I’m thinking on the humdrum of it all…
There’s a song that blew my socks off a few years ago; where suddenly the world contracted into a small butterball in my hand.
The stark realization that we’re all connected, in some way or another.
The song is Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen.
A music video by Baz Luhrmann, one of my all-time filmmaker heroes.
The lyrics are taken from a famous essay — written by Mary Schmich, my yoga teacher and a columnist for the Chicago Tribune.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind
the kind that blindsides you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
Continue reading “tuesday and butterballs”
I love you oceans.
She says, not just to me.
It’s hard to hear from her.
It’s like the sting from rubbing alcohol.
Why didn’t I matter?
No return phone call.
The worst punishment.
Punishable by death.
And I’m in the chair.
Talented, skinny, sexy, confident, fun, adventurous, a killer IG account.
I know, superficial, but JesusChrist does that count in my brain.
Pride envelopes me.
Fuck you, on heated lips, on repeat.
Thick black ash in my heart.
Those things work.
Don’t be a child.
I mean it!
What is this, medieval times?
More like blessings beyond reach, an avalanche.
I wish you,
Cuz you’re fuckin’ talented and I love you.
I love you.
The day has come.
My man returns.
Like a marathoner, I have ripped through the silk ribbon finale.
Ok, now give me my medallion.
The fear of going at this kid alone.
The fear of having to entertain, maintain, and remain a diligent parent –
The fear of him take, take, taking from me –
It lives larger in my head.
When are you gonna realize, he’s a good boy.
A kind, generous, loving, boy.
No high maintenance here.
And yet, I keep thinking he’ll take, take, take from me.
Continue reading “take take take”
FADE IN: girl on the phone, fidgeting with her hair.
Everyone is outta whack right now.
Like, weird phone calls coming in, wrong emails going out. It’s a THANG. You heard about the eclipsed full moon chaos, yeah?
It’s just chaos right now – kids acting outta whack, drama all up and down, mind racing – it’s very eclipsy. You know?
Continue reading “beep bop boop”
Feel from the inside, she tells me.
It may mean breathing differently.
Close the door from the world and give it a few seconds longer to “log in”.
Stop from feeling through the mind, that doesn’t work.
Feel from the inside.
The guts, your innards.
She’s leaving me.
I definitely feel that.
The heart aches, the mind ever-so proud, the revenge pulsates.
But what for? And who cares?
Nothing changes what’s to come, she’s leaving me.
Stop being so dramatic.
Continue reading “a solid goodbye”
I can hear my heart beating.
I can hear myself laughing at his jokes.
I can smell the curly fries from Jack in the Box as we walk to my house
I can feel our hands shaking, as if we were very nervous.
Oh, wait… we are.
It’s the first time he’s coming over for dinner with my family.
I open the gate to my house, slowly and lead him in.
As I slam the gate, leaves fall down from the tree as if like snow; but sadly, it doesn’t snow in LA.
We stop and turn to each other when we arrive at the door.
I can hear my breathing.
I can feel him shaking.
I look into his eyes and say to him, “Ready?”
From where we’re standing I can hear them laughing from the other side of the door.
I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine.
I pen the door, as I walk in first.
I smell the sweet apples that are in the basket beside the entrance.
And it started with a “hello.”
First Meet by Angela Hernandez from Before There Were Bars, POPS The Club
FADE IN: a car, 2 friends peeling mandarins:
“I mean, now what? We just go back to farts and Trader Joes?”
She looks at me expecting an answer.
Farts and Trader Joes…yeah, that seems about right. You spend enough time with someone, sure, that’s what happens. I don’t say that, instead I nod.
She scoffs and looks away.
“It’s not fair,” she says quietly.
She’s so pretty when she’s mad/frustrated/sad/resentful/vulnerable.
When she’s human.
Continue reading “farts + trader joes”