Tuesday, March 27, 2012

My favourite part of dry shampoo is that when I need a lot of it, it turns my roots completely grey (something age is also doing with alarming expediency) and I get to have a sneak at what I'll look like when I'm old, minus wrinkles, though neither of my parents really have them anyway, so I like to think it's pretty true to form.

And then I get all smug and want to high-five future husband, like I'll still have this ass in 30 years.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

couldn't resist

Saturday, March 17, 2012

default: one

the mattress is a pillow-top, my first. freshly laundered linens, the right kind of detergent. I can never place it when I'm looking to purchase, it smells like the home of my childhood best friend. Grape soda, curly fries, laundry detergent.
there are windows on the north and east sides of the room, the walls themselves brought closer by the king size bed. four wooden posts, a steam trunk at the end, wash basin on the dresser, rocking chair tucked into the corner. it is a farmhouse, through and through.
breakfast is cooking over the fire outside, we can hear the clatter of everyone beginning to rouse. the deep smell of cedar and age coupled with the linens and crisp air, I can't bring myself to consider moving vertically. I roll over twice before we collide, and then continue steamrolling just for kicks. good morning, good morning, wake up. I don't remember hearing birds, but there must have been birds. it seems such a given for the circumstance.
but maybe the smoke from the fire has kept them away. we burnt a couch the night before, garbage disposal at its finest. I stole a button from the upholstery before we lit it, intending to make a pin. something to attach to my denim later. I don't know where it is now, the bottom of a Rubbermaid, maybe. the trash, probably.

later in the day, we are sitting on the beach. there are families abound, we are tattooed and misplaced. I have insisted on an ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, but it melts at the same rate as my interest.
the water is inviting enough, silent enough. few have ventured in past getting their toes and cankles wet. leaving my cone to the seagulls, I wade in, he joins quickly after. or maybe not quickly, maybe I was already gone, and with me, my sense of time.

and then we are spinning, and all I ever want is to be spinning. legs around his hips and his hands on the small of my back, my hair fully submerged. arms extended over my head, fingertips and then forearms graze the water as we whip around, and I cannot keep from laughing. it is an ecstatic, body laugh. I could spin forever, though we don't.

keep me dizzy or keep me dreaming.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

woke up to a grey day, made the most. it feels good to run.

Monday, March 12, 2012

spring sprung sprang

commence nights of sleeping with the window open, birds in the morning. i can hear cars splish-splashing their way along the street, the wet slap of heavy walkers on pavement. 

to the city of lights soon enough, but for now, this.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Transcendently stoned

"but the stairs; what was that?"

never where the dogs bark

boyfriend at home > boyfriend on tour

Monday, March 5, 2012

Olfactory association

Smells like old eggs : sulphur in the water : well must be low : no laundry tonight : watch your shower length : hand wash the dishes : wait for rain.

 Find yourself standing by an elevator miles away, years away, a lifetime away, waiting for rain.