Paris, Day One // 5.10.18

Tuesday, June 5, 2018


Day One.
Arrive, gawk.
Join the masses.
See, walk, buy.
Eat. Drink.
Dream.


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I'd Like To Be In Paris

Saturday, June 2, 2018

I'd like to be in Paris. I am a different person there. My insides do not shake. My body does not weigh a thousand pounds more than it should. In Paris, there is a world of investigation and exploration and new, brand new. Cafes and boulevards and huge, sacred monuments to forces we humans could not ever hope to understand. When I stepped into the Notre Dame I thought that maybe I would not step out. I thought that maybe a force would take over and make it so that none of us ever left. I did, though. We did. I walked out and all the way down to the Louvre and back again. I would like to walk the Louvre a hundred million times and maybe then the lump in my throat would dissolve. Maybe I could hold my thoughts still. Did you know there are love poems etched into stone that are a hundred hundred hundred years old? I've seen them. I don't think I saw anything more beautiful. Not the buildings, not the paintings, not the bread through the windows or the dogs or the Seine. We saw ancient sculptures and famous brushstrokes and hallowed halls, and I think the ceiling of that staircase was the most beautiful thing I saw. Maybe that I have ever seen. 
Can you imagine a love like that? A love that requires tons of limestone, riddles and symbols, royal force to create decades of proof? 
A love that lasts? 
I don't think I've thought of anything else since.




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Sugar Honey Baby

Tuesday, February 27, 2018



Yesterday, as the clouds blew across the sky and the sidewalk cracks told time, I wrote a story in my head. It matches the bruises on my thighs and the crack in my forehead. 

Something inside of me has been uneven lately. Tilted. The sun helps, but I'm still not sure how swallowing a capsule can provide the same result. 

Do you need sugar pills to feel happy?

I think we all take a sugar pill of some kind. They get us through the day when the day's obligations are too much of what we do not want and not enough of what we need.

That is nothing new. 

Force down whatever acrid brine or compacted concoction you need to fuel you and your body. What is the difference, I wonder. Are you not your body? I once read a book where a supermodel and a normal human girl were in a freak accident and the normal human's brain got transplanted into the supermodel's body. The girl was amazed that her new body actually craved vegetables.


I saw an Arizona license plate yesterday. My license plate says Kansas. Isn't that strange? I think I would like to have no license plate, no $900 piece of metal that ties me anywhere. 

Today when I sat down in the sunny corner of the library, the man next to me told his headphones, "I'll just find a seat next to the bathroom so I can puke whenever I need to." Is it terminal? Self-inflicted? Apparently one in four people get cancer in their lifetime, if they're lucky. If they aren't, they'll get it twice. Or something else along with it. My mom tells us at Thanksgiving that she is ready to die. Just know, she says, I'm okay with it. She is healthy. She eats pizza and chocolate if she wants to. She does not understand the need to stretch a life longer than it should be.

I am trying very hard to not let things like shelves or bar stools or rugs or linen shorts determine how I feel or who I am. I am trying to let experiences like Marlon William's voice and the sun's rays and the wind in the trees and chicken teriyaki stir fry at 10:00 pm determine how I feel and who I am.




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Colors and Quiet Coves

Monday, November 27, 2017


Normally not the biggest fan of the desert landscape at home, but these colors and quiet coves were oh so lovely.



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