irony to the third power

how can the son of an english teacher/school board commissioner not be able to spell, at all?

why do the things that make the least sense, feel most right?
(and the chuck taylor of that)

why is it the guy who is perfect for a friend chasing me around the mulberry bush? i hope that i can get his bird circling her bush before he tries to pick a berry from mine. it's gonna be sooooo awkward.

want to

so the guy who bought our bottle of wine at the bar last night has the song "want to" by sugarland, on his MYSPACE page.

get ready to be entertained.

yin and yang

i have come to a clear handle on this concept in one respect:

attachment is the expansive to the contractive uncreative.
detachment is the contractive to the expansive creative.

i like being attached.
i like being creative.
i have never brought the two together.

ho hum. what comes to us is not to be understood, but merely accepted.

not that my g.i. tract is paying any attention to my belief system.
my body is a stupid little vehicle. in its pheromonic and recently discordant symphony, it has neglected to note the harmony in my brain.

virginia woolf

she had been promised a soft pretzel when she was 8. he had made the promise of refined grain and rock salt in an attempt to shut her up on the way to the smithsonian. this ran her mind as she lit the cigarette in the parking lot of the drug store.

as she drove down the pike, she thought of that lie and the others she had been told. barbie trucks, mocking birds, nicotine. all of these promises worked in her like the buckwheat that was not digesting from dinner.

she promised her stomach that the feeling would go away, that all things came and went. and in the doubling over, in the roll of her gut, she saw the pretzel. it was twisted like the promises that she had made to herself: the lies that are the most truth within us.

see me, feel me, blah blah blah

on the drive into work this morning, i noticed that the row of shops in my neighborhood was recently repainted... vibrant punches of color in the mids of my urban hood. and, there are white lights on the trees that stand on the riverfront when i pass into downtown. they were beautiful and probably there since thanksgiving. and the street lights go off right after 7am. who knew?

wonder what the hell else i haven't been seeing lately... besides the mice that have taken over my kitchen.

animal fat

breathing is salvation. the idea that no matter what, involuntarily air moves through me regardless of any burden, thought, or drop in the stomach.

i just moves.
through.
in and out.
it's nice in a way.

the only time it causes me anxiety is when i'm in yoga and realize how aware of it i can become in a moment and how easily i forget it when i leave a certain space.

like most things in life.
how our understanding of something is ever present, but not oft noticed.

tonight i noticed.
and what my breath brought was animal fat and the belief that as long as i love what i can, say what i feel, and appreciate my moments.
nothing.
else.
matters.