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.
Too long has gone by blog tribe. I wish I had better excuses for my gone-ness. The only excuse I really have is… secrets.
I’ve been crazy busy. Job applying, city running, puppy playing. I’m edgy and excited over where I’ll end up when the next job arrives. Also, I think about my book until it keeps me up at night.
The environment around me remains stunning. I’ve experienced autumn at least three times, traveling up and down the north-east coast. I have had a record period of silence and thoughtfulness.
When every layer of requirement peels away, go here, do this, apply for that, pay us… it usually comes back to book. Book and blah-g actually. Since recording just over five years of existence around here – I’m compelled to clean it in an enriching way that somehow expresses the creative contribution I endeavor to make to Earth, while I’m here.
It feels odd not having a day job. I stay busy and fluttering, awake at 5.30 every morning and what not. It’s just refreshing to experience another style of life for a minute – until I embrace everything changing again.
The concert in my living room for this weekend is still in effect for this Saturday, November 22nd. I’ve been lucid dreaming quite a bit and thinking thoughts of warm places.
I hope you are all well and bathing in light.
After my most recent break-up, matched with the whole “job… yeah, I’ll need one of those… eventually…” I woke up a bit meh. I fired up my Instagram with my morning coffee to learn that I was tagged in a #screenshot game – which essentially means screenshot whatever your home screen is and post it.
My screenshot, of course, is Fronkles and Peanut. The real magic in all of this, however, is while I’m sharing my picture with my Insta-mates, for the first time since I rescued him after losing Henry – Peanut and Fronkles played! It’s been somewhat heartbreaking watching each one try to play with the other for over a year with this odd chemistry of “wait, whose in charge? hold on… where’s my brother? you won’t hurt me… right?”
There is no better way to start my day. The two of them dancing around in a sea of growls erased whatever stress I woke up scowling.
Sad, right? I literally woke up scowling…
However! I am determined to utilized my NYC time effectively during another limbo era. After consulting with some inner circle affiliates, we’ve decided to use the bottom of my piggy bank to print my poems and ransack the city with them.
This plan took shape as I sat hunched over my laptop during country escapades and a friend of mine flipped though one of the poetry volumes and gently stated, “Like, I know you’re all into your novel right now. But, you’ve got a lot of time off for a minute… and you’re like, in Times Square. I think should just print single poems and poem-bomb the city with your shit.”
So! Today I shall put together a few pages which I will print off at the printing store and spin all over town with. No clue what the results will be… but we’re soon to find out!
Ok. So now that I’ve sort of slept and somehow made it to Saturday. I totally need to talk more about when I met Allen Stone. Completely extra-post worthy.
Allen Stone is a peaceful love creature who hails from Washington State. He glows all sorts of violet and gold and he is a humble, wonderful light.
As part of my magic special ticket, I was given a signed EP and Q&A session with Allen. Who I think might go by Al, I’m not sure. First there was a photo op. Myself and about eleven others shivered in excitment for our turn to be silly with Mr. Stone in a photo that each of us will likely keep forever.
What was super beautiful about the experience meeting him, besides his genuine wonderfulness, was how moved everyone there meeting him has been by his music. It was super obvious. I think as an Artist, there’s really nothing more humbling or great to that. Allen seemed to feel the same way. It beamed from him, actually.
Someone asked him about his writing process, and if he ever gets stuck in a certain mood or overwhelmed by a specific emotion. That’s when he mentioned writing Circle, which I’ve had on repeat for over 24 hours at this stage. He said that day he wrote it, he was in complete silence all day. And he referenced some of the lyrics. I quoted them the other day and they’ve been stuck to me since.
It was such an honor to meet not only an incredible musician, but a fucking brilliant writer. Essentially, he’s the perfect expression of an Artist. I realize from his perspective there’s probably something slightly creepy about someone paying fifty bucks to ask you a question and take a photo… but he didn’t show that at all. He was an amazing host of hugs and love.
I look forward to the next time and place I catch up with him again…
direction (of diving)
patterns of vision. luster combustion.
this light. off of him. onto him. this
pace slowing head turning stop
where you realize that the two of you
did not cease. running. i escaped
and he turned. i stopped. and i never
pause to stand in one place. i keep
the pull of the moon and sun’s heat
in the palms of my hands. he felt hot
to me. like something individual to fit
a space unknown as vacant. heart