I Met The Walrus

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

I carry with me stories of forgiveness and how much I've tried not to worry. I carry my worry. I carry my concern. I carry stretched out Rubber Bands and Sunglasses I refuse to wear. I carry old Literature lessons and learning the necessity of silence. I carry with me all the crumpled post-it notes and polaroid photos and magazine cut outs and swiss cheese memories. I carry with me my hiding. I carry games: HandBall, Jail Medic, Heads Up 7UP, Chutes&Ladders. I carry with me Lip Gloss and Headache Pills and my Harmonica and some reading for on-the-go. Always on-the-go. I carry with me Evian Water and Pillows I stole from Hotels. I carry my phone and all the numbers of those I call and those who never call back. I carry Bobby Pins and Sharpies and scraps of paper and song lyrics and floating money. I carry keys to my storage on MacArthur where all the objects I love and define me, wait for me to come get them: Candles and Tea Cups and Paintings and Bedding. Waiting is forever. I carry a new collection, less notes and words, more music and places to visit. Now I carry with me every new fresh start and every final drive away. I don't carry the worry of departure or arrival. I carry the desire to go unnoticed and at the same time not to be forgotten. I carry laughter. I carry too big a heart. I carry Alice and Wonderland (always) and French Books and Greeting Cards. I carry Portishead and Cat Power and Ray LaMontagne. I carry Metric. I carry all the cheating and sneaking and secrets. I carry Fairytales and Ever-Afters. I carry faces and names and tears and frustrations and all the truths and all the questions. I want to believe there is a bigger plan and a need that is above me for my life, a way I can trust my decisions, a way it seems to go.

2009 Calendar Pick

I've officially determined which Calendar I will be purchasing for 2009. Although it was (at first) a bit of a toss up, I've decided to go with the Handmade Pick (available on Etsy). Bec Winnel, the renowned artist behind My Charlie Girl, is a Melbourne chick whose work is simple and simply beautiful. As a predominately self-taught artist, Bec recently completed her degree in Graphic Arts, and is pursuing personal illustration and highly commissioned work. Her "Sugar, Spice and all things Nice" show will be held in local Australia on Valentine's Day. It's raw, pale, delicate and tender.

Dreams are Mirrors into our Souls: Round Two

Judgement Day. The dream started out with the recent news of a plane crash. Then everything went Dark. My Mom told me it was Judgement Day and that I better start preparing myself. What did that even mean? I was told to take a quick shower and put on something black. My parents and I walked down from our house (which was a giant hotel) to a community center a few miles away. Where had my brother gone? And will my sister meet us there? Once we got there, we were all told to line up alphabetically. There were thousands of us! We stood in rows of twenty, awaiting the calling of our names. First we were called one by one based on how Trustworthy we were. Then Kindness of Personality. Then Spirituality. We were separated: Sinners from Saints. There was a lot of crying. A lot of families were separated from one another. Even more crying. The ones who weren't Trustworthy, who weren't Kind and who were labeled "Sinners" were swept away to be killed. Jesus was killing them. I saw that my parents were okay, and I kept crying for my brother and my sister's safety. Because we were all alphabetical by first name, I couldn't see them. Were they okay? I cried and I cried. And then I prayed. And I prayed and I prayed. When I was released I went back to my house and waited. I waited and I waited. A man on a horse came galloping through my room and told me to hop on. We rode through the rooms of my Hotel House and he told me the story of Black Beauty. He told me how there was a sick horse and how her spirit was needed to guide the way. Which way? Where were we going? I kept crying because the story was so sad. Black Beauty was beautiful. So beautiful. But dying. So dying. We came to a room where the sick horse lay on the ground. We took her spirit, (beautiful) crying, and rode back into the night.