"when a thing is wick, it has a life about it.."

i'm in a pleasing, cozy cocoon of comfort right now, curled up on my couch with my old duvet.  the blinds of my front window are glowing yellow-orange with the setting sun to my right and if i turn my head to the left i see the sun shinning on the house that lives beyond the borders of my back yard.  my 'gigi' playlist on grooveshark is crooning from my lap top.  i've just spent a couple of hours discovering cool do it yourself projects.  the kind of projects that can be made with stuff you already have.  the kind that get the creative juices flowing.  it all started because today i was browsing the thrift store at work, i saw they had a huge pile of records and i started going through them.  there are some awesome album covers out there.  i decided to pick my favourites to make something out of.  never the type to be picky choosy, i chose 27.  when i got home i started surfing the worldwide to see what kind of things were out there.  i found this which turned me on to papernstitch the blog and so it went.

last night i edited some photos from amy and shawn part ii with joy and excitement.  this coupled with the record album/diy surfing tells me something.  it tells me that there is life after death.  the death of my creative self.  i killed her a little bit with the cramming of 102 photos down her throat.  but the juices are starting to flow again--there is tender green curling leaves where once there was barrenness and dearth. i couldn't even think about looking at a photo that i had taken.  it's what happens when you force yourself --you burn out.  i mean i burn out.  i don't know about you.  anyway i'm happy to know that there has been a resurrection.

i'm unhappy about archie's penchant for digging his wet nose into my arm/elbo in a burrowing, urgent, aggressive manner.  it bugs archie.  it really bugs.  but i think you already knew that.

lost and found:
hey, i was searching my house in a ransacking kind of way--looking for my missing t4 slip and i found my duotang (oh duotang of my youth!) of poems that i have been wanting forevah.  in celebration i will share my nudist poem.  fatima is a nudist but it's not about her.  it's about me. but to be clear, i'm no nudist.

Nude    

i want to be a nudist--
a maple in winter weather
shake off lusty leaves
yellow-lime pools at my feet.
i want to reach bare arms to heavy slate skies
let biting rains drench
and wild winds bow and quiver
and be stark
until the snow.

i want to shed my skin
like mandrin peels
and sit plump
in God's palm.

 by laura clarke