vesper's escape

When Life Was Good

I'm gonna be in this.  And I did this for that.  My third one now.  I promise not to delete it, as long as the dudes promise not to be fucking creeps. 

Grow Your Hair

image of John and Yoko from The Earl Cram Revue.

I am currently in the middle of watching *The U.S. vs. John Lennon* on DocuDig.  Join me in watching it.  It's good for your soul.

B the boy (my six-year-old son) is watching it with me, and he has had some wonderful, grown-up-type (aware-child) questions about the Vietnam war, the protestors, John and Yoko.  "How can the cops be bad guys???" 

B quote of the Day: "John Lennon, without the glasses, looks like Jesus."

Toxic Thanatos

smoke image by Kerry Loewen.

even though you can't handle one more intoxicant
your body cackles
you say you are a poison(ed) clown
toxic self
toxic bubbles up
gurgles where you left your last breath
suspended over the nose
where you can't retrieve it.

a crown of smoke adorns your head
and all hail
all hail
the toxic one.
you can pull them up
you can pull them in
21st century allergic curses
bless and destroy.

your toxic enraptures.

And the Nights Are Long

I wouldn't take anything away.  I wouldn't change a thing.  It is happening and that's all there'll ever be.  Drink (to) the now. 

My weakest part is my left little finger, and also the part that dwells, deals in things that aren't there.

A poet nearby once said that the body is the soul.  Words collapse into each other, as do particles, as do soul-bodies in the night.  And lonely blooms into glee. 

Sweet Sweet Darkness mmmm

image from Texas Startup.

A poem sent to me by a loved-one.  Most appropriate timing.  Synchronicities unite.

You must learn one thing.
    The world was made
            to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness
     and the sweet confinement
of your aloneness
            to learn
     anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
    is too small for you.

-David Whyte, *Sweet Darkness*

***

Thoughts on a Rainforest Monsoon-type Day, North Vancouver, the fifth month of the two-thousand-and-seventh imposter year:

Wanderlust is always timely for the wandering kind. 

Sharp knives are always hilarious to those with sharpness in their eyes.  Like likens to like. 

The red belt comes off at dawn, to rest these boxed-in hips, these boxed-in eyes. 

Eyes on repeat.  Open them.  Open, open your eyes.  This is your reason for being.

"Pretty boys with skinny ties" make me think of women and hard kisses.  You don't care what she pushes you up against, just as long as it's done.  And quickly.

I hope I live to walk on the moon.

My Theme Song, Bloody Motherfucking Asshole

image of Martha Wainwright from yesEvil.

I love the Wainwrights -- Martha and Rufus.  Both extremely talented, and currently I've got Martha in my ears, particularly the song, *Bloody Motherfucking Asshole.*  You might laugh at the title, but it's a serious, hard, heartbreaking song.  It's raw, and real, and honest as hell, and it's been on repeat on my itunes.  If you were wondering, I really fucking love music.     

Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
And I'm young and I'm strong
But I feel old and tired
Overfired

And I've been poked and stoked
It's all smoke, there's no more fire
Only desire
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are

You say my time here has been some sort of joke
That I've been messing around
Some sort of incubating period
For when I really come around
I'm cracking up
And you have no idea

No idea how it feels to be on your own
In your own home
With the fucking phone
And the mother of gloom
In your bedroom
Standing over your head
With her hand in your head
With her hand in your head

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right for you
When all I wanted was to be good
To do everything in truth
To do everything in truth

Oh, I wish, I wish, I wish I was born a man
So I could learn how to stand up for myself
Like those guys with guitars
I've been watching in bars
Who've been stamping their feet to a different beat
To a different beat
To a different beat

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile [...]

[....]

-Martha Wainwright, *Bloody Motherfucking Asshole*

Every line in this song hits me hard and means something deep to me.  I have never wanted to be a man, I have never wished I was born a man, but I understand deeply the momentary utterance of such a statement, of wanting to be taken seriously, to be seen as an independent and strong individual in my own right.  I've understood deeply the fire that evolves after years of being treated like I'm supposed to manifest at all times the sweet, happy girl, the one that must be sugar and spice and dreams and goodness and all light and laughter at all times, at all hours.  Fuck that and fuck the idea.  I've gotten in shit for having "a mouth" -- for speaking my mind, for saying shit, bad words, for being gritty, for being honest, for being unexpected as a "young girl".  It's supposed to be all peace and prostration?  Fuck that.  Fuck, fuck that.  We do much wrong in our pursuit of ideals and roles and expectations (roles/expectations of gender, of sex, of age, and on and on)...I've seen this painfully, first-hand, gouged into my senses over and over again, until I learn to respect the things I've ignored.  The real things, the beauty of suchness.  The dog-eared ideals are no good for me now.  No good for this world, if real change is to be made.       

Vesper Acts

Me and best friend and the orb.  Redux. 

I have an agent!!!  I made my decision....a boutique agency with a small, specialized roster.  Fun fun times to follow.    

Be Still and Know: It's a Relatively Young Galaxy

image from Smoke the Pain Away.

Short post before I flounce myself around the city, selling my soul to the devil (i.e. acting agents). 

I might open my blog again (un-password protect it).....it's in the mind, but not a reality yet.  Well if it's already in the mind, doesn't that make it a reality?  It's got lots of potential, anyway.  Kinetic energy (I remember thinking of potential poems when I studied kinetic energy in science classes...which is why I'm NOT a scientist).  The legal troubles are passing quite nicely and more quickly than expected.  And by passing, I mean fading away.  The only reason I would leave it password-protected is because I really do enjoy the intimacy that we have here, illusory or not.  But I often feel cruel that others cannot access this blog, that they click on my name in comments on other blogs and get the "ACCESS DENIED" message, which is never pleasant, is it?  I don't fucking know.  I'll wait and think about it.

***

Is anyone familiar with the band, *Young Galaxy?*  I recently downloaded them, but wasn't crazy about their music at first go, and now I find myself listening to them quite often.  They are akin to a sleepy *Arcade Fire,* if you're familiar with them.  I would say a bit like *The Shins* as well, but less jittery, and more drawn out guitars.  I'm trying to think who else they're like....they use that reverb-y guitar sound that is wonderful when one smokes pot.  An objective observance.  Merely.

image from Galaxy Photography.

***

Happy May!!!!  Remember, Norwegian Independence Day (Syttende Mai) is on May 17th.  Start preparing NOW!  ;)  Dig out those Norwegian flags and start eating some lefse for crying out loud.