surprising

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I don’t know yet what I don’t know, but I do know this: Everyone ever will always surprise you eventually.

It won’t happen at every turn, and it won’t always happen when you least expect it. Sometimes it will be completely out of the blue, sometimes it will confirm a lingering suspicion, but this premonition won’t make your surprise any less, well, surprising.

As humans, we like to put people into neat little boxes. He’s a “bro.” She is “good.” He’s an artist, so he will never be truly emotionally available; She never met her father, so she will always feel damaged. We put people in boxes, on shelves, in tidy compartments with classifications and we predict their futures by reading into their pasts. But the catastrophe of shock is certain, because there is no instruction manual for the human existence.

I’ve spent the past 4 years contemplating the existence of a higher power, but regardless of this inconclusive search, it seems that each life is composed of a series of decisions. Whether these decisions lead to actions that “happen for a reason” or are completely random becomes irrelevant to this conversation, because it does not change the sole thesis that: Everyone ever will always surprise you eventually. And this includes you.

Often times our most surprising selves surface in the wake of shock caused by someone close to us. A person we think we know sets off a surprise chain with some “uncharacteristic” behavior and our reaction, our series of decisions in the cold, unrelenting wake of this surprise, can set a self-surprise into motion.

Of course, surprise doesn’t always come in the form of an action. Sometimes it comes early on, while semi-strangers are becoming friends. The casual reveal of an unexpected detail- something outside their tidy personality box- comes forward and scrambles our premature judgement. The classification conundrum.

In any and every case, though, people are surprising. And even in knowing this, you will be surprised. And that, my friends, is a beautiful promise.

pleased to meet you

 

Whats your name summer girl?
Will you stay until September comes?
And takes it’s sun from your blonde hair

Whose your type summer girl?
Who’ll hold you tight till the fall comes?
And your life takes you away

I remember seeing you
Before the summer sun touched your pale skin
And now you’re golden
And sitting round the fire with my friends

What’s your name summer girl?
Will you stay until September comes?
And your life takes you away

Whose your type summer girl?
Who’ll hold you tight till the fall comes?
And takes it’s sun from your blonde hair

All the lonely winter days

Crust and brake around like autumn waves
And Massachusetts Bays
And get cast out to sea and gone for good

Who’s your love?
Where will you go when September comes?
And brings your body back to him

Walk with me summer girl
Walk with me till the sun comes
And takes the night, our world, away

Summer Girl, Family of The Year

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i just may

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standing at a precipice

the edge knows me too well

from one chasm to another

to Purgatory, I once fell

but in this jump I find Paradise

tip-toeing across subway grates

it’s impossible to know

at the bottom, what awaits

looking out on rocky cliffs

toes poised, hands ready

I’m the girl who’s always prepared

her heartbeat calm and steady

flitting from one branch to the next

keeping butterflies at bay

now feels like the right time to dive

and I think I just May.

to whom it may concern

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looking for advice?

please, let me advise.

might I suggest

you prioritize?

or better yet,

just reorganize

your values

your thoughts

your should

and should not’s

your stomach

“in knots”

your “can you please stop?” ‘s

now I’m changing the locks

and cutting mine, too

and all that was once so precious to you

it’s no longer yours

so when your heart pours

do not open my doors

do not beg on my floors

don’t show your heart’s halves

cleaved to have-not’s from have’s

you know, some scars surface

and some stay inside

but next time yours itches

remember, I tried

now leave me my pride

I’m changing the tide

not one tear left to cry

so hear this now:

goodbye.

rebirth

IMG_9221.JPGBeen a while since I felt this way about someone,
I’d really really like to know you, more,
Oh oh, know you, more

Oh, your eyes, they sing a song to me,
I’d really really like to go to it, oh, go, oh

And I will oh, open my heart
And I will oh, only for you

Only For You, Heartless Bastards

The reckoning.

A recognizing.

Recommended reintroducing.

A reentering of soul into changing body.

Changing mind, painting face.

Saving grace.

Erasing all trace.

Finding power in this space.

Hello, nice to meet you.

It’s me, we’ve met before.

But now I’m something more.

It’s hard to ignore.

The newness in us, myself and me.

Blooming into being.

Fruitful and all-seeing.

As we walk side by insides,

Rooted, yet free.

-12:14 on a Wednesday, Me, as a personal baptism begins

 

 

puddles of petals

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dripping red bikes so “JUMP”
so I do
into puddles of petals
blasting off nature’s confetti
and reigniting the celebration

I May march through a thin veil of rain
coat open it’s coating me
a darker shade of green
with every step

bloom, branch, blossom
exploding trees, creaky knees
reintroducing the birds to the bees
the green to the leaves
the warmth to the breeze
the you’s to the me’s…

pigs and figs

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3 pigs, 2 weekends, 6 sold out shows! Another successful chatterBOX in the trenches…

Time to reflect on curly tails and tiny blooms, as it’s starting to feel like Spring in Providence. And just in time…boy, does the universe have a way of serving what you need when you need it. Like that one reassuring saying goes, “you are never given a challenge that you are not ready and prepared to use for your own growth and evolution,” or something like that.

Speaking of timely quotes, after our “Mirrors” program, I stole away to Miami with B and read Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” in 3 days. I just couldn’t put the morose story down, Plath’s quiet cries seemed to cut through the thick South Beach air, past the sunshine and right down into my emo-loving soul. One passage stood out enough for me to copy down into my journal:

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

How tragically beautiful is that?