In the Beginning

was the word.

A restless Life

Breakfast

Fashion Show

In a dimly lit bedroom,

clothes scattered,

outfits repaired,

imagination running

rampant through

the drawers and closet

of my childhood.

Mom and dogs cuddled

under my sheets reading

Traditional Home.

Together we are listening

to Hoots and Hellmouth.

Must love the mandolin

and the green hat-wearing

player who won a bit of my heart

in Chicago.

My NYC family,

they're playing

City Winery

on February 19th.

Check 'em out.

Breakfast Redacted

Kale, parsley, fresh beet juice, frozen blueberries and a small piece of over-boiled cauliflower leftover from lunch yesterday,

a few ounces of water and BOOM, you have a mostly inedible, molten brown fibrous {smoothie}.

I chew down a third of it and strain the rest leaving me with 6 ounces of

surprisingly sweet and predictably bitter green drink. I feel {better} already.

Paired with yesterday's brown rice, I mash up a banana and blend the two into a porridge-esque puree.

Topped with a dollop of fresh yogurt, straight off the shelves of Stew Leonard's, it is a breakfast fit for a {queen}.

I now need to lie down, I'm feeling pretty {tired}.

There is something I've got,

Nobody can take it away...

I drizzled olive oil in my hair to condition my scalp, slapped on a scully and went to take rest. Upon rinsing I had hair softer and bouncier than I had felt in months. Let us, if we may, define bouncy. Perhaps through comparison: A trampoline is bouncier than a diving board, just as a mattress is bouncier than a sleeping bag. Let us note, especially in the case of the mattress, that there must be room for the springs to recoil and again, rebound. The classically dry waves of hair, now fully saturated with triacylglycerols, have found delight in expansion. I am sporting, however proudly, a helmet of poofy, silky locks and glad, very glad that it's raining and I've got nowhere I need to go.

There's no place

Shhhhh.

Just sit quietly and listen.

Pranayama

I am taking an average inhale before I dive inside.
A gasp doesn't so much fill the lungs as the cheeks and I'm really going for depth here.
I've decided against kapalabati, fire has its time, and here not its place.
As for alternate nostril breathing? Purification will sort of.. take care of itself.

In Chicago

There was quite a bit of walking, and a bit of sitting down.
A deep dish pizza happened, as did bus riding and window shopping.
I was inspired once in Myopic Books, and twice at the Green Eye.
Tonight, as last night I will sleep on a couch of a once-stranger, Samantha.
Secrets were shared over tacos; heartbreaks.
It should be a distance before either of those two, again.
Had a good hairday and met a tiny dog named Lucy.

the egg salad in ypsilanti, michigan is divine

oh, to taste the delicious madness of anonymity

Not one, but two: Hawks.

Route 32 brought me from my gravel drive across the Newburgh Beacon Bridge,
{for those of us who care about cartography, that's north and just slightly east}.
I took myself up the Taconic Parkway, for the sake of beauty and with the quiet
hope of seeing hawks on the greener shores of the Hudson.

Albany was gross with buildings, traffic circles, chain hotels and luckily,
I made it onto Route 9 near Saratoga Springs before the Rush. Two-lane
Americana at a most conservative 40 miles an hour, 9 opened up the conversation
of public rests and the appetite that was growing gently inside of me.

As if sent by the divine brewer himself, I passed through Glenn Falls, NY
just as bladder and stomach met to stage a coup. They found salvation at
Davidson Brother's Brewery.

160 miles later: I find myself circling around Saint Laurent and the similarly
sacred Denis in Montreal's snowy Latin Quarter.
How sweet the streets look, powdered and plowed! Bonne soiree, Quebec.
It is most lovely to see you.

Shall I Part my Hair Behind?

Light of Heart and Fancy Free

I read my horoscope in the Chronogram and not only

did it tell me everything I wanted to hear, it was also true.

I guess I will leave tomorrow instead.

With this extra morning, I re-fluffed the blankets I so violently kicked off

in the middle of the night, curled the legs in towards the chest and easily

slipped back to sleep.

I drank stew out of my favorite bowl when the daylight finally

brought me from underneath the quilts. The warm lentil puree

tempted me back into bed.

Fought the urge to climb back upstairs. Instead sat outside

on the splintered wooden steps. Thinking to myself that I needed

more air in my front left tire, I saw a tiny flying bug. I realized, briefly,

the impact of our warm days and wondered at the future of our climate.

Upon returning into my kitchen I noticed that there was

a strange presence in the corner, near the bananas.

Clever design, that AeroGarden.

Coming Right Up

1 jar of chunky peanut butter

20 manicured nails, clipped and unpainted

8 and a half dollars worth of flashlight batteries

3 overnight bags filled with oatmeal-colored sweaters

10 days of silent meditation

deep sigh of relief

Good morning

A wake up from my beloved New York Times:

delestage: power cut; a term used to identify the routine of rationing food in the Republic of Congo where one fourth of the population goes without meal, nor bite of bread, three out of seven days a week. The heads of household delegate which children may eat on which day, a single, solitary meal. Other days, those children go without. It may be important to note that the Republic of Congo is geographically lush and tropically fertile though the major government funded industry is petroleum. There is little support for agricultural production. HOW, how, how and WHY in a world where there is so MUCH, where there is such EXCESS, are there hungry people?!? HUNGRY people. HUNGRY children. Who is in charge there? Who is letting this happen?

I don't know what to do.

Between you and I

The more I see you, the more I want to see you.

Castaway on the Moon

Mom couldn't finish watching it but Marley stayed closed and curled by my side as I drifted romantically toward Seoul.

Loneliness lives in all of us. Sometimes he wears a different hat and calls himself winter,

other times he dances through the night leaving you in stark white silence.

Tonight, though quiet, is sweet with longing and just a lil' bit o movie-fueled love.

Sweet dreams, mes amies.