It falls from above through the invisible cracks in our feelings
the fabric of the blue the green the pink it’s breathing
with my arms open I receive it all so well
the moment is burning through my skull
my eyes are blinded by the light the sound the swell
the joy is lushous, delicious in my hands.
How could you not know? How easy it is to go through the motions, without feeling anything at all.
“Wake Up”
Eternity.
Every moment with you feels ancient.
Your eyes are older and younger than mine.
I don’t question my heart any longer.
There is far too much that fills me.
Every chamber is overflowing and you bring me more love.
You bring me more love.
How can I cry for too much? I cry for beauty.
I’m weeping because you make me softer.
Now I feel the pressure inside the vessels and the thick weight of all the invisible magic that’s staring at me all the time.
It’s too much beauty.
I’m strong enough for it all.
When I was young I was a ghost. I was a cloud of smoke. The words they used to spill out of me and now I feel so blah.
And when I went to the Hammer I loved how brave I felt looking at Caland. I realized that I’ve always been too stifled and now I cage myself.
I don’t like being censored but we have to protect the others and I wish that we were all free but I know we’re all hurting
And the thing I hated in you the most was how you were so dismissive and now he looks at me with surprise and I don’t recognize myself speaking.
It’s you out of my mouth.
You’re gone, but I can’t get rid of you.
The light that fell into my eyes, the color consumed me.
The humming made me better against that unwavering voice.
It’s been a long time now so maybe we’re happy. There’s enough time between the song between the space so maybe we’ve forgotten.
You say you never remember and I try and not let that hurt me
But really it shouldn’t matter as long as you recognize me.
I had no choice in that scene of light and shadows
inside windows of black vines and faded flags
in a distance from the sounds of the party I thought of you and my cheeks were wet
I didn’t know if it was joy it felt like pain
regret or memory or the other way around your skin remembered a place I had forgotten
a bobble head bull dog in the entrance of her house
the smell of rotting fruit in cages around her head
in the middle hung her bed
in the middle of the song screams
in the back the main event
the two treasures of endangerment
the last king and queen of their kind
I walked up to their rusty palace and reached my small fingers between the bars
she left them fleshy skins of mango and papaw while they sat above it all chewing holes in their robes of feathers
I rocked my head up and down in the way I was told meant love
but they were too far gone
I wished to set them free and she said they won’t survive
they don’t remember how to fly
so i left them there standing still
in their molting glory.
I’ve arrived in Iceland. A story….I was annoyed from the airport security experience in the Barcelona airport. I was tired from only 5 hours of sleep. On the plane I sat down and tried to read but I fell asleep. Soon I woke in a daze and noticed our flight delayed and a commotion coming from next to me. The French couple sitting beside me were trying to communicate with the English guy behind us who spoke terrible French and ask him how they will make there flight to Singapore once we land in Heathrow. They were in their sixties I guessed and the French woman had a loud voice and I found it annoying at first as I ached for sleep and quiet. I’m sure the whole plane heard their conversation. In French she asked a ton of questions like “We are flying to Singapore at 8:30pm? What do we do? Do we have time? How do we get there? What about our bags?” The English gentleman had the hardest time getting the words out of his mouth about transfer and terminals and time and soon enough the stewardess, who only spoke Spanish, got involved and the French wife pulled out her folder full of all their travel documents and asked the same questions again…in French. The husband didn’t say much. And it was obvious that he enjoyed listening to his wife talk about their flight to Singapore which is where they would transfer to their flight to Thailand which would be their final destination. I wondered if he had travelled before, if this was her first trip.
I understood almost everything but I was too tired to get involved or even look at them, and I drifted in and out of sleep as she told everyone around us, whether they understood her or not, how they drove from Montpellier to Barcelona, how they were now flying to London and wanted to know how to get to their next plane which would take them to Singapore and then to Thailand. At one point the Spanish girl in front of us turned around and tried to help them make sense of the big mystery that seemed to me like it wasn’t a mystery at all. I think the husband knew exactly how to get to their next flight connection but he just sat there not saying anything. He just smiled and listened to his wife go on and on trying to talk to the English gentleman behind us and the Spanish girl in front of us, neither of whom spoke enough French to make these conversations productive in the least. I was tempted to chime in as I spoke more French then both of them but I stayed out of it and read, slept, read, slept.
I was so immersed in the final chapters of my book that I hardly notice when we touched ground again. I stood even though I would normally sit until everyone had started moving. But I’m in the aisle seat and I assume this couple is anxious to get up and grab their bags.
When we get up and crunch into the aisle of the plane I finally see their faces. They’re in front of me and they look at me and smile. I regret not looking at them before. She thanks the English gentleman and the Spanish girl. The English wishes her a Bon Voyage on their trip to Thailand and I see her smile so big, her teeth stained from years of coffee and cigarettes. She replies with the giggle of a small school girl “Vacance!”, meaning holiday. They’re going on Holiday and I can tell coz they’re both dressed in white and they look like they’re headed somewhere warm. I watch as they talk to eachother in French. She’s short and round with a wide bottom and blue eyes and yellow hair and yellow teeth. He is tall with a handsome face and the kindest green eyes and I think he’s much more beautiful than her. But God, he looks at her with so much love and I can tell he thinks she’s the most beautiful woman on the plane. Right there my heart stopped. They giggle and he hands her a straw hat. She tucks her hair into the hat and he watches her as she puts on lipstick. She playfully reaches up as if to put some lipstick on him and they laugh. He continues to watch her with joy as she checks herself in her compact mirror and smiles at him. There is so much tenderness and youth between them. So much pleasure!
They smile together and the tears start to roll down my face. Suddenly I want to know everything about them. I wonder how long they have saved for this vacation. Is this something she’s waited on her entire life? I wonder if they have children and grandchildren. I wonder if they know how beautiful they are. And suddenly I want to tell them. I want to tell her when she looks back at me that she’s beautiful “tu es belle” but I don’t. Instead I keep watching them as I quietly cry. When we walk out the plane I walk close by them until we have to go our separate ways and then I cry even more. And in that moment of separation I desperately wished, more than anything I’ve wished for lately, more than my own happiness that they made it to that flight, and every other flight after that to Thailand.
I realized in my tears how much I want to believe in love like that. There it was right before my eyes. This couple so old and beautiful, so in love. They held hands as they walked away together looking for their flight to Singapore and I wanted to be them one day. I wanted to be her. I want love like that. It seems no one hardly believes in it anymore. But there on that crappy flight from Barcelona I saw it with my own eyes and it shook me to the core. Is it so rare? It feels so rare. And I think how sad that it’s so rare. How sad. And I felt a little sad. I’ve heard too many times that love like that isn’t real. People get bored and marriage falls apart and fairy tales don’t exist. But there I saw it with my own eyes and I felt it with my own heart. It does exist and it’s real and I’m a believer.
Read: The Lost Girl by D.H. Lawrence
Listen: Piano Ombre by François & the Atlas Mountains
Watch: And God Created Woman
Local Eat: bread and cheese everyday
Montpellier —> August 27th
I have arrived in Montpellier. At a train station in transit somewhere there was a piano with a sign that said “Play Me”. Free. For the public. Just like that. On the train I sat next to a cute Parisian boy who teaches philosophy and plays the guitar. Brown eyes. Shaggy Hair. I love France. Once I stepped off the tracks in Montpellier, I spotted the radiant smile of my friend Deborah. We headed to her parents house where we have spent the last few days poolside, reading D.H. Lawrence, eating croissants for breakfast and drinking wine. Every night we enjoy a three course meal that her mother prepared while her father spins Serge Gainsbourg on the stereo.
Last night, moments before I fell asleep, I realized that back home we have it all wrong. We’re so used to living alone, living fast, spending our money on plastic instead of fresh-baked baguettes! Here in this little house in the suburbs of Montpellier, they’re doing it right. Is it foolish to think one could live like this everyday? Slowly enjoying the simple pleasures of life, a home cooked meal with good people and good music and good talk. Living with gratitude instead of need. If you’re going to do France, take my advice and do it like this:
find a french family and live with them forever.
Beziers —> August 28th
We drank chococo, ate mussels, walked across the Devil’s Bridge, danced tango at the museum and sang Daft Punk at 1am on the street with a bunch of kids after a party. Montpellier has been good to us but the journey must continue! I’m currently sitting on top of my duffle bag at the train station in Beziers, eating an eclair and waiting to be picked up by a band of friends, The Hot Blood Orkestar. Tonight is the last show of their month long Euro Tour. I think it’s going to be a crazy adventure. I have no idea where we’re going.
Somewhere near La Redorte —> August 29th
I am unaware of our exact location. Last night the band played a party on a canal with a bunch of sailors and cool people. We danced and then drove to a tiny old town about 30 minutes away and came upon a party in the square. An amazing DJ played all the classic hits with a little tropical and a little 80’s mixed in. We didn’t know anyone there but it didn’t matter. The violinist brought us here. He’s french and we trust him. We drank vin rouge, danced all night and left before the bar fight broke out. Around 4 am we walked to a patron’s house to jam songs and sing-a-long and at dawn we magically made it to an empty house with enough empty beds for us all. I have no idea who offered this lovely home for us to lay our heads and it doesn’t matter. I’m having the time of my life and I have no idea where we’re going next. For once I’m without a plan and it’s working out perfectly. Just go with it.
Cadaqués —> Sept 1st
We’ve crossed the border and we are now in Spain, the land of duende and toreros. We’re slowly making our way down Costa Brava and I feel like a Bond Girl. A cute hilltop town called Begur full of Catalonian spirit is our resting place. On our first night the sound of a Brazilian bateria led us and all the people through the windy streets to the town square for beer and fin de verano festivities. This little town is full of surprises and a perfect place to base yourself for exploring the area.
Today we hung out in the white fishing village of Cadaqués and visited the home of Salvador Dali. To see his house that he created with so much imagination and love with his wife Gala made me so happy. A reminder to not take it all so seriously. Have fun and create whatever you wish without fear or hesitation. I can’t explain this place. All I can say is that it feels amazing to be surrounded by the spirit of a great artist, enjoy a lunch of seafood tapas and sangria, bathe in the sun and swim in the sea. There are endless beaches in beautiful secret coves with castles and charm and for once, I get to lay on the beach like the boys do. Nipples are free.
Let’s never leave.
Barcelona —> September 4th
It’s golden and dirty here. I found some film for my polaroid and we’re walking all over this strange city. We’ve explored the Gaudi masterpieces, watched the skating in front of the contemporary art museum, eaten paella at midnight, enjoyed the live Flamenco at Cafe Royale and dodged the messy hoards of foreign students pouring out of the bars at 3am.. I prefer the beaches north and the feeling I had that summer just began. But I’m just whining over the end. The city is starting to fill me with inspiration and drive and I feel motivated to return home and continue creating the world I imagine with fresh baguettes and simple pleasures. I’m grateful for this time with friends exploring the coast from Montpellier to Barcelona. It’s been unreal and I know the fun doesn’t end here. Adventure is everywhere and every moment if you’re willing.
So, I open my heart to the future and the present glory. No goodbyes, only hellos.