Vent Frais, Vent Du Matin

Remembering from the piece I just posted ending with the Old Abram Brown children's choir song, that I used to sing in a choir at the French school when I was a kid. I remember hearing them perform before I took part when I was 6 or 7, and I was chilled by the sound they made, and thought "I want to make that sound". So I joined. We had an amazing teacher who gave us these beautiful, haunting songs like Old Abram Brown, which never struck me as strange or creepy at the time (and not now either but some people seem to think so), but just, chillingly beautiful. When I heard it in Moonrise Kingdom, a film that struck me from the first time so close to my heart and always, always will, I remembered that time from my childhood, and that I did that. I even won an award for my singing. Kind of sad I guess because now I never sing except to myself in the shower, I chant sometimes when I'm lonely but the only things I ever seen to remember are a few yoga chants and the lyrics to "I'm Not An Addict" by K's Choice (of all the songs I listen to over and over and over I wonder why that one is the one I always remember). Here is another one we used to sing, though it's not my favorite version I could find; we never had the stupid bells and crappy jazz drums with it:

But I loved being able to join in with other voices and make this sound; I often had solos.

Here are the lyrics, and for extra fun, what I found when I was searching for them - French instructions

• Demandez à votre enfant de découper et coller la chanson "Vent frais"dans son cahier de chants et de l'illustrer.
• L'illustration du texte, permet de vérifier la bonne compréhension du texte, oral pour les plus jeunes et écrit pour ceux qui savent lire.

"Vent frais

Vent frais, vent du matin,

Vent qui souffle au sommet des grands pins,

Joie du vent qui souffle, allons dans le grand

Vent frais ..."

I remember so enjoying what felt like darkness in this song. The mental image of running headlong into the great wind blowing through pine trees. Feeling the joy of that wind, being one with it with the power of the music we made with our own vocal cords and our memoies of the notes and the words and nothing else. 

I Think We Weren't Supposed To Be Like This

I think we were supposed to be childhood friends, to swoop in and awkwardly save ourselves from ourselves then. Not 12 years ago. Not now. We are trying, and doing so much more damage than we can ever undo.

The worst part. The worst part. Is the damage isn't just to ourselves and each other. It's to our memories, our idealizations, our idealizations of love, and of each other,
are sustaining 

permanent 

damage.

We will never again have the idealizations of love that we once we did. We are tarnished in each others' memories. Forever.

"You insensitive self-serving fragment of a human being."

What do you do when someone says this to you?

Fell asleep reading about the first time i talked to him

amidst the crap and chaos and naivety of being 14. He was something real. The one real thing. I'm reading my old journals. Falling sleep on the couch to it to Tool keep expecting him to take care of me when I fold onto thee sofa pillows to pick me up and take me to bed.

But he's gone.

My Birthday

It was my birthday yesterday. I, and he, worked hard for a few very potent and real and important moments make the day a beautiful one. And we did it all day today, until the very end we lost it.

I dreamt last night of me hiding a corpse - separated pieces I placed them all on a blanket perfectly on the ground in our home, her mouth gaping open and decrepit of course, her hair up, her head, and legs separated from her torso. In the dream I was worried by husband would come home and ask "what are you doing with that?" And he did. He asked me in the dream, and he asked my decapitated, de-limbed corpse, in real life.

So, I sweat and work and fuck myself again and again on the goddamn machines that pull the sweat the life the fight out of me so I stop fighting. And I listen to Rammstein on repeat as loud as it goes to save my heart and save my soul (and save my godforesaken body)

It was better than this for a few moments, but then, it wasn't.

The Lost Princess

This is my new favorite thing.

Like every other writer I encounter often works of writing that makes me think to myself - "My God, this is so far above anything I could ever create myself." But I very rarely find it on the internet.

I wish it was a book I could hold in my hands and curl up with at night by candle light with Mazzy Star and sparkling wine the colour of mermaid hair. But there just isn't time for this kind of thing in my life anymore. Quiet. Dark. Peace.

The Lost Princess And Other Stories

"They never forgive me for changing but I do it with passion because you need to die a little bit now and then to feel alive."

Barbara Konczarek

I wish I could get prints of this fantastical work somewhere

Anhedonia

Everything that was beautiful, and sacred once, is now a bleeding, decaying, morbid, deathly thing. My body, my heart, and my spirit along with it.

I hate the world.

I hate what it does to people who believe in things with their heart of hearts.

My poker face is a dead body.

The thing I thought would pull me up out of loss, to be my best self - I should have known better, the thing that put me there in the first place - has only destroyed everything I've built that I was ever proud of.

And I've done no better in return.

I am a walking corpse. That spreads disease to the thing it loved the most when it was alive.

I don't know how to get this death out of me, and give what I know I am capable of.

I never knew there was a bottom this low, or darkness this dark. It's because I have a mirror, holding it up to me. I hold up my own mirror in defense, and what do we stare back at? An infinity of terrors, of ugliness, of

Stealing Beauty

I'm watching Stealing Beauty. It became my favorite movie the first time I saw it. It has only become more so every time (x100). I've read reviews and other feedback of people who have - a little  mysteriously perhaps - had the exact same experience. Because it's hard to pin down exactly what it is about this film that captures so many aspects of my spirit it leaves nearly nothing behind. Except maybe the dark, twistedness that will always be me. Maybe I'll give myself the gift of doing an analysis of that one day. One part I will comment on, is this: a young girl is in love with someone she doesn't know very well, held onto to the thought of him, almost lost her virginity to him, found out very quickly he was a player and a douche and not what she was looking for, not worthy of her anything. She falls in love with, and does, soon after, lose her virginity to someone very nearby who is much more sensitive, has loved her, but is quiet a fly against the wall, shy, not the obvious one. The right one.

I need to be an artist. 

Artist being defined as someone who makes their life's work (whether it pays or not), of self expression,  of creation that fulfills some urgent and demanding need inside of them. It requires being part of a community of other artists, because very few people can make art for "a living" and support themselves on their own.

Do I, would I, have what it takes to find my place to devote myself to one thing one medium painting, poetry, fashion? Something else?

Do I need to live a life that not only allows me forces me into freedom of self expression and creative channeling of what I feel and what's in my spirit so that I don't destroy myself and the people around me?

I have no choice. 

Things that almost never fail to make me happy

- Nature

• Either for long, intense, arduous hikes where you get lost and almost run out of water but you don't
• OR just driving up to beautiful, secret places, getting out and sitting there and breathing in the air

- The gym for 2 or more hours

- Yoga

- Laying in bed all day reading a good and/or addictive novel

- reading beautiful poetry 

- tasty love makin' with my beautiful husband

- drawing my husband naked

- BATHS (especially with yummy scented bath salts - not the face-eating kind)
- Road trips (especially ones that take you past the trashiest pit stops and Jesus gas stations and eventually to hot, hot places like the desert or New Orleans)
- NEW ORLEANS FRENCH QUARTER
- Scented oils (esp natural ones)

- incense 

• Nag Champa
• Raw Frankincense
• ritualistically mixed ones from The Sword & The Rose

- painting

- Lady Cottington's Book of Pressed Fairies

- Staying in all day watching movies/tv shows with the comforter cover dragged onto the couch

- Swimming in the ocean

- getting tattooed

- tumblring

- The movies:

GOOD ONES

• Stealing Beauty
• Let The Right One In
• Drive
• Moonrise Kindgom
• Wild At Heart
• Baz Lurman's Romeo + Juliette
• Crazy Beautiful
• Twin Peaks

TRASHY ONES

• I Know Who Killed Me
• Jennifer's Body
• Jawbreaker
• Bring It On
• Buffy

- Cuddling/playing with/snuggle with a cat

- Hanging out with my Nana

- Talking to Star

- Getting a fucking good haircut

- Traveling to unfamiliar places

- getting lost in a new city

- Intellectual stimulation
- trips to Japanese grocery stores
- Japanese candy

- Massages

- getting all dressed up and getting photographed

- horses - just being around them or riding

- reading to someone I love

- Food:

• Champagne & ice cream floats
• Gordo's
• Macaroni & cheese
• Peanut butter & jelly sandwiches

- Music:

• The Mountain Goats

So many more things to add...now I'm so excited to do some of these I just don't know which

Vodka. Placebo. And impulse tattoos across the street from the bar

s;krdghwaekhoewanfs

I want absolutely nothing more at this moment than to crawl into bed with my boy and fall asleep. But lacking proper sleep aids, it is likely I will be up all night, agonizing over the details of this face. When I said I would cook him brunch tomorrow, and I have done non of the shopping, and it is 2:36 am. And the apartment is a fucking mess from my painting fit. "Then we'll eat on the kitchen floor" the romantic in me says, but that's just not his style. he likes things proper, clean up before relaxation. For me that means perfect, or not at all. That is why so often I feel like it wouldn't be worth it for me to try, because I can count on one hand what I have produced that's been perfect aside from academic papers and exams.

I am so unhappy. I love my picture of my painting that I captured before I destroyed it. I hate the physical painting on the easel staring back at me. Ambien is not putting me to sleep. But the photo is all that matters anyway right? it's all anyone really sees. otherwise the damn thing just sits in the apartment against a wall curling up and distorting.

Whether I get to sleep in the next 5 minutes or the next five hours, I'm still getting up early, d=going to the grocery story and making brunch for my boy tomorrow. 

Passion/Action

And the world
brings me nothing today.
Because I don't bring myself to it.

"After changing to fit into society, you are eventually going to want your old self back sooner or later."

Head Full of Thunder Heart Full Of

(5.31.13 revised 6.2.13)

Head full of thunder heart

full of molten metal hlack,

hot,

drudge

Another yes, empty

night left

wasting wondering what

could change

this pattern beat to drum beats sound out marches for the Dead

beat to death

beat our spirits to death

These are not repetitions for the living

Not the living

not for us

Are we moving forward?

Do we travel together?

Are we looking in the same direction?

Destroying what we have built?

Do we even know the questions?

Do we even know?

what the other sees

when we look out at the world

together

when we look at each

other?
When we burn.

I turn to ice

I burn

I cry I write scream I stop hit  bolt destroy destiny fit and frenzy I

only calm when I
notice

how my face

seems to fit

with my building collection of portraits of 

people who have died.
those
mourned, beloved, passed

Or,

better yet

When you come to hold and

put your hands on my waist

my skin

back of your hand smooth my torrid

face

pull my shirt

back push the fabric

no matter what happens between you and me boy

Go ahead and relax your

trigger finger

cause we burn white-hot like that

Cause I won’t take this ring off my finger ever again

And I will love you til the day I die

But the demons come back to sink their teeth

every time one time

one of us will fire and one

of us will

hit