vanilla raindrops

email: noreia@planet-save.com.

This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, sometimes Steiermark, Austria, something bored teenagers say when they speak useless words into brick walls of cotton candy, English, German, Noreia,creative writing, fiction, reading, college student, strange, cat power, mogwai, arap strap, dresden dolls, white oleander, the earth, my butt, and other big, round things, welcome to the dollhouse, fuckers.

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by BodyPUNKS!

 

 

 

 

 

and through the open window,
i think that the singing went outside
and floated up to tell all the
stars not to hide
'cause by the time church let out
the sky was much clearer
and the moon was so beautiful
that the ocean held up a mirror
-- ani d.

i dreamt that we left her here, and i cried this morning. strange dreams, and they change the mood of the day, they underlie waking life. i was afraid today would be dry and the fear would be looming. but these phases creep out of nowhere now, faster than maybe ever, day by day it's so different. today is ani difranco, but in a different way than yesterday and the day before. today is this song, this vanilla-scented candle on its stand, this long rust-colored sweater and black boots i haven't worn in ages. i'm eating cherries because they're all i can think of to eat that doesn't make me sick. and i cried again at the beauty of this song.

i want to crawl into the softness of black tea with milk and cloves and vanilla and cinnamon and nutmeg, of this mellow guitar that says, "everything's going to be okay." the softness that reminds me of being fourteen and discovering the first hints of a spiritual life. living in that peace-state, where everyone was equal and worthy of love, where everything was beautiful, everyone was so sad but so full of worth and meaning. and it reminds me of later, the fall after graduation, riding in ian's car under orange and brown leaves speckled with sunlight. ani was then, too, and this sweater, and that field trip i "chaperoned" with the french club to see "the little prince," and white oleander and my hair like this. walking around in emeryville's plaza with katie and her unique, artsy friends, drinking iced mocha with whip, the giant borders bookstore. feeling like i was safe for the time being, that i had to deal with nothing but that beautiful autumn, going for walks down quiet windy streets with rachel.

"from the depth of the pacific to the height of everest

and still the world is smoother than a shiny ball-bearing

so i take a few steps back and put on a wider lens

and it changes your skin and your sex and what you're wearing

distance shows your silhouette to be

a lot like mine

like a sphere is a sphere and all that's here

has been here all the time . . ."

i don't like that tomorrow all this may be gone. this feeling, this smoothness and soft light. the cherries and everest and the coldness of this may morning, crisp and grey and wintry, the grey cat's purr. gone and replaced by something less beautiful, less comforting. i don't like that when it's gone, i may not miss it. i may not even want to think about it.

but for now i love the golden and brown, words on a coffee shop wall. pigeons and windy trees, the hint of sadness behind beauty and comfort in this song, which i just want to sink into and listen to over and over and over. don't take this away from me yet. i think i could be okay with everything if only this feeling would last.

from the height of the pacific to the depths of everest

from the height of the pacific to the depths of everest

 

 

 

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Posted by: noreia at 12:44 | link | comments (9) |

raw vanilla

i feel like my shoes are gigantic. but they are green.

the day is warm in that soft, relaxing kind of way that makes it feel like the very air is stroking you. i love the sound of the tree and the wind chimes. "looks like it's going to rain," says my dad. "but we can still leave the sprinkler on." i like the sound of things today; there is a quietness below everything. the refrigerator opening, water and dishes, a caged bird chirping, he clears his throat. eight-year-olds with squeaky voices shout out in the warm grey leafy wind day. a motorcycle hums and my feet feel comfortable in these green vans, even though i keep looking in the mirror every five minutes to see if they really make my feet look as huge as i thought the last time i looked in the mirror. vicodin makes things nice and soft. but today everything's nice and soft without it. i'd like to discover a great local band and listen to them. a lot.

i like the taste of raw vanilla.

Posted by: noreia at 16:12 | link | comments (6) |

i have a frantically loving cat on my lap, a tweaker cat who chases invisible things and who will stay in whatever position you put her.  i am going to let her type here.

          ,......

\ioodem,k

 

so that's what she has to say.  hmm, i think she's trying to make out with me.  got to go clean cat drool off my neck . . .

Posted by: noreia at 12:00 | link | comments |

i got this from slyeye's blog:

1.Go into your archives.
2.Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3.Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4.Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

i went to my first blog, and strangely, the 23rd post was the last one. it had five "sentences" (or fragments) including the title, and the fifth one was a link to my new blog. weird. so i did it with my newer blog and the 23rd post only had two sentences. (second sentence: "the 7-eleven guy always grins at us now when we come in almost every evening for our faux-seafood dinner.") so i counted three more sentences into the next post. it was, "and she was always just laughing at me when i did crazy things like playing catch with ian with an imaginary ball, or singing veggietales songs at the top of my lungs."

comment and leave your sentence.

Posted by: noreia at 12:20 | link | comments (3) |

uninvited

"R" of my april 25 post is having a baby shower and i am uninvited. three letters and it's all over. oh well.

five days ago. it was a warm evening. i was in the house when my mother said, "j*****'s here."

my reaction: "what?" i looked out the window and sure enough, there he was, casually leaning against a big brown car (he has a car now?) and talking to my sister. i am not ready for this, i thought, and i ran in the bathroom.

after a few minutes of staring at myself in the mirror, wondering why my heart was beating like a bass drum and trying to stop the shaking of my hands, my mom knocked on the door. "you have a visitor."

and so it came about. he decided to drop back into my life. and not even a week later, in my cell phone's "missed calls" list, his name is displayed five times. he showed up at my house when i was at church. i went out with him friday night -- driving over dark streets, red and green traffic lights, over bridges, sneakers squeaking on polished floors of a mall. rambling about random things, laughter. "i'm sorry," he said. "i did it for you," he said. "if i would have known about the cancer, i would have been there for you."

yes, but i didn't need you to be there for me, j. i know a love that you've probably never tasted, i know the meaning of the word trust.

and it's strange now, riding with one leg propped up on the red-orange flame-painted passenger seat that won't sit up straight, looking at him through different eyes. eyes that have sucked in the air of two wonderful and desperate years. eyes that have seen my hands claw at dry earth, that have seen the look of lovelight reflected in another pair of eyes. i have cat power, i'm thinking as i watch his dog lick his face. (i'm not a dog person and you don't even know.)

not long ago, spike took me to her willow tree down by the bridge. its hanging leaves shade a picnic table. she said she used to go there and smoke and look at the beautiful tree. when we got there, we saw that someone had strung nets across the tree's lower branches, carved graffitti into the table. the tree was sad, i felt it. i should have removed the nets. trees cannot be chained.

he told me how pagan spirituality changed his life. "how?" i asked, because we'd talked about it years ago, and i never understood his vague descriptions. "well, i used to just run around and destroy things and not give a fuck," he said. "now i appreciate nature and life. i see that things are beautiful."

not ten minutes later he was telling me how they netted the tree. "did you see that tree?" he smiled. "that was me and my friends. it used to have a lot more nets but they fell down." i'm nodding and nodding, and feeling slightly sorry for him because he has no idea how much that is not impressing me right now.

yeah, i'll hang out with you, dude. i was over you, i am over you now. i don't know what you want or why you're doing this, but i don't much care anymore. i spent a lot of time trying to figure you out two years ago, but it almost smiles me now to think of how beautifully things have worked out.

i think i'll go untie that tree sometime.

thoughts he never saw, from october 22.

Posted by: noreia at 11:26 | link | comments (1) |