sunrise chronicles

May 14, 2012

I didn’t think I’d be updating again this close to my last post, but I’ve seen the sun rise two days in a row. “Psh,” say all of you who go to bed at normal person o’clock, “This is nothing.”

Saturday morning I was watching Jill Hennessy’s fingers switch chords on her guitar while she talked about playing in the Toronto subway. “THANK YOU STEVE.” She says of her ex-beau who taught her to strum. I imagine we’d be good friends. Me pretending to play mandolin while she sang out all of her demons. I’d run out of bye-bye freak out medication and saw the sun peeking through my window. 5:45am. I climbed out onto my dad’s terrace, debating whether I should be a big girl, put on my bra and face the day; but I decided to curl up on the couch instead. 6:30am.

I was nerding out on Sunday, I turned down vodka in a homemade Orange Julius and punched my way through a cave in minecraft after learning some CCR songs on the ukulele. Andy and Kathryn drive me home and I think of walking down empty stretches of Barbur in the streetlight. 2am.

I can’t think of Gina Gershon without picturing her fingering Jennifer Tilly in Bound. She sat on a piano and seduced the crap out of Miguel Ferrer by telling him he had Bogart eyes. 4:00am. “Of course I should watch another episode!” I thought of the crescent moon outside the window. Half a cheshire cat telling me that I should GO TO BED. 4:30am. I don’t think I like Diana Krall’s version of Cry Me a River best. Bird played Koko, I thought of Salt PEANUTS, Salt PEANUTS. The sun stretched its arms through the window. My imaginary beau spoke to me, wrapping their arms around my chest and the half cheshire crescent moon smile disappeared before I could send it a proper farewell. 5:15am.

Do you ever find something right when you need it? Her lips formed around hums, embracing them with her warmth. She hits the floor with precision, hair spiraling outwards. It is organized chaos. 3:00am. I’m thinking about what to do tomorrow. I hope it’s not too warm. I think I’ll walk down the street and dream of a cold cup of coffee with the perfect amount of cream. 4:00pm.

You know, I never thought I’d say this but:

I really hope,

I’ll miss the sunrise today.


art project

May 11, 2012

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about making art. This is a practice I haven’t been taking part in much recently because of the serious fap-fest that is Crossing Jordan on netflix instant. Goodbye social life! In any case, spring is in full swing in the Rose City, I’ve finally been medicated for a lingering anxiety problem I didn’t know I had, and the sun has decided to come out of its exaggerated hibernation. The longed for days of sweater weather are drawing to a close, and my face is slowly morphing into a river of summertime. (When I say river, I’m not being superfluous. I sweat like, crazy nasty if the temp is above 60.) BACK TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED NON-TMI PROGRAMMING THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT.

I have three jobs. I’m doing someones tax filing and digitizing their rolodexes; making and selling Gilda Radner Shirts; and lastly, doing respite care for a family whose son has asperger’s. Two of the three require a substantial bus trip, which gives me a lot of time to ponder trivialities. When the sun comes out, my music changes. Gone are the days of the sleepy rainy day jazz, so I ring in the season with poppy lounge tunes and beachy chillwave. It’s always a much looked forward to event in my year.

One sunny Sunday evening a few weekends ago I was on a desolate MAX train riding back from work. My feet on the seat, I stare at the ceiling watching flora and city life jet through my periphery. It was honestly the first lovely day of the year. My eyelids flutter shut and the salty ocean breeze presses its imaginative hands on my face. No need to clear the static…. My heart is a steel drum. She stands on the sand in an ambiguous white dress. As the train gets closer to downtown, I see her waves of brown tresses dance in the air. She caresses an invisible metal microphone with her spindly guitar fingers closing her eyes to sing. I will be there… Her hips move with the undulations of the ocean, blurring in and out of focus each time the train pulls to a stop. I watch her from afar, she is not conscious of me and proceeds– humming as if I were there. “Is her seduction,” I wonder, “aimed at the collective you, or is her suspiciously lustful gaze directed only towards me?”

Then, the light Portland breeze travels through an open window and I get my first real wafting whiff of Spring.

It. Is. Marvelous.