Smile :)

August 9, 2012 § 21 Comments

If you were green tea, I’d be your tea cup
If you were dark chocolate, I’d be the paper that wraps you up

If you were a train, I’d be your tracks
If you were a brain, I’d be the heart attached

(Smile. Your eyes sparkle when you do.)


August 8, 2012 § 21 Comments

[Happily broken] arms unlocked. Eyes wide open.
Eager. Torn apart. Heart explosive.
Fingers composing [Happily broken].
Come in, come in. I am ready. I am open.
happy to be open [Happily broken].

Seaside beach at Hualalai, Kona

“All forms of madness…

August 7, 2012 § 36 Comments

…bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.”
― Roman Payne,  Rooftop Soliloquy 

time zones

August 7, 2012 § 36 Comments

i liked how our suns came and went at mismatching times. i liked that while i was drinking morning coffee, he was sleeping effortlessly, dreaming soundly. I liked that our brains weren’t operating within the same ticks, our hearts weren’t breaking at the same settings of the sun, our eyes weren’t open in the same sentences.

I liked the distance, the thousands of miles, the time zone apart, the knowledge our lives were ticking at different intervals— it favored me, to know, he wouldn’t think of me, while i accidentally thought of him. God forbid we collide in that space of time where two experience the others presence…while their minds create the same thoughts at the same instant….. and they recognize they are not alone.

If that happened—that would be terrible. I could not handle his brains collide against my most prized organ, i did not want to be near his presence, or have him know i existed in any space where he was alive. I wanted to evaporate from his brain, i wanted to be exterminated from his heart. I wanted the time zone always. The thousands of miles forever. I always wanted to be awake while he was dreaming.

(heart-stabbing words—marching along, stepping right through the strongest barriers of my heart)

I did not hate him, I did not wish him pain or sadness, i simply wanted to be ignorant of his careless resemblance, to know that the honest significance of my name would never fall off his calloused lips…..pronounced on his sneering tongue.

But….if one of us had to possess our story, I would volunteer my capricious heart. I would hide each saluting souvenir within my most brilliant organ—IF that would suck my identity from his bloods cells, cut out my presence in his heart. I would take the responsibility, I would embrace the collapse of our tricksy desire.

To see him once more, have him look towards me with his embarrassed smiles, try to flirt…with pretend use of foreign languages that i unfortunately knew better than he….to have knowledge that he knew not who I was [anymore]. I would smile gaily back, and be happy, walking away with gratification, knowing our story had finally ended—happily.

“When someone is mean to me….

July 31, 2012 § 39 Comments

…I just make them a victim in my next book.”  ― Mary Higgins Clark

you, with all my love

July 24, 2012 § 29 Comments

You, with all my love, all the love I freely, so insanely gave you. Pretending you were well-built enough to hold it. Craving the collapses, the misrepresentations, the manipulations, the chaos, and the knowing you would never really care. It’s what I knew. And so I find you…. another. Another to throw into my trash can of inoperative hearts. And you fit right in with the rest of them, as if you were always meant for such shameful glory. You, with all my love, all the love I freely so insanely gave you.

except because I love you

July 23, 2012 § 24 Comments

“I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.” ― Pablo Neruda

you. YES YOU.

July 18, 2012 § 106 Comments

My french press looks awfully smug today. Queenly and defiant (like myself at times), I feel like she’s mocking me for giving into her toxic consumption yet another day. She see’s what’s happening– I haven’t paid her near the amount of attention that she requires in order to keep me happy. I fill her daily with the best smelling organic coffee beans a French Press of any real class could wish for….but the last few days I’ve left the coffee to grow cold and stagnant while I write ferociously unable to recognize real life, real people or my usual object friends that entertain me daily. She feels discarded, she’s achieving that prideful, uppity demeanor I can’t stand in her. I can’t blame her fully,  A) I’m moving, B) I’ve been stuck in my writers head for days now. It’s been terrible for she and I.

There’s nothing worse than writing. There’s nothing better than writing. It’s like the man you hate to love, love to hate and never really come to terms with any of the feelings. I don’t want to write anymore —->the terrible-ness about this false  and fleeting desire  is   that    I    can’t    stop.  Here I sit like a brainless robot writing the uncensored, chaotic-evil thoughts springing about in my temperamental female brain.

Writing is the only time I feel alive. It’s the only time I don’t have a life. I want to be the normal girl who goes to celebrations and enjoys the gossip, the duck clatter. I want to flirt without thinking about the boy as one of the characters who I will smoosh into my next novel….or think that I am dancing with the wrong boy, because that high-class-snobby-boy who’s kept to himself the whole evening, would suit my pages much much better. I do love people more than anything-but really, humans are so overwhelming. Maybe that’s why I write about them. Once  you   sentence   them   to   the  death-and  new  life  of the paper, you can truly (literally) read them, and they become much easier for my brain to understand.

My poor pretentious French Press. Oh how I DO love thee in all thy haughty mischievous glory. But you continue to  toxify my body, fogging my vibrant brain cells and making me forget about pure hydrating H2O.

This is not a post or a poem. What I actually wanted to say was this:

Your words, which YOU my new friends have written, have become like  the blood pumping through my lively heart.

Each word you have written   has  captured  and  moved   into a small space inside my heart—My heart,  which has started an explosion of  happiness.   I’m smiling now.   I’m grinning ear to ear.   Oh what was I thinking, maybe I do love to write.  Since I’ve been moving I have fallen behind on what I would like to say in response to each of you.

So this is for you…my new friends spreading the depths of so many different human beauties, worlds and cultures:

Today I am happy and bright. The sun in the sky is my might. Your words fill my heart to its fullest delight, and I am better than yesterday because of your words might. Yes, today I am very happy. Today I am very  bright. And these words are simple, but it’s the simplest things in life, that fill us with the most delight. Right? 🙂

CIAO for now my friends.

P.s. and if you are reading this from Lebanon, stop reading every post i write. i am a writer not an editor, and if you were here i would probably, very possibly hold you quite tight 😉

care to be friends? :)

July 16, 2012 § 19 Comments

Click me: ——> Coco J. Ginger

a broken heart….?

July 16, 2012 § 61 Comments

….brilliant really,  and beautiful.  In fact she was most beautiful, most alive when she opened herself up, when she allowed vulnerabilites, breakabilites, didn’t force control and demand the power. When she allowed the option of pain, of rejection, when she let loose, when she stopped focusing on her pride, her reputaion, and just totally fell. Yes it was a brilliant and beautiful feeling. There was a bit of pain, a tad of excruciating, unpredictable swings of sadness….but overall, it was pure luxury, pure excitement knowing one could feel so overwhelming, so captivated,  flipped inside-out, a childhood entranced sort of enchantment. You silly little people who stay all wrapped up in your non-heart breaks, so proud of your ability to hold control and not fall. THe falling is the best part. So you fall and you fall and you fall, and you refuse to become numb, and one day it’s just right, and your hands just fit right, like your lives fit right, and your sentences stand elegant side by side. And that’s it. Who doesn’t want their blood pumping, their minds racing, their common sense senses failing,  their realities exploding and crashing, the exotic crazy of not knowing what the other person is going to do, if they are going to love you back, or if they are going to just sit with you for awhile, get to know you, before walking away, before saying goodbye. Who doesn’t want to have their organs working in overdrive, their human real-people tears flowing, their feet tripping, their eyes widening, their mouths jaw-dropping, their lips numbing from the heightened senses of their imagination and hearts racing. Yes being in love, falling, breaking….it’s the most beautiful thing I ever felt. I’ll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and maybe even the next day, because this to me is LIVING. This to me is LIFE. This to me is the doing it afraid, the beginning to all my insane genius imaginations coming true. And that’s just me. Maybe it’s the Peter Pan in me, or maybe it’s the most beautiful thing that I have in me. Maybe it’s what keeps me always laughing, always dreaming, always dancing, always creating, always flying, always shining. Yes a broken heart is brilliant really. Brilliant and beautiful.

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