A day for sweet hearts



I haven’t posted in a while. For good reason. I’ve become less interested in documentation and less concerned about overthinking/overanalyzing. Just living. Letting go. Being malleable, being present, being conscious.

This does sum it up:


I’m happy right now. Things are going swimmingly well on all fronts.

I am the art, the art is me

I had dinner with my once…well, what was or is he. A fling? No – not enough. A love – perhaps, but maybe it’s brash to go there on the little time we had. I’m not sure what label to prescribe to him but labels were never really something he’d be interested in wearing to be matter of fact.

So we had dinner.

As if he hadn’t been around the world and back and wasn’t leaving again within 72 hours. To be honest – I’d blown him off the last time he was in town. I wasn’t sure I wanted to even venture down the path of being subjected to the narrative. You see, the relationship or potentential for a relationship had fallen away before the first flight abroad.

I stood my ground.

“You’re leaving in (however many) months and I cannot let myself get attached to someone who isn’t going to be here and that also won’t be fair to you, where you need to go and focus on work and this entire experience.”

Did that second part actually come out of my mouth or do I want to flatter myself in this retelling as if I’m a better person than that – that my decision wasn’t solely based off of “How much will I get hurt if I continue this if you leave.” Who can say.

So here he was, Green Bay Packers hat atop his head per usual.

We pick up right where we left off…wherever we left off.

The conversation runs the gamut of life and death, of art, of success, of creativity, of passion, of happiness, of American culture being a path destined to ruin us all with outlandish and unrealistic ideals and how ‘content’ seems to be a suitable word.

And the ideal of ‘free’ love having nothing to do with promiscuity but everything to do with true intimacy that isn’t just the motions.

I’ve been caught in that place for some time. Of being tired of all the talk. Of the foreplay. Of meeting people afraid, with walls up even when all the clothes come off. Of people who have no real desire to connect and who are so afraid to be seen truly for who and what they are that their entire life seems to be an act.

And how much of that is all of us? How much are all of us acting? And for whom?

What do we cling to to make us feel safe in our own skin? I think I’ve given up feeling that way. Everything terrifies me and I live within that state of total fear but that’s where I feel most comfortable. When I’m not uncomfortable, then I know that something isn’t right.

Contentment is not complacency. Not for me. There’s a difference. There’s a choice in being very content with my life as it is and not being complacent with what it’s become. It also weighs heavily on the desire to be ‘something more’ and all that THAT entails. And how you define it, etc.

No thank you.

Sometimes you just have to be in the moment. You have to stop premeditating, stop planning, stop thinking, stop plotting, stop recounting, stop trying to make sense of it all and let yourself just LET GO.

Give in.

Give up.

Give yourself over.


Give me more.

I always get so intrigued going back to hear artists talk about the impetus of a song, where it came from, the environment in which the emotion cultivated such a thought.

“…in ‘Hotel’ she says goodbye to someone she perhaps might have married. I think as you’re getting married, all the loves, even the 10-minutes loves, are popping up. ‘Hotel’ was really like feeling like an agent – a spy – in that he was the greatest guy at one time and they were giving me time behind enemy lines. Even though she knows they can’t be lovers because it’s a whole other life, she just can’t let him go. That’s the thing about letting old lovers go. You don’t stop loving some of them. There are a couple you love no less than you ever did. Not to mention names…but I’m still in love with a couple. You’re not going to try to make it work again, but if they needed you, you’d drop everything.” –

Tori Amos, Alternative Press 7/98


Thunderbolts cometh

So last night was my first time attending the Pitchfork Festival and my interest was purely in Bjork.

Unfortunately, about an hour into her performance, including “Thunderbolt” appropriately enough – they called the festival for the day because of an impending thunderstorm (which did break from the heavens minutes after we got on a bus). Bjork summoned the lightening and hence it came.

She was decked out in some weird head piece that was like an explosion between cellophane wands and Pinhead from Hellraiser:


While still promoting the mostly dull ‘Biophilia’ album with it’s lack of melodies and structure, the other songs were truly brought to life and I was very pleased with “Army of Me” and the new rendition of “One Day” from ‘Debut.’

The video below (from the previous Volta tour) just kind of shows you the energy/vibe she puts on when doing the bangers:


The choir she has support her is amazing.

For more pics & a recap of day 1 of Pitchfork, check out BrooklynVegan.

A little Sabotage.


“I checked your phone.”

Instinctively, I was less in shock about him checking my phone than what he found and assumed from it. There was no need to deny my flirtations, my verbal – hell my texted dalliances. Do I think I cheated? No. But I can see how it was a line crossed.


And I realized who I was in that moment of having to face the truth of hurting someone else.

I can sit here and justify it all by saying things like, “I like to keep my options open because I’m usually afraid nothing is going to work out” or “Since XYZ, I’ve been in a constant state of dating with none of them working so I always keep something as a plan B.” Any variation of that is lame. And really, really pathetic/sad.

It became a mirror to me to see how empty I had become, or how not present I was in my relationships. Because I was honestly afraid to invest in someone again because the last time…well, that story has been run into the grown. Rug pulled from under feet, et al.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as ashamed as I do right now of my own behavior. Of what I can control. And how I have such a fucked up sense of self that I either just should have told other people to fuck off, ignore them or…tell them that I had started dating someone and I liked him and I am unavailable.

However, you can’t go backwards. You just can’t. You take the cut, the wound, the scar and move on.

I learned how what I truly want is to commit but that it’s going to be a lot of work on my part to overcome that fear of being devastated while not inadvertently devastating someone else in the process.

Some people just figure out what works for them and that’s awesome. I’m still trying. Or I have figured out the truth and that fact is I’m just not the settling down type – I’m not the groom and maybe never will be.

It doesn’t make me feel less than but it’s something that I desire to have. But maybe it’s just not meant to be. And who knows what other people are going through…it’s always below the surface, the depth of the glacier.

It’s a challenge being so accustomed to myself and to tell the truth, it’s weird for me to be attractive to other people so I turn into a dippy boy who is flattered and yet crippled by the offer of affection/love.

I don’t know what to do with it or how to return. I have a lot of walls. A lot of lessons. A lot of stuff to learn left.

But first – cutting out people who make me feel less than or feel nothing at all. People who become accomplices in self-sabotage and ruination. I’ve been a little too trigger happy. It’s time for the bullets to be dropped upon the floor and the gun to be dismantled.

It’s time for tenderness and not just toward others, but myself. To hold myself up as someone worth investing in and someone whose word means something and to give fully to one person because that’s truly what I want in return. And fear be damned of it all falling apart, because the leap of faith is the point.

I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. As it turns out, I hurt us both. Go figure. Maybe there’s no point of return, returning. And if that’s the case, thank you for what you showed me and what you gave me and what I’m left with by myself. You only made me better.

Still wincing. Letting this wound breathe. And I cannot forgive myself for the wounds I inflicted on you.

Don’t care who gets hurt


I know what I want.

I can’t have it.

But I want it. Now. Bad. Real bad.

Old fantasies return. Old desires flare up from unknown depths. Passions bubble up like lava flows under the surface.

I want him. I want him right now. I don’t care who it hurts.

He’s always slipping in. Wanting to draw my attention from the present, from the one. I always wonder…

What would happen if we just kissed again. Would we both be ruined? Would we both be free?

…I just want the kiss. Who care about the answer.

I think you want this as much as I do.

Or maybe I’m losing my sense of everything. My direction and the wind in my sails.

How do you ever really fully know whose eyes you should be waking up to?


A night to never forget.


It was time. And we had a time. And maybe our time together is not yet done. But we’ll never know. We’re just going to keep living and let it all happen. And let the feelings we feel just be. With simple breathe and honesty and simplicity. And no further explanation to ourselves, each other or the rest of the world.

Two lovers locked out of love…

…I know you care.

And I told him everything I felt. And he did too. And we’re both at peace.



A dream.


Had a dream and woke up. Cried. Then it just had to be said. If you think it’s about you, it probably is.


Image courtesy Saddo/Flickr.

Saddle up, observer.


He kissed me before he got on his bike and left. He was all about that bike.

That helmet that hung off the chair at the bar. Silly me – I didn’t wear any armor.

Intellectual, charming, handsome, funny. All the things that will melt me. Laughter – I’m a sucker for it.

And it seemed that it was only in that moment where where it seemed right. Sort of like a shooting star, in that most terribly cliché way. It was bright and fast.

Then unexpectedly turned to dust and faded out, falling through my hands and leaving me wondering what happened. Was it me? Was it him? I’ll never know. That’s always the worst part – never having a resolution.

I cannot forget that Irish whiskey and the fiddlers playing in the corner and how forward he was to put his hand on my knee.


But that’s now part of the norm more than it is the anomaly. Lack of resolution is something you settle in to. I struggle constantly with this lesson, or blessing as Oprah would put it.

I have moments where I want to email and just output all of my random thoughts/questions/disjointed feelings. But I’ve done all that before and what did it get me? Nothing. Sometimes I just want to sit across the table from you and not speak. Then I’d want to hug and depart. Because sometimes that’s the closure I want. Sometimes it’s the only thing I want. I can’t explain why I think this will resolve much for me, but it sounds good in my head.

But I don’t write. I don’t reach out. I don’t look in the rear view. It’s just still not time. It may never be time. But certain songs bring him back; words that awake the part of him that’s always in me. And I think, “Do you have those songs, too?”

Songs that you hear from the other room that make you pause, sit down & cry. They exist.


He disappeared. Except not. I see him out and we don’t acknowledge one another. Date three was all we got to. But it woke up a lot in me and made me value myself a bit more. I got him. I don’t know if he got me. But it was all okay.

And he rode away on his bike and I never really could forget that first date and how important he made me feel. And how smart. And how funny. And how he allowed me to see that there were people in this world who would be the flame that I’d want to touch, total disregard for whether I got burned or not.

He restored a bit of my faith through his own faith. And that’s the gift he left me with. So I could happily let him ride away, helmet on and traffic light flashing into the dark.

Just gratitude. There was no ego in the room to bruise. I accepted.

Read more ‘Boys I’ve Liked?’ posts.