Namaste blog tribe
You know, I remember starting this page with a broken heart and lack of a prayer on getting to New York City. Then I got here in a volcanic blast of emotion and life adjustment after spending ten years in another country. THEN I lost my job, I guess that was the official point of: alright, no more tears over exes… no more taking for granted how hard I work… onto the next one. Continue reading
Namaste tribe collective
Yesterday was another day of #poembomb ing the city. Such a small gesture is ideally turning heads to a few fresh wonders like, “poetry! i should go write some…”; “innovation! are they allowed to hang that there?; or “ha! look at these silly artists… they’re always up to something…”
Needless to say, this harmless emotion emulsion has been cheering me up for days in ways I haven’t felt for a few months. So that’s quite wonderful.
We’ll probably #poembomb some of the eastside today. Shout out if you see us! I’m hoping to see #poembomb s pop up everywhere eventually. Worldwide, naturally. Intergalacticly, perhaps.
I’m stoked to have an interview for a potential Writer gig today. Since stepping into this “in between jobs” period, I’ve mainly been finishing my novel, getting all the fresh air my lungs can contain, and starting a writing agency on the side – in between #poembomb ing. It’s been a broke, albeit fruitful five weeks.
New York City is oozing Christmas and everything smells like pine. The tree is lit, the ice skaters are out, and from what I hear – snow is coming next week.
I’ve been quite enjoying stepping back and forth between Connecticut and New York City these past few weeks. To me, it’s the most beautiful part of the States – the diversity of the country’s rolling hills with one of this planet’s cultural centers a train-ride away.
As much as I am Ugh about winter, being locked inside with words and hot coffee for a while doesn’t sound too bad.
Like I say every day, things could always be worse.
It’s pushing 1am blog tribe. Allen Stone rocked my world inside out and upside down.
The first time I heard his music I felt like we would meet. And then when I found out that I used to sit next to his girlfriend’s brother’s girl at my last job in Australia… I mean, come ON.
I put on tasseled cowboy boots and my Allen Stone t-shirt earlier and clicked my heels over to Terminal 5. This is where I had the complete pleasure of meeting the fine gentleman that is Allen Stone. He is exactly the way that he seems to be, a glowing, art-soul whose beam alone lights up a room. Once he starts to sing? Forget it.
I was so excited, I was literally shaking. Allen Stone’s music has been important and special to me since I first discovered him by accident over the summer. It’s not too often I can listen to lyrics. He’s such a beautiful Writer, his words are a pleasure.
So I thought it would be super cool if I brought my book for him to hold in a photo, that in itself made my month. But when we hugged goodbye and he said, “Can I keep this?” I felt like I got electrocuted – but in a super-good, amazing way.
Definitely a night I’ll remember for lifetimes. Meeting him was certainly de ja vu. Maybe one day I’ll catch up with him and his pretty lady down under.
Inside of this circle, there are no corners to hide. Every line I follow leads me back inside. Gravity pulls me from the center, every time.
Namaste blog tribe
Most of our loyal cult affiliates are aware that my birthday never goes for only one day. It usually ebbs and flows for a week-ish and I spend the month of September shouting out the whole being born concept. I’ve always just felt if there’s one thing to celebrate, it’s your birthday.
Meanwhile, I’ve developed this affinity for bottle popping. You see, if you’re a feisty female ready to go out whenever, New York City club promoters take notice. That said, I’ve recently surrounded myself with a handful of Manhattan’s finest hailing from Italy to Brooklyn and a few spots in between.
There’s something enthralling about your phone sporadically igniting seven days a week with messages like, “Le Souk tonight? 11pm walk in. Bottles all night.” Such messages are often accompanied by a secret password you tell the doorman to skip the line and walk right inside.
It’s a bit pimped, really. Continue reading
It occured to me this morning that last Monday, which was Labor Day here in the States, was my three year anniversary of being back.
In the past three years, aside from all the junky things that occurred in the midst of a nervous breakdown that my ex-husband packaged up for me on the way out the door; some of my most favorite things also happened.
I landed a perfect job as Writer Extraordinare; I managed to swing my own one bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen with two furry creatures; I’m halfway through “the” novel which will be the strongest I’ve done to date; and I have written some of the best poetry I’ve done, which will have it’s own “lost words” special edition coming after Novel is complete. Oh, and also, someone appeared in my life a few weeks ago, seemingly the most legit spirit I’ve seen.
It’s been a hell of a three years. Continue reading