Jean Cocteau

Poets don't draw.
They unravel their handwriting
and then tie it up again, but differently.
-- Jean Cocteau

An excerpt from

 Preamble 

(A Rough Draft For An Ars Poetica)
by Jean Cocteau

...For the explosive word
falls harmlessly
eternal through
the compact generations
and except for you
nothing
denotates
its sweet-scented dynamite
Greetings
I discard eloquence
the empty sail
and the swollen sail
which cause the ship
to lose her course
My ink nicks
and there
and there
and there
and
there
sleeps
deep poetry...

today's thought

snow days should be built into all occupational benefits packages (not just for schools). yes, just like sick days, personal days and vacation days, there should be adult snow days. my reasoning: (1) travelling to work may cause harm to employees, (2) employees become less productive when weather is inclement (as they are only thinking about how they'd rather be at home) = loss of money, and (3) because who couldn't use a random mid-week break or maybe even a bonus long weekend?
and what is it about schools? so schools have kids, so what. is that the only difference? is it the waiting at the school bus in snot freezing cold that allows for a school day? my snot can freeze wiping off my car. i'm fragile too. my hands and feet are always freezing; cold weather just doesn't do my body good. but really, is it just those school bus kids that get everyone else a day of pj wearing, old movie watching, good book reading fun? no, i'm not bitter, not at all. i mean they get holidays off, sometimes weeks at a time, and the whole summer off, why not snow days too?!
okay so yes, yes it's snowing and yes i'm thinking about how i'd rather be at home. hmmm.

i miss the days of snow dances and school closings. maybe i should become a teacher.

Build a Fire

It’s January and it’s nippy
The icy wind slaps me, open handed
Cherry cheeks revealed
Extra layers turn my gait clumsy
No warmth can be felt from within
I want to build...
Fingers numb, toes tingle
Blood runs red to blue
My voice fragile, cracks a hello
I want to build...
Icicles hang in exclamation points
Windows webbed with frost
Steam spills over a ceramic lip; taunting the outdoor air
I want to build a fire
Hand cut wood
Day old newsprint
One strike to ignite…
An inner warmth forms
An outer glow flickers
Skin glistens with a fiery hue
Limbs free from the labor of bulk
Body washed with a smoky scent
Cleansed from floral fragrance, striped of conformity
Unified with originality

I built a fire...
and felt the warmth from within.

"Acid Tongue"--Jenny Lewis

"We built ourselves a fire..."

cheery commute

Florescent sunrise,
hanging like a fuzzy peach,
rises a smile.

And that's how I began my day. For once, the digital temp. display that glares at me each morning began with a "2": a positive sign that the day wouldn't turn out as frigorific as those before it. With my fingerless gloves--which have taken on the moniker "wrist warmers" by some--I made my way to work. I was comfortable, at ease and much more alert this morning. I found my eyes being a bit more liberal, a nice change from the eyes-to-the-pavement morning commute approach. Maybe because I was actually running on time, maybe it's the switch from coffee to green tea or maybe just because it's Friday, who knows the reason, but it was there and it made for a pleasant drive. And whether it was the break in the cool temps or the fact that I was looking up rather than down, I'm not sure, but I experienced a blazing sunrise. It was a fuzzy orange and pink glow, and all I could think of was the Glo-Butterfly I had as a child; I suppose I was feeling that good. A glance above revealed a feathered, aerial tango in the morning sky. To the left, a girl passed, a half eaten apple in her hand, a smile on her face and body who's ears had been hit with an upbeat rhythm. All of it, made me smile.

As I reflect on this changed a.m. experience I have to wonder, is everyone feeling a bit more gleeful? Have we all been injected with a little hope? Could one man be all that it takes to shift a country's state of mind? It's a lot to ask, but even if it's provided the catalyst for people to take a moment to stop and think about their lives, what they're doing with it, where they've taken it and what, big or small, could they be doing to make it and the world a better place, that's a pretty outstanding step. We know his approval rating is above 70 percent, a rarity no doubt. But I don't believe we'll ever really be able to quantify all that the inauguration of President Obama has done in the minds of those in the U.S. of A. It will be an ongoing measure, one that the test of time will put its mark on. Yet in the here and now, one thing is quite certain, whether it's viewed as a change that will evoke profound actions and results or not, it's change: one that shifts the idea of change as something to fear to the back and shimmies the idea of change as a silver lining forward.

I sort of miss that little thing.

riding the wave of change.

Come on, everybody's doing it. Big names like Ben & Jerry and Pepsi are doing it, why not IKEA too? IKEA, the Swedish retailer of funky, functional home products has decided to embrace change. And they have done so visually, with a replica of the Oval Office, IKEA style, for all to see in the Main Hall of Union Station in Washington, D.C.

The New & Improved...

vs.

The Old & Drab

I'm a fan of change. Most of the time, change is hard. People don't like their organized and scheduled-to-the-minute lives to be swiped up and shaken around. But you know what, everyone can use a little change. So what if your shaken up pieces settle back down in a different order or in a different place. Maybe you'll be all the better for it. Switch things around and break out of habit. See the world in a different light. It's good for the soul. It releases the days from fast forward and allows them to play out, scene by scene, as they should.

Craving a little change yourself? Can't wait until Tuesday for it? Get your fill here by creating your very own alternative Oval Office with IKEA's interactive site. You can even send your design directly to the White House. Pretty rad right? I'm going to go put me up some bunk beds in that oval joint. Peace.

furr + fantastic = furrtastic

In a perfect world there would be 1.) Furr by Blitzen Trapper and 2.) Stop-motion animation. What, what did you say Baxter, Blitzen Trapper did a stop-motion animation music video of Furr? Oh Baxter, "You're so wise. You're like a miniature Buddha, covered in hair." (Forgive me, I've been on this Anchorman quoting kick--yikes!)

Check out the masterpiece below. Who knew my Tuesday would turn out furrtastic?

My Map: From There to Here.

The following was based on a true story and was one conscious stream of thought.

10:10 a.m. November 3, 1980. Swaddled in green. A little lady in ruffles and curls. A blooming jock grass stained in pigtails. “Mommy will you play Barbies with me?” “Jess let’s play catch.” Lanky. Matchbox cars wind through the dirt. A unicorn silk-screened shirt. Sneakers laced; capture the flag beneath a full moon. T-ball, soccer--biddy basketball and a bum pinkie for life--jazz, gymnastics. Awkward. Piano, clarinet. How do you know unless you try? Short stories. Yes. Drawing. Yes. Goofing off. Always. Feathered bangs, scrunchies and Keds. Braces and backpacks. Shy. Windy road ahead. Bump. Set. Spike. I made my own paper with a homemade screen sieve. Perm, Express jeans and the opposite sex. “Only girlie girls use hairspray.” A leather mitt, cleats and practice. Game. Practice. Game. Is it summer yet? Musty and damp, a dome tent shelter. I hooked a fish in the eye. Success is had—the perfect stick is found. S’mores. Years of lessons to ensure I won’t drown. “But the water is freezing!” This is getting old. Doggy paddle, crawl either way I’ll stay afloat. I saw a kid at school with facial hair. “Stay away from dirtballs.” Does this road have a shortcut? Please. “Where were you in middle school?” A straight new smile. MVP. On the diamond in Canada. On the court at Penn State. My first beer by a bonfire. Boyfriend. Makeup. Perfume. 6 months. First broken heart. School, camps, travel teams--my life becomes a constant schedule of events. SPAC ticket stubs. Highlights. Homecoming court. Varsity jacket. Bitchy girls. Mean People Suck. Best friends. A wasted “I love you” or two. Empire State Games. Those three words finally stuck. Who do I want to be? Where do I want to go? Shuffle off to Buffalo! Shared space and bathroom caddies. A BFF made. Preseason, postseason, 6 a.m. practices. Home. Away. Home. Bus rolls in at 1 a.m. Coffee. The meaning of an all-nighter discovered. Study dates. Burnt toast. My first attempt at meatloaf. Keg beer. Movie dates. Pearl Jam and Mike’s hard lemonade. House parties and 21-year-old Canadians. Vegetarian? In love. Out of love. In love. Out of love. A never ending cycle. Lose the map. No give it back. Where did this map come from anyway? Whoever made it, I hate them now. Maybe I’ll thank them later. Cap and gown. Love blossoms from paper and ink. The “real world” is found. My new roomies: Lara from Brazil, Leticia from Spain. And two from France make five. I always wanted an accent. The new becomes old. The old becomes new. Load it up; pack it in, head on out. Take a new look at an old place. Pull the perfect shot. Make a mean froth. Did you know a soy steamer and caramel syrup tastes like pancake batter? AMVETS. Nose piercing. A career in advertising? What about the road of education? Admissions Counselor. I like Maine. I like New England. I like the East Coast. I don’t like Texas. Grad school and a new title: Assistant Director. Publications and the Web. Something up my alley. Ahhh Denver, mountains. What no water? “Will you make me the happiest man ever and be my wife?” SOLD. San Francisco. Hello Redwoods. Sacramento. Oh how I love CA. Brown and slate blue. Green hydrangeas. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. Until death do us part. I do. Napa Valley. Lake Tahoe. Share a bottle of red, share an entire lifetime. Onto Personal Fulfillment Rd. Copywriter. A snapshot here. A good book there. Girl’s trip! I dig the West Coast. Writing. Listening. Running. Crafting. Laughing. Crying. Smiling. Eat, work sleep and repeat. Am I lost? Lost: Unable to find one's way. Nope. Not lost. I’m just making my way…to here.

a papercut i'd like to have...

Rob Ryan is a British illustrator who, after fancying a change in 2002, began cutting paper as an art form. His creations can take him anywhere from "one to 200 hours" to complete. Recently this bloke opened his own shop: Ryantown. The shop, located in East London, sells everyday things like ceramic tiles and pillowcases all given a second life by jazzing them up with his own creative design. From CD packaging to a papercut dress for British Vogue, this dude is a cut above them all (hehe).

Bells Park

Birm Museum

This seriously may be one of the sweetest things I've ever seen. xo

Music Tears

This speaks to the music-obsessed bone in my body.

Nest-screenprint
The way our environment is breaking down around us, I'm not so sure.

Pants
One word: UNDERPANTS!
(I'm such a child.)

Papercut Dress
This totally beats any paper snowflake I ever made in grad school.

http://www.misterrob.co.uk/

goldfish

start your day off right...

beyond the surface

A tin roof: rains musical companion.

It’s pitted, rusty surface, masked by a wintry sheen.

The still of the night shakes with a round of warm-up pings.

Puffs, the color of despair, purge themselves of the millions

of raindrops that once made them bloat.

The thrashing of the wind, the rattling of storm shutters;

together it creates a polyphony no man could ever perform.

What was once shaken, now acclimates to the world outside.

What was once a disturbance, now soothes with its sound solace.

Like most things in life we become attracted to that which disrupts our being, moving us in a way we never thought possible.

Just as the rain drops that stir in the night, those things too fade away into a void of resonance so dark it stings to listen for any drip of residue.

Baring battle scars of the changing seasons; the slanted surface patiently awaits another night.

A night where the sky will open and give to it everything that once made it whole.

A night to once again compose a symphony no man could ever write.