Archive for December, 2015

so long, marianne

December 31, 2015

vincevan (the good ole van van)

At Mount Baldy Lodge there’s an orange light falling on the brown and bright blue and the nutcracker men warming their tufts by the fire. Rosie orders a drink called Girl Scout Cookie which has peppermint schnapps and hot cocoa, I think. It is melancholy in California because the silence is chock-full (of nuts? –No. That was in my grandparents’ house, back when they had a house and watched the BBC with little saucers of salted pecans and cashews) of memories that make me wonder about what it means to be a child and go back to a childhood home. In highschool, I ate a lot of cheese bagels with cream cheese and drank a lot of smoothies and pressed my breasts together and put sparkle lotion on my shaved legs and yelled at boys from moving cars. Now, I drive my dad’s new automatic car down the mountain with tangerines rolling around the backseat. I didn’t think the orange 5pm light was special back when I lived here, but maybe I did. Though I was a distracted child,  I am a distracted adult now, too. Nature light distracts me. The West distracts me and this state reminds me to eat more medjool dates and rub my face against more carpets, lick the oil off my fingers. But they say bro here too much and there’s too much hair dye, the bad kind of orange. But the Girl Scouts are sweet.Asafo Flag - Fante People - Ghana, Post 1957 (an asafo flag from ghana, 1957)

homeward

December 20, 2015

jean cocteau (jean cocteau)Antiochus et Stratonice (détail), 1840, Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, 1840)

The lights are orange and the mountains are still purple and the strip malls still flicker bright white. The sky shows off in a garish way and Grandma is still confused.

There are red berries on the trees but my eyes are closed now because of the sun.

My dad’s bread is thick and they don’t have the things to put on toast in the house anymore because I’m not a kid.

The neighbor’s golden retriever died and now there’s a loud scraggle pup behind the gate.

The top of the Johnson’s pasture is just as beautiful as it ever was.

I can see the sea from up there. I don’t mind the brush and eucalyptus dust in my shoes and the tumble weed scraping my shin. I don’t mind because a native person never minded. I am a native person. I can eat the toast plain.

el niño

December 17, 2015

luigi ghirrii (luigi ghirri kodachroming)

el niño is reminding me that the planet is a volatile thing. but i’m benefitting from its instability, its inhales and exhales on the east coast. on monday, there was thick fog in the cemetery and we went to go coat our lungs with it. on tuesday, it was warm, and the fireplace casting shadows made us sweat. on wednesday, i wore a t-shirt while i looked up at the pulsing twinkle tree. on thursday, a brrr came in from one world trade and i shivered on the bridge. on friday, the tips of my ears were cold but the tips of my fingers were warm. on saturday, i dragged my foot through five inches of dead leaves. on sunday, i thanked the flannel god.

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December 2, 2015

Screen Shot 2015-12-01 at 11.02.35 AM (miles debas)

some people don’t like grapes,
or fruits with undesirable shapes,
apples or nanas that are over- or under-ripe,
or tropicalia that don’t match their body type.
but me, i don’t care about the color,
the size, or the softness of the fruit.
for me it is about how they make me toot:
will it sound like a flute or will it be mute?
the mystery is answered after the last bite
when i kick up my feet, and in silence i write.
max ernst (max ernst)Thomas_Danthony_Voyage_Midnight-bath2 (thomas danthony)