I Spent A Summer Wasting.

I have left my sunny homeland of California, and the nice kids in Berkeley, and now find myself in bloody gorgeous Scotland, my ancestral homeland. Hmmmmm. There is much excitement. However, the summer I just bid farewell too was beautiful, and deserves some note. So I wrote an ode to it, and the blue house I love so well.

A lil sketch of the place, pre succulent garden. 

Summer in the Blue House: Pt. 2

We all wake parched in separate rooms

To city summer gray

Begging to be burned off by August

We wander through halls

Down stairs and stairs

To meet in the morning-light and make sense of where the weekend went.

We share the front stoop with passersby

And innumerable jars of forgotten tea

Left to steep all summer

In sun, cigarettes and whispers

Privy to afternoon gossip

And late nights that spilled out the door and into the street.

We are laughing on a hill

As dusk approaches

Bellies full of wine, drunk on a view of the city

There is music in the dry grass

And wisps of smoke in our eyes

As the fog rolls in over rooftops and bright lights.

We are together for a brimming moment

Sunburnt days, and nights we danced over worn floorboards.

Now we will fold summer between our embraces

Tuck it into bed as our breathing slows

Let it fade as photos will

To subside finally and ever so gently into Fall and memory.

And now a fitting song from my favorite Glaswegian musical bunch! And another fitting song from Beirut of whom I am also quite fond. 

The Room Where Summer Passes.

Well I have been doing a lot more of nothing lately. I started this:

Based on this photo:

From this groovy ad campaign featured here.

And then I drafted this:

At The Close

The sister leaves on the train

As afternoon fog crests the hills

I think of you

Buried in the years now termed “ago”

I buried you again

By a river in Russia

And sat on the bridge

To mourn

Oh, but all this I have forgotten

I do not think of it

On the way home

Or falling to sleep

In the room where summer passes

All the while listening to this:

and this:

and never ever doing my homework. 

If I Wasn't Such A Zero.

I do things. I swear. But not enough. Embarrassing.......

A sketch of a silly feline I did for a friend's tattoo. Meh-eow.
Oh. This is a real good song. The video is horrible, don't watch it. Just listen.

Cutting and Pasting.

Art class is paying off. Here is a poem I wrote with the help of a newspaper. The assignment was to use words from the paper but we couldn't use anything shorter than 3 words, which was challenging and yielded really interesting results. The articles I was given to cut from were about a San Francisco politician, and a musician. Here on the blog I color coded the lines from the 2 different articles, and spaced them so you can see how they were composed from the clippings. In the manner of Graham Foust, I call the poem:


Poem With Help

God's name saved me. 
I was still singing, 
mentally ill, and widespread with 
much of my childhood    amended to death. 

I remember one.
He was high on mescaline. 
He was telling me to   secretly fret about
mystics whose poetry   was worthless, useless. 

So horribly he laughs. 
Its only June but it won't be
sorrow that would lead   him in the last.
That's his Achilles' heel. 

I was not   even remotely the worst offender,
should leave alone 
nakedness that is   in the vault for summer. 
He was always getting us to   craft a polite aura. 

He struggled for years   up in New York City. 
He realizes that   I don't have any memory of it. 

Another photo from Andrea Laszlo Konrath. It is currently my desktop. I think it's inspiring me.

The Bedroom Wall.

Well well well. I finished this up months ago, tacked it up on my wall and never took a completed photo. HERE IT IS! Please try to contain yourselves. I know it may be difficult.

Just used a little watercolor, some ball point pen (which made a glare in this photo), a bit of ink. Anyway, I liked it enough to put it on my wall which is a first. Also check this out: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. It's my sister's. She is neat. Yep yep yep.

Ink.

Making up for lost time. This is a piece I drew two or more years ago as a Christmas present. Strangely enough I am still fairly pleased with it.

It was inspired by Aubrey Beardsley, tattoo art, auto painting, and who knows what else was floating around in my subconscious. Also here's one of the sexiest songs ever. I like it. Lots.

Falling Off.

So it appears I have fallen off of the bandwagon. I am struggling to get back on. Hopefully summer and my art class will help me along. In the meantime a little story-poem I wrote up a while ago. It needs more editing, as does everything I write, so I will put it up anyway.

A photo I took of a dear, lovely friend. She is blowing out a match, not smoking. I think she looks like a platinum ghost. 

Night Ghosts

While I waited across campus

For you and your three stripe sneakers

I saw two shimmering platinum ghosts

Umbrellaed by purple lantern light

They spoke in a soft hiss

With teeth of glass

And breath of smoke

I was hushed and still

But my bones trembled

They heard the trembling

And merged with shadows

Thrown on the damp asphalt

By swaying eucalyptus