la blogotheque creates beauty.

everything i have seen on la blogotheque has been beautiful.
putting artists out in the streets of countries like brazil, france, and spain just creates that raw breathtaking sound that envelops la blogotheque's takeaway shows.
case in point:
johnny flynn.
absolutely stunning.

Johnny Flynn - The Wrote and the Writ // A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

my gonzo

merde.

there they stand; ignorant to their own menacing nature.
engaged in seemingly mindless chatter while their body language speaks a different story.
arms akimbo. toes tapping. eyes wander to trees, clocks, anywhere but straight ahead.
the present is not sufficient as they look toward some more enticing future encounter.
i see them in their little friend circle.
you know it.
the circle people seem to automatically, perhaps magnetically, create. as if it is biologically required for survival.
seeing it i steer clear. i forgo the judgement circle for a friendlier shape.

life's (NOT) a journey.

if i hear the words "just a small town girl" blare out of another cell phone, radio, tv, or computer, I may lose it.

enough with the journey. its just enough. stop believing. thanks.

splice

splice: obsolete Dutch "splissen" - to split, separate.

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what is the catalyst of separation?
are we a species akin to loss, to brutal separations?
does it perhaps start at birth, with the notorious cutting of the cord?
is that why we cut the rest of our cords?
relationships gone sour.
marriages crumble until all that is left are those irreconcilable differences.
friendships run off the rails.
spli.ced.

why does it scare us to delve into deeper conversation than the occasional, "how's it going?"

because it does.

we all fear being exposed for who we are. or who we aren't.
perhaps exposure begets loss. separation. the chance of being spliced.

drizzle

the past few days have been filled with the sound of rain on the windowpane. there really isn't much that can compare with that sound. the seasons are changing and the rains are beginning. i couldn't be happier about it. opening doors and feeling the rush of cold air across your face. zipping up jackets and putting on hats. gloves, mittens, and hot chocolate. reading a book by the fireside with a myriad of blankets. the smell of apple cider wafting through the air. the end of sandals and the beginning of boots. the end of the beach novel and the beginning of something russian. dark mornings and dark evenings. pumpkins, turkeys, and christmas trees. being warm inside and watching the snow gently blanket the world outside. all of this begins with the rain i hear now. blissful.

Old....

Like the dawning of a day once past
Your spirit is deeply rooted within me
Although it may seem a far too distant lingering
I suppose it is best to live in the present
Though all my passion for life and love is so far behind me
A wanderer could pass by these thoughs and never once blink
While another, not so uncommon, could dwell here an eternity
The wanderer, perhaps, stumbles upon the truth.
If only for an instant.

(8th grade) - The Wanderer.