Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Knock-Kneed Girl

            She was the kind of girl who rolled out of bed in the morning with a hot, messy head of Medusa hair.  The kind of girl with feathers and weed stems and bits of fuzz tangled in her dark curls, sparkles of glitter stuck to her lips and face, smeared with heavy, black makeup.  Who woke up to a cold room filled with half-full, forgotten teacups and the stale scent of cigarettes mixed with opium incense.  Woke up with a brain full of buzzing and blinking lights, memories of smashed bottles and bubbling witches’ brew and a $3.50 pint of whiskey in a wine glass, lipstick prints on the glass and half a pack of Djarums.  Blink, blink, blink, eyes half-shut with dream glue, still waking from a fantasy of flying narwhals and mushrooms the size of houses, she wobbles across the room, knocked-kneed and skinny, on a quest for water.  Plods down the hallway, freckly elbows hitting turquoise-painted walls, up the creaking stairs, and into the dingy bathroom.  She’s the kind of girl who has a collection of children’s toothbrushes--- Hello Kitty in a kimono riding a purple dragon, a giraffe with bristles for teeth, Spongebob in a pineapple under the sea--- lined up by the mirror, and uses her hands for a cup.  Small, pink lips breathe the water in, a strong jaw swallows, a belly fills and gurgles.  She’s the kind of girl who throws her clothes on the floor instead of hanging them up and takes a shower without shampoo or conditioner, but lots of bubbly, plum-smelling soap.  She stumbles into the kitchen, turns on NPR, and listens to “All Things Considered” in her panties over toast and strong coffee.  The kind of girl who tosses her hair back and doesn’t take milk.  The perfect kind of girl. 

Tell me who you are and what planet you're from! -whimsical letters from a strange, secret lover

Let's make strange magickal moonlit love <33333

i want to have wild passionate lesbian sex with your divine goddess self. 

i am a girl from the forest, i want to make love to you under the moons xxxxx

breathe with me nymph of the astral sea. The stars and faeries will be our only witness. Let our souls flow together as we turn water into a flame that burns throughout the moonlite night. 

a land with iridescent skies and meadows that shine with the glinting beams of a green moon :)

Thursday, September 15, 2011

i'm coming to texas and we're going to start a peyote-cactus-tea-witch-hipporacle-cosmic-tree-people-lesbian cult and jump around like wild faeries, catching stardust in our mouths, and then we'll tie yellow flowers in each others' hair and braid our blue and pink hair together and people will want to eat us cause we look like cotton candy, and then paint each others' faces with rainbows and blow glitter on each other and take pretty pictures of the moon and sleep in a blanket fort.  the end.

Princess Cowboy, Inspired by Project Princess by Tracie Morris

Fish feet in floppy turquoise blue boots
Built for a man, worn by a skinny-fat girl with
Freckles and peach fuzz on her tanned big toe.

The soles of her feet
Touching the soul of the concrete
cause her boots got ripped up by the
Cold, hard pavement,
cause she had a long hard way to walk in the snow

Waiting for the bus,  her skirt occasionally
Offering a peek of the too-tight, hip-huggin
Panties, ridin up on the thin-plump thighs,
to the passerby
Whenever a flirtatious wind filled the alley

Two planets orbit her face
Earrings shaped like Saturn
Stuck in curly, black hair

Her gum snaps
And she casually chews, glancing at her watch
Then up the street and
Back again

Some of the gum is stuck to her
Tacky, pink lips
Polished and primed with lipstick and
Glitter gloss
Bejewled with the promise of a sweet, sticky kiss
That tastes like cheap wine and
and regrets.
The kind of kiss you would get when the
Moon was filled with poison and so
High that the wolves had forgotten howling for slumber

Her body beckons you to touch
Her arched eyebrow is a warning to not
Though her shirt hangs a little too low, too low
Even though it is cold and the bus
is late

A rusty, red car slows and offers a ride
She offers disdain
without a word
Just by turning up the sharp, freckled nose
The planets bouncing
Rings swinging back and forth

Impatiently her fingers tap against a studded, silver belt
Where wild horses roam the buckle
Searching for bluer skies

Clink, clink clink!
Turquoise and opal rings click out a beat that is
Maddening with the passing minutes
Stolen rings
because she has flair and pride but not cash
Which is why she is waiting for the 5 o’clock
Why she turned up her nose to
Stand in the bitter cold so she can go to work
At a job she hates
So she can come home to a street she hates and
Buy new pairs of
Lacy, too-high, too-snug panties and
Offer a peep but not a touch

She’s the one of which songs are sung
The elusive urban goddess with
Tan skin, plump lips
and a far-off look

A foreign scent to her skin, like she has
Slept every night in a desert
and now she is wild jackal caged in a cold, hard city
Where the streets know her name

She’s the one
The princess cowboy of fifth avenue
and she knows it
Lingering for a moment under the light of
Flickering street lamps
Until the bus turns the corner and she ascends
and is gone.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Teaism is...

a japanese religion where tea ceremonies are practiced so you live fully within the moment (noticing all details, enjoying the peace and harmony of tea exactly as you partake in it, appreciating what you have, not dwelling on the past or rushing forward into the future), quiet your heart and mind (learning to be still, listening to the world around you, becoming calm and serene as you live within the moment, not being hurried or stressed by all of the distractions around you), and self-cultivate (learning discipline and stillness, beautifying your world for yourself and those around you, concentrating and focusing while under the influence of great tea, seeking and attaining enlightenment, promoting harmony with nature, self, and others).  it’s a life-practice that uses aesthetics to slow the many currents of the world and bring about Teamind :)

Lakota Moons

Instead of dividing the year into 12 months with names that are derived from Roman Emperors, Native American tribes instead divide the year by the 12 moons, describing the seasonal changing that are taking place.

Seasons of the Lakota Tribe
Moon of the popping trees
Moon of the mating of the wolf
Moon of the snowblind
Moon of the red grass
Moon of the shedding ponies
Moon of the wild turnip/Moon of the fat strawberries
Moon of the black chokecherries
Harvest Moon
Moon of the yellow leaves
Moon when the trees shake off their leaves
Moon when the calves lose their hair
Moon when the deer shed their antlers

Friday, September 9, 2011

Beautyfish: A Collection of Recent Artwork

Velveeta-Heartbreak: In the Garden at Night