disaster. 2010.

i had a slight disaster at my apartment today with part of the roof caving in in my art room. while i was moving things out of the room, i came across a cd case that once held the counting crows album "august and everything after". tabron burned me a copy and wrote this on the cd insert "3/20/01 *The Cellura Cessions (intentional alliteration) This cd is a manifestation of not only really good music, but an expression of how great i think you are. may the words on this cd find a place in your heart and may the musical notes resonate in your soul. i don't know, i'm not making much sense now and i need to do some more searching, but this album actually helped me. i don't know if you need to search for yourself like i do, but if you ever do make sure you find her - because yours is especially precious. - c-money."

9 years flies by.
this was something that i needed to find at this exact moment.

he and i haven't been the best at maintaining our friendship over the years (he's never met one of my boyfriends, nor i one of his girlfriends...and we seem to only reconnect after one of us experiences a break-up, go figure), but i suspect that that's going to change. because i want it to. and because we have this undeniable connection that surpasses most of my other friendly relationships. we are eerily similar, yet both complete independents. which is why i think that we mesh so well.

so. all of my artwork that i've done since high school (and is not hanging on the walls) was in a few portfolios that were up against the wall directly under the worst of the leaks. everything is ruined, along with skeins upon skeins of yarn. i had a mini-meltdown at first, but i have since composed myself to the point where i am inappropriately laughing at the situation. c'est la vie.

the strangest part is that just yesterday i began attacking the places in my apartment where i like to allow junk to pile up (ie: under the bathroom sink, kitchen junk draw, the hooks on the back of my bedroom door, baskets of junk, corners of junk, cabinets of junk.) and i was planning on getting to my art room tonight. instead, i came home on my lunchbreak to find water pouring out of 5 spots in the ceiling with pockets of water drooping down. meh. like i said. c'est la vie.

things can only get better from here. right?

say yes.

i am in love with

the smell of my sheets.
and
thursday night surprises.

1.5 donuts for breakfast.
and
a passenger seat full of powdered sugar.

mini pb & hc sandwiches.
on
wheat thins.

rambling energy.
and
uncontrollable sarcasm.
coping mechanisms for shock.
and
excitement.

the sound of the heat pouring through the baseboards
and
a snuggling puppy.

going into work an hour and a half late
and
laying in bed for as long as we can.


my favorite type of surprises
are
when they come from you.

a composer friend told me that the music in the song Bleeding Bells by Delta Spirit reminded him of me.

it made me cry.
for reasons neither here nor there.

i wanted to post a link, but all of the youtube videos are live renditions which are much different from the album version that he's talking about.

the album version has a folky pulsating drum beat and moments of beautiful horns.

give it a listen.

Morimoto
no shoes.
earth worms or black beans in my rice and yellowtail bowl prepared at the table.

obnoxious guy walks out on $1,000 tab.

visions of planes full of swimming fish. fresh from japan.

walking around. aimless. for hours.
west village.
w 4th. again and again.

and again.

cobblestone under wobbly feet. not mine.

washington square park.
different bench.
stone.
cold.
flanked by half decent wheelchair bound guitar and harmonica players...instead of crackheads.

151 rivington.
welcome to the johnsons.

2 cabs.
one with a fighting cabbie...talking to himself. throwing the middle finger at hoodlums passing by.
sleepy eyes.

a real feeling.
of beauty.

up all night.

perfect example of why my friends rule the goddamn world:

case one: they make me internet laugh. hard.

gchat between rick and myself:

weekend.

For age is opportunity no less

Than youth itself, though in another dress,

And as the evening twilight fades away

The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.


~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow