grey sea salt.

compression. dark cold days give rise to calorie hoarding, thinkdreamed hours trying to intuit the infantike exchages that sum up my life.

waiting still for my prince to come home.

engrossed in parallel sleep training universes.

the murky twilight stroll, the bath in a fall pool, leaves blocking my view of the surface. light beams dancing on my face. some blinding me, others giving me hope.

angel eyes following me everywhere i go. toddering now.

breathholding, then deep breathing, then belly laughing, then quiet again.

slipslide waiting room.

immortality training.

i hung out with estranged friend W. today. he gives me bizarre hope for humanity. tells me unbelievable stories.

i love it when people make me want to believe in what they’re saying. movies have that magic too. we want so badly for it to be real because it answers to some deep need in us.

sometimes this culting of a movie turns kitch, and then is when people become ridiculous. and even more loveable. we all need to dress up as our favorite characters, and we have no outlet for this adult play acting in our society. witness the dude lebowski conventions. Trekkies.

totems served this purpose tribally. a man became an eagle, a bear. their spirits inhabited the men. these animals Were the characters in the primitive mise en scene.

so i’m still holding out on my owllady. she falls casually and silently above me, the trees posts in her mysterious vigilance.

being followed, the hook of a thousand storylines.

now as i muse on what part of my life is tellable, it seems obvious that the best idea is the lovestory. i need to become my own owllady, swoop between the whispery pages of my memory, pick out the extremest moments, thread them together to create a tale that justifies your attention.

at first i balked, my hand stayed by fear of narssicisim.

soon enough i realized that a story is a story. as soon as i “fictionalize” myself that self immediately becomes someone else. any presented self is an other.

it just comes down to telling an absorbing tale.

this is possible, no?

Asi mi vida es una fuga y todo lo pierdo y todo es del olvido, o del otro.

-No sé cuál de los dos escribe esta página.

so i live as a fugitive and i lose all and all is forgotten, or becomes the other’s. 

- i don’t know who of the two writes this page.

(borges, trans. mine)

visitor.

if she had an archetype it was the visitor. early orphanage made her this way, she thinks. cut off from patrimony, lost her closest patriarch.

this slows her down in ways that have been inconvenient, but rich with human factor.

i found it great when call girl, diaries of came out recently. google her. turns out she’s like a cancer scientist, wo.

it made me realize, congeal, the idea- when brave women must sacrifice for success, they lift the degradation to a holy crusade, escaping mostly unscathed from the slummin adventure. this is the story we want to read.

call me puss n boots, oh facebook.

changing the subject, i wish we were hanging out instead of me writing this blog to you, but i must admit i do feel you are there, so maybe we are hanging out, in the ghosttimes.

i laid in bed last night and felt alone, and then remembered how many times i’d said, i’m jealous of girls who are alone.

life is serving me and i am attending the banquet.

i look out the blackwidow into the night and see the opposite window’s occupant doing the same. an odd taste of camaraderie here in metropolis.

on the eve of my daughter’s first birthday i feel i am the one struck with apotheosis.

vibrating, searching for poise.

thanking universe for this new person in my life.

 

the butalizee.

children, aah. things run together. the shadowy routine of naptimes, peas and pasta and scrambled eggs, of bleating in the night, of the overwhelming feeling she gives me of containing the whole world in my chest.

i feel the death of the momentum of the trip i was on to get here, a soft and accommodating place to land, to regroup, to be just ok for a bit and not experiencing the fight flight hormonal surges.

it makes for a different kind of writing and i come to grips with that. i am in memory land. all the buildings hosting ghosts of my shadow.

someone has offered to submit my film treatment to a major hollyword producer: an in.  it’s a long shot even assuming this person is not bullshitting me. ok, i think: even if he is i should still ride some of that fluttery what if excitement to formulate a treatment. if it turns out to be a purely artistic exercise, so be it.

i’m thinking: use this blog as a chopshop. raw material for something that falls into the basic three act plotline.

p.s.

i force you to look at this.

http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?ref=vl_other_2&listing_id=18337018

i think it rather compares as conceptual advance of Assemblage as per the late artist norman hasselreiis. see post

http://leahla.wordpress.com/2009/08/20/headbanger-baby/

http://nbhasselriis.com/

buenas noches, luna

not monkeys.

flashback from this summer.

it was all filled with organic vegetables and yellow fields and green creek water in my memory. i leave versions of myself in each milieu.

now it is cold with winds here in seattle. nights come quick on the backs of days spent wandering my city and watching noa baby teeter on her first whole year.  she’s morphing more a bit each day into a sweet and sassy and charming little kid.  yesterday in an attempt to stall her crying in the grocery store i presented her with a shiny tiara packed in plastic. her crying breath faded and on the inhale she sighed in rapture. it was cute.

walking is happening this week, i wish you could see it. she holds her hands up in the air and kind of does the wave/forward moonwalk.  drunk sailorlike. all the hours of lost sleep are repaid in these instants.

life is beautiful and bittersweet. the advantage of spending lots of time in a place: it fills up with memories, and wandering around a girl can fall into reveries of lives and loves past. doing this with noa brings this wavering to a new level, like dreaming about a dream, or remembering the future. i spent time pondering her, and myself as a mother, while roving these sidewalks 10 years ago. now i have an answer to these questions wrapped up in fleece, strapped to my belly, giggling as i growl into her neck.

Samhain

” you subject me to this indignity and my only consolation is cheerios?  this is an outrage!  quit holding out on me….hand over the kitkats now!”

the next morning baby got her revenge.

we found both her and 2 year old L. gloating quietly in a sea of chocolate wrappers and cat food, both deliriously sucking on lollipops.

halloween has become my favorite holiday. after putting babies to bed S. and i joined the frenzied masses on the streets of belltown. first we attended a burlesque show at the pink door (youtube search luminous pariah, so talented, so hot). after one more drink (ok, two) we walked home on first ave weaving our way through the beautiful public spectacle. in front of hulahula we come upon a fight scene unfolding its climax: big boy in a superhero costume gets punched in the jaw by a much littler caveman and topples to the pavement.

i seized upon the coincidental purchase of a striped shirt to become marcel marceau this year. if any character suits me it’s the dramatic clown.

i want kumquats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the funniest thing i have ever seen

give looking at this 4 minutes of your precious time (not being facetious).

read the captions.

i laughed like a religious experience.

http://www.regretsy.com

totem.

for years i’ve been mystified in the search for my totem animal.

i think i found it tonight, a night i feel will go down in my personal history as revelatory.

here she is.

so yeah, today i was pushing the stroller down the street and realized that this is the beginning of not only a new chapter, but maybe like

part two: picking a place.

exciting. the steps are coming into view.

faith is knowing you can rewind through your dream to see the path toward it.

http://www.symbolic-meanings.com/2007/08/14/owl-symbolism-deeper-meaning-of-owl/