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!

 

it came almost as if in answer to my last post.  this unreal weekend, this crazy parade of beautiful people, of fire and smoke and yodeling and vodka, holding her hand and being led through pulsating bodies.  exploring the city like a tourist, skipping arm in arm.  crepes and sushi, stilts and machetes.  stretching and doing a hip hop dance on a hill under a sunset.  the ferrets.  lucy the dog dolled up in pink, ready to do ballet.  eros jumping into bushes.  the unbelievably frequent bouts of laughter.  a night shivering in a van full of mardi gras beads and mirrors, a night in a house on the edge of the woods.  pancakes and hummus.  wine and poi. 

i want to remember every moment, to take them all with me as i go out in my two-sizes-too-big boots and stomp around a cold campus, lost in the violent piano/singing of dresden dolls.  i want to hold on to the way i felt normal, calm, at home.  for once not out of place, not black and white in a world of orange, for once not listening to my inner monologue and wishing someone else could hear.  i want the warmth of wine too early in the morning, of bonfires and people pressing in on all sides.  that playful look she had as she pulled me along, eyes gleaming, a suppressed grin.  the talk of hypnosis and God and death and what it means to be alive, what it should mean, of so many foreign places, of sword swallowers and clowns. 

i want to laugh in astonishment at the randomly beautiful sequence of it all.

but i'm home again.  and i must go to school, and go to work.  and try not to let the cold sink in, try not to get lost in the background murmur of voices, in the reading of theories and stacking of CDs.  i am me, and i'm pretty fucking happy about that.  and for three days, i was me with someone who made me feel most like me, most alive and laughing, on fire.

maybe i'll paint my face for school tomorrow.  maybe i'll ask richard if he wants to hang out sometime.  maybe i'll sing, scream at the top of my lungs, burst into flames, dance violently.  maybe i'll fly.

Posted by: noreia at 22:50 | link | comments |