i want a cat-couch
(Source: wh-isky, via velveteenunicorn)
"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, to discover what is already there."
- Henry Miller (via billowy)
(Source: biscodeja-vu, via kelsey-adrian)
just woke up from a really weird dream where i had a long conversation with a friend of mine who died earlier this year. the really fucked up part is that i am not really sure in the dream if she was alive or dead, because it was halloween. it was so good to get to see her and talk to her again, but i was so wrecked when i woke up because my first thought was that she really is gone, and dreams are fleeting
Get it Wednesday.
i totally understand, i wanted to be james brown when i was a little girl too.
summertime
(Source: silent-musings)
The summer is here with a vengeance, triple digits everyday. If the humidity was a little higher, it would feel like Louisiana did when I was little. It makes me think of the beach.
My mother loves the beach. I think it is the only place in the world that she is not worrying herself to death. When I was a very little girl, I would sometimes wake up in the bed in the back of this conversion van that she had in the late seventies. It was painted to look like the ocean, dark blues and the ocean floor, and had amazing array of 8 tracks in it (there was also another van in the early eighties in tones of taupe and brown) She would abruptly decide she wanted to go the beach. Any beach within a few hours drive was fine. All over Florida and Alabama. She would scoop me up out of my bed and put me in the back of the van, and head for the highway.
We lived in a multi-generational house where there were my grandparents and aunts and cousins everywhere in the house. My brother was so zoned out watching television, I think he barely noticed that me and my mother were gone. She didn’t bother to pack anything, there were towels and tanning oil in the van. She would just buy us some beach clothes and sandals from the vendors on the beach. We would eat seafood in these little shack restaurants. She has always been incredible at eating crab legs (a feat that I have never managed to master) We slept in the queen size fold down bed in the back of the van, with the doors open to the beach.
I cannot say how many times I went to sleep in my bed to wake up to the sunrise over the ocean framed by the backdoors of an ocean blue van. My mother would carry me on her back like a little monkey in a nightgown until she found a flipflop stand, so I wouldn’t burn my feet on the asphalt. I remember her being a whole different person when faced by the sea.
I think about it now and I think that it was probably very dangerous. To sneak off without telling anyone where you where going, because you didn’t know where you were going until you were halfway there. No cell phones, huge stretches of open southern roads in the middle of the night. Sleeping on the beach with a young child in the open like we did.
It was a different time, and later she told me that she didn’t think that I would remember any of it.
I realize that she did it because she couldn’t handle life with so many people in her face when she was missing her husband (as he was traveling all the time and then after he died) I think it was more an act of desperation than a holiday. I loved it that I was taken along when she didn’t take anyone else along with her.
She stopped right about the time I turned ten. I still think of it when I hear certain songs, or see the ocean.
My birthday this year was incredibly no-frills compared to last year. I couldn’t throw a party because I had to work. It was, however, pretty special. I was home sundaynightwashing/dyeingmyhair when deb calls me and tells me to open the front door because the boys are coming over. This could be any number of people. So i unlock the front door and get in the shower to get the dye out of my hair and to consequently turn the bathtub pink. They showed up while I was drying my hair so I didn’t hear them sneak in on me and the first person to walk through my door after midnight was Adam. It surprised the shit out of me, and I don’t even remember crossing the floor, I was just hugging him.
He and I have a lot of weird history. We haven’t spoken in five years. I wasn’t sure how I would react if I ever saw him again, But was fully prepared to never meet face to face again. I had a feeling we wouldn’t. He had moved across the country and was doing some rather crazy extreme things on snowboards and motorcycles. He’s already been to prison once, and has a habit of diving off the deep end of the wild side with fucking relish. He is my family, and I love him more than I can explain, because we have a really deep connection that is a lifelong one. He is my brother. I have two marks from his hands that will go with me to the grave. A tree and a snake. When I met him 13 years ago, I couldn’t stand him. He is the only apprentice to The Arts that I have ever taken. He was a natural witch (still is) that I was afraid would do too much damage unless he was educated. It seems like time in nature has tempered him into something even more elemental (which can be considered quite frightening under some conditions and incredibly beautiful under others) We stopped speaking under charged circumstances. I was not sure how I would greet him…. it didn’t take long to figure it out.
So behind him were Dugger and T, who are also my family that have moved away and come back. I had been hanging out with them the night before when I was at M’s birthday party. I felt like I was just enveloped in family. It made me really miss Heffe and Gabriel. Then Deb came home and Bee and Jason called to say that they were coming over and I had the sense to tell Jason to bring a guitar. They got on famously and we had ourselves a little ho-down. Played Pass the guitar for ages. It was so much fun to play and sing with him again. He used to call me and wake me up at three in the morning when he lived a few houses away on Evergreen, wake me up to tell me to bring my guitar to his house and play some songs with him. I was too wasted to be playing, but my voice was true enough.
He ended up crawling in my bed sometime around sunrise. He still growls a lot and roots around in the bed. I apparently still either sleep with one hand on his chest or neck, or hook his foot with mine. I remember when I started doing that ages ago. When we got up later I took some photos of him and he left to go back to Vicksburg, where he is working at WildmanPaul’s tattoo shop. It was so good to see him and just kinda bond for about 12 hours. I got a few really wonderful shots of his hands.
I feel like I am holding onto too much right now. Keeping too many secrets, and staying asleep too much. My dreams have been a total madhouse. Tonight I had to find myself on a tiny two lane highway. As long as I can remember, the only real sanctuary I have found is experienced behind the wheel of an moving automobile. In the past I have lied, and said that found it in the arms of a lover, or that i found it to occur while writing, but the gig is up…. sanctuary is being a moving target.
You have to have just the right music, ideally the windows are open and it is after midnight. I form my route via a system based on road condition, intuition, speed limits, proximity to water, probability of speed traps, level of “nowhere”-ness required, and air quality. There is a level of peace that you reach when you are hurtling through space at certain speeds. Ultimately you want to go somewhere with loads of trees and a likelihood that you will not see another soul on the road. Every now and again you find that you can do it with someone else there, but they are usually those types of folk that you can be around and feel alone (which if I have ever said this to you, it is a HUGE compliment)
Whatever has been sitting on your shoulders falls away under the influence of the covenant between you and the momentum that you are traveling with. Some people have religious experiences at church, I have them when I am operating a 3,000 lb. machine. The night streets are my cathedral.
I know that it’s been ages, but it seems like all I want to do anymore is take photographs. I don’t write nearly enough anymore. I feel like half of what is happening is nothing I will want to remember… the other half I want to remember in 12 megapixel detail. I still have mixed feelings about the digital medium, but it certainly has it’s advantages. Sometimes I wonder if so much instant gratification and unlimited “film to burn” is ruining my eye for things. I used to ache out shots before I would even begin shooting, but now I feel as though I am developing my skills as a quick-draw artist. I see something that makes me practically vibrate with need to capture it, and then I try to nonchalantly whip out my fuji and catch the moment before it’s gone. It certainly underlines the fleeting nature of the things that I find beautiful.
