Saturday, August 22, 2015
Art & Fear
David Bayles & Ted Orland
When you come inside from dancing with the moon and making promises to her that you see the light she’s shedding and the path she’s illuminating just for you, your skin tingles with joy and recognition for the you she knows.
Your skin: The protector of your bones.
She is held together tight with a thousand promises just like the ones you made with your Moon Mother. And you can feel each one alive inside you, making their way down your veins to keep you warm.
You can’t live another way. You even feel tempted to shed the skin you’re in but she hugs your limbs in close and whispers, I’m Not Going Anywhere….I Still Know Your Insides.
If you don’t keep the dancing hot and perfect in your hair, and the pure boundless generosity you feel with every concentrated breath, then you might just live on in a different moment and you don’t blame yourself for that either.
Friday, August 21, 2015
Overheard at a bus stop
Biddy and me make a pact to bleed each other’s blood and wear each other’s smile. I want to marry Biddy so I can be around her all the time and let her light wash over me and catch me in all the right moments. Biddy plays the violin and when she does the whole world stops. I do all the humming and Biddy plays so I can feel. She tells me that I’m most me when I open my mouth and let my heart sing out. She tells me she can see me growing into the person who’s taking better care of me. She tells me I’m the kind of woman who becomes more beautiful with age and experience and confidence and time. It’s my idea to combine our life force and Biddy smiles with her whole face because she loves all of my grand ideas. She snips a lock of her strawberry blonde curls and wraps it around my finger to remind me that we’ve got each other’s soul close by.
Friday January 3, 2014
vintage shop on College
You think you’re so special in your minidress with the sparkly collar and the ruffled sleeves. It’s yellow. That colour hasn’t been in since the Jays won the World Series. I’m rewarding my outfit choice of smart, black, high-waisted pants and a teal turtleneck with chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. But that’s for later. Now, I shoot you smileglares with my eyes and smilesmiles with my lips. “So…” I say, breathing in your smell, “if the boys are at the hockey game, what does that mean we should get up to?” I immediately regret it. All of it. You have that sparkle in your eye that you used to get when we were kids. “I think we should go out on the town. I think we should go dancing!” You think dancing means smoking. I know you do. “I quit.” I say. “You quit dancing?” You sip your scotch. “No…” I laugh, because you got pizza sauce on your dress and you’ll most certainly have to change.