There is such a thing as too much.

Finally, I stood up and taking off my earrings, stumbled into bed. Curling into a ball, I burrowed into the striped, colorful mess of blankets. The room throbbed. Some giant hand was massaging it like a failing heart. My own heart raced and thumped with it, beating wildly, erratically. I breathed slowly, carefully trying to calm the frantic heartbeats. But I was distracted by my arms. They were freezing. As the cold intensified into shocking pain, I realized that blankets wouldn't help. The cold was not coming from the air. It was inside, diffusing from my blood into my hands, my fingertips; a burning, cutting pain that felt like being rubbed down with menthol and then walking naked into the rain. I huddled into the pillows, completely fascinated by the threads of agony spreading through my ribs, into my neck and all the way to my toes.
Sometime later, I remembered my panicked heart, and raced to reassure it. But I arrived to find it thumping calmly, perfectly cool and collected.

I can't stop watching this.

It's just so beautiful. Over 2,000 photos were needed to make this stop motion video. Find out more about it here.

Color #6D7B8D/Light Slate Grey

It's half a hundred degrees out, and cold threads of air pry their way into the car. We drive in silence, last night's tequila still gurgling in our heads; the questions we won't ask or answer settling into the cracks between our lips, filling our ears. There's the tenseness of excitement: the promise of an adventure. Hands twined, we stare out of our separate windows at the leaping, whirling gulls. Together we watch the waves rearing towards the highway.

You grin as I shrug into your brown coat, silently saying how cute I look in it. With hands deep in our pockets we peruse the paths, rubbing elbows. Awkwardly, shyly hesitant, until our explorations took the edge off. Once, we paused in the sunlight, and I kissed your neck. The moment rocked, warm and twisting deep in our stomachs. And on the ride home I rested my head in your lap and slept, your fingers in my hair. Through the layers of unconscious, I could feel them twining, smoothing the strands.

Later, your fingers traced the dusty blue bite marks on my shoulder, whispering of fascination. Tonight, my own fingers travel the same lines, asking why I left.

A Random Sampling

I have to walk around Lake Merritt to get to school, which is a wonderful way to wake up. See the tallest building all the way in the back? That's my school.

Frida!

Our pepper plant, that really needs to be put in the ground. Poor thing.

I have a tendancy to make small shrines in unused spaces.

See?

This is our bear, Iley. Seriously though, she's huge.

People in Oakland are still tense over Oscar Grant. There are signs up everywhere, Oscar themed art shows, etc.

This is where I get surprisingly good coffee before I go to class.

Home!

Our tomato plant also needs to be put down in the garden.

Is this not the coolest cathedral ever?

Just, ya know, practicing swordsmanship in the park.

All the rest are from the zoo. :)

Teal Colored Love

jagged eyes, electric
racing through, kicking up dirt
keep up
probably dangerous
read the warning label
that good
that bad
that fun

reckless laugh
chilling, enticing
digging in, uninvited
laughter that holds you
owns you
too intoxicating
too violent
too loud

melts around the edges
so bright, burning up fast
taking you too
momma shoulda warned you
that girl is
scalpel kind of sharp
Kali dancing through the wind
ready to devour you
so beautiful
so toxic
so terrible

hair climbs the wind
storing static, finding sound
a million antennae
finding you
feeling you
exploring you
burrowing into your marrow
inescapable
telling her
"this one"

Goldilocks

thick tongue, cracked lips, dry hands all want UP.
the mouth's roof feels gummy, smooth, not quite right,
long fingernails scrape layers of cells off, away.
sweater on, teeth brushed, up the stairs.
made coffee that was too dark, too rich, not quite right,
left it half drunk next to the cigarette, half smoked.
down the stairs, into the shower.
moaning against water that is too hot, too cold, not quite right.
sitting, wet, shivering on the tub's edge,
looking for words, finding them limp, desperate, not quite right.
dried off, made a mess looking for clothes.
useless to care,
those pants are all too big or TOO BIG, not quite right.
dressed, up the stairs.
made tea with lemon, in the grey and brown mug.
dark, light, sweet, sour, and almost right.
later, looking in a mirror for no good reason,
I see, my hair is just right.

Seriously, the rocking chair is magic.

the rocking chair
on my back porch
a spindly, weather bleached thing, with a most uncomfortable seat back,
an old, blue cushion from a long forgotten couch on the seat.
it creaks.
this ugly old chair that I love,
it manipulates time.
I sat through eternity and a summer, just now.
and I thoughtlessly labeled the first breeze "cold" when it brushed past me.
and then,
"feel," no one told me.
but I did.
and I felt the molecules of my body vibrate,
and I felt the orbits of the world at the nape of my neck,
and I felt the wind puff past, lifting lightly,
gently,
so gently,
a fine mist of my cells.
and it was summer.
and the molecules pulsed,
slid,
towards the sun.
and I felt the colors that summer travels with,
as they flowed through my cheekbones,
and down,
into my body,
lending their warmth.
and it was dark,
and I was in the rocking chair,
blinded by the loss of summer.