at home.
I feel at home
in the mist of this city.
It calms me -
a lavender tea
on a foggy day.
I breathe in the beat
of feet before
and behind me.
And I find me.
And I find me.
“She smells him behind the ears, where he smells like sweet unwashed new potatoes. This is in fact what I think God may smell like, a young child’s slightly dirty neck.”
Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
A message from a broken hiding place.
My story is not held within you.
It lives not
In that box
You constructed
with Man’s hands.
It breathes in the lungs of me.
Speaks with the tongue of me,
And sees far
Beneath
And above
The rub you have
With the Truth.
Honestly, it’s a good sign
That you find me bitter.
That a palate like yours
Cannot stand the taste
The dust of my humanity
Leaves behind.
That a Pharisee
Would find the Him in me
Too raw -
Too vulgar -
Too far gone
Because I am.
And I am
Too strong.
I am too strong
in my weakness
For the meekness
Of you stamp out
That power
Because sometimes
Only a flower like me
Could mature a seed
In this waterless ground.
*Life is icky.
It’s messy and wrong
And I never claimed to be the Divine.
But I am proud to be It’s broken hiding place.
Regrets: Dave Matthews Band
“I had to learn that life was not going to be filling if I tried to scrunch myself into somebody else’s idea of me, i.e., someone sophisticated enough to prefer dark chocolate. I like milk chocolate, like M&M’s: So sue me.”
Anne Lamott
Abby’s Joke of the Day: Dear Moms.
I love moms that take pics of prepackaged baby food, disposable diapers or formula and then immediately explain that this is an exception - that aren’t usually so lazy and cruel to their children and the environment. Thanks for the confidence boost, Ladies. I’d say more but I got to go let off 100 latex balloons near a duck pond and stop recycling.
Sincerely - Little Miss Lazy n’ Cruel
KONY 2012 (by invisiblechildreninc)
The Artist’s Michel Hazanavicius
Thoughts on film. This rocked my world.
SAVE THE DATES!
Upcoming shows including my very first stand up competition, “The Gauntlet!”
“When I am working on a book or story I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There is no one to disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and warm as you write… You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and you know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. You have started at six in the morning, say, and may go on until noon or be through before that. When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling, as when you have made love to someone you love. Nothing can hurt you, nothing can happen, nothing means anything until the next day when you do it again. It is the wait until the next day that is hard to get through.”
Ernest Hemingway
