh, the mighty heart will sing. just when i thought that i was going home. i tried. i really did. {i feel like this no longer applies. which is a good thing, right?}
pleasure delayers with a bit of social anxiety won't always end up as old maids. this is my social mantra. fuck, i'm taking up mantras for everything. this is where we put the butter; kitchen mantra. teach yourself to play piano; fruitless pipe dream mantra. writing so as not to feel so toxic; anxiety mantra. (i knew it would come out eventually). speak nice, think nice, think global, act local; humanitarian mantra.
dolla pints, vintage style. red frenchies at barriques. green amber with dinner. regina spektor is a raging feminist with a different kind of voice to shout with.
talking bear mountain picnic massacre blues [bobby d]
get rid of me [dj khaled]
love [parachute]
love & mathematics [broken social scene]
favorite food [tokyo police club]
with a heart attack on your plate | you were lookin' back on your days | how you spent them all in a blur | when they asked if you were for sure | i'm into the woods | i'm down on my life |
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