vanilla raindrops

email: noreia@planet-save.com.

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body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by BodyPUNKS!

 

from my journal, march 23 04, late afternoon.

Golden light and shadows. Cool wind paint my skin, surround me. Water drips from a hanging spider plant in slow motion, sometimes straight to the ground, other times splattering against a leaf, broken in all directions.

If I could change anything about myself right now, maybe I'd give myself Chan's voice.

Today we let a gopher go in a field near a lake. There were some boys there, tall, thin, muscular teenagers in cut-off shirt sleeves and baseball hats. They talked as they walked away, carrying their fishing poles, and I said, It's crazy to see that here, so close to the city. I thought it existed only in my dad's stories of childhood summers -- fishing, sandlot baseball, kick the can.

Tomorrow my uncle arrives and I think I'm not letting myself feel anything about that. He -- browns and greys and jeans, aftershave and coffee, mischievous humor, laugh, laugh, music. Guitar. Quick and agile, fingers on strings. I watched him play when I was fifteen, and everything me cried out, That's what I want. That music, that music, my heart. That fall I picked up a guitar.

The wind bites colder, fading golden sun.

In a moment of compassion I reached to pet the dog and she was surprisingly soft and smooth. Her deep brown eyes searched mine with such longing; that's all she wanted, just to be touched. I know that, I know. Your touch is my lifeblood. Your touch is my warmth.

"It's cold out here, huh?" I say to the hybrid-shepherd, and Chan wails and sings like I wish I could. "I want to have sex with his voice," he said. Hmm.

I shake this wobbly chair to the beat, then I shake my head, fast, waving, hair slapping my cheeks. If I ever really danced, it would be nonsense. It would be for no one, just the music. I've done it at times, but never completely, for fear of hitting something. Give me a padded room of music, I will shake turn stomp, my limbs traveling long distances with each beat of the universe. It will be like my flying dreams. Let me dance in skies over fields of grain, under purple sunsets, in warm rain. I will be free.

Yeah, drink the music, let it be your flight.

Posted by: noreia at 01:36 | link | comments (2) |