see or seem

Today at work Erik and I were talking about some of our best-loved animators from our youth. Don Bluth, Maurice Sendak, and Hayao Miyazaki were pillars of that conversation, but when it came to thinking about Eyvind Earle, I died just a little.

Dreamland, underwater dreams, a concentrated romance with the natural world. The color seems synthetic at first for its vibrance and distracting variation but it isn't, because that's what the world looks like every time I close my eyes, when I remember what I love most about outside, when I remember times when "the grass felt purple for a while" (I am quoting myself). These colors speak to me because they are real.



I spent the first part of the morning researching pinball arcades. Just five minutes ago we office-people started talking about Twilight Zone and my mind always goes to that episode where surgery is necessary to correct a blond bombshell's beautiful-in-our-universe face - as the bandages are removed we see flawless cheekbones and long, swanlike neck, small lips. Ugly to her surgeons and nurses, wrinkly-faced Shar Pei People - and yup, it's a binary.

Drinking cocktails at work always brings me a certain pleasure as it makes Saturday feel like everyone says Saturday should feel. People say it should be free, wild, drunken, lazy. The latter two I can do without most of the time but they are welcome on the occasion. As it so happens, my boss is a killer mixologist. An unused cubicle is once a week transformed into a makeshift bar, complete with ice pitcher and pile of basil leaves. I laugh at the intensification of my boss' Chicago accent. Sometimes he'll even refill my glass, all the while making fun of the fact that I once thought the word "lush" meant "unable to handle alcohol", laughing at me. Laughing at me.

The little kalanchoe plant on my desk, the one with the solitary bloom, seems more green than ever, but still without anymore blossoms to speak of. Too far away from sunlight. What can I do about that? Even if I switched its location from one side of my desk to the other it still wouldn't gather more light. It's okay. I'll take it with me when I leave Chicago. New York City might have something better to offer this little green thing. I'm dreaming of a wide windowsill, clean of blinds, white.

Do you know how it feels, to be so satisfied? Because the ghost of the book in your mind has become a fixture on your own shelf.



chaos in my mind without the

you'd dig the books

she said as she laid her tongue on the plateau of her wrist, because the taste reminds her of blood in her mouth

she bit her tongue more than once

a left brow that will never be more than partially visible until a year or two from now

ring of rust

how much pleasure can one girl take?

too much