Multi-layered, polyphasic and Pining and prying, poetic blunder hilariously binding--to him? I'm a super magnet. Always shining multiphase personality brought to tears by the sound of a skeptic but O, if you could HEAR the music wanted to tell her you have the diction of a Ballet dancer was brought to tears by the tips of toes even asleep, I'm so graciously aware of the sight of your smile-- the height of your interest! It was the INTENSITY of your intention... like when Melania Trump copied Michelle Obama's homework... wanted to scream O Melania, you can't plagiarize
This is stream of consciousness -- freedom at its finest -- poetry at its most vulnerable -- singing at its smallest ping ponging with the unstoppable Heart.
These are the best of the VM’s I have gotten. Sometimes it’s so nice to hear yourself from another person’s perspective. I have infinite gratitude for all my listeners but today I wanted to share these few. I had chills listening to some of them. Enjoy and leave a VM for me after you listen. You never know where it’ll land. Cant wait to reply.
In this episode I highlight some of my favorite voicemails on my station that people have sent in that have brought me joy or made me smile. I’ll also includ my poem entitled, “Daddy” which I wrote for my father when I first got to California because I was missing him and seems to be allowing other people to miss their loved ones and remember and love and persist. Thanks for listening.
Tell your Cleopatra to keep it down.
Build her walls tall and act weak.
Cover everything but her mouth
and make her speak
make her breathe.
She carries your screams in her lungs.
She carries your breath in her fire tomb
there’s one flower left there’s one
flower left there’s one
leaf left it left a mark it left
a mark now she’s in love with you.
What will upset me the most when I
perish will not be the blinding white light.
Or the horror filled awe-struck current that seals me.
Or the heaviness of stone on top of me.
Or the lack of breadth and breath in my bones.
Or the amount of time it takes for my soul to circle all
the way back. Or the direction they send me. Or the moments
I will be forced to interact with again. Or the
goodbye sonnets I will have to emit.
Or my last heart twitch. No.
It will be the thought of losing your Touching.
Not ever being able to see your Glow. It will be the mist in my eyes.
Your mist. Your crying eyes trying to find me.
Only I won’t even know where I went.
It will be the glimpses of me you see in our angels -
The reflection of us in our true-blue Christmas lights.
The time you ran over to kiss me good-nighttime.
All of the ink ribbons I left behind…My typewritten letter to you.
The way you will want to depart. But do not do this to me, beauty, love of all
my lifetime. I implore you.
I will meet you back where we began--
No need to worry--I have your fingerprint memorized in case I’m ever asked
to sketch it. Or if I should get so lonely here I can build a part of you to hold
Ma’am, ma’am. I understand you’re having a bad day. Kicked full of scrabble she’d mount the wiser offer.
O, buzz off.
Ma’am--- ma’am, I just-- haven’t got the words today. Ma’am? Just take the daisies. I spent all afternoon dusting the petals. Ma’am?
You see, I, I, I, accidentally sold my lunch money. As a matter of fact-- I spent all afternoon dusting these petals. Ma’am? You see, these flowers come from a long line of fury, ma’am. I sure hope we can come to an understanding. Ma’am, ma’am, please don’t cry, your day will come true, don’t close your eyes so soon. Ma’am?
I picked these just for you. Don’t close your eyes too soon. Ma’am, my hands hurt. My skin dresses down like a sun-fueled moon, ma’am? I know what it feels like. I know what it feels like to watch a day break into pieces, and then have people stare at you like you broke it. But ma’am... you didn’t break it and you are not broken. Ma’am? Let’s gather the pieces together, alright? 1, 2, at the count of three. Fold into the pieces that you were. 1, 2, 3. Ma’am? Ma’am? Don’t close your eyes too soon. Don't close your eyes so soon.
I see rings– love is coming. And I am running after love, come slowly. You are diamond. You are dream. You are a matchless utopia, no room for any silence. I know that I must speak. because You, my love, surpass beauty.
I tear at the structure of heartache.
I tear at the hesitance of bees before they sting you.
I tear at the hat on the wall.
Paint on lovely stones.
Love thy love thy love thy song.
The 24-hour song you are.
Dear phoenix girl, If I’m the bomb…
you are the row
of flowers that
bloom in the after.
You are the tenth cloud!
The whole of the story, the sound
a breath makes,
the passion stuck to a page
I bet your novels taste like visionaries
who cross-bred with fate while holding
their own heartbeats.
Call me, I’m problematic. I love problems. I’m an addict for you .I’m an addict for the euphoric. I’m addicted to euphoria. We are God’s Perfect Mistake. We are Goddesses. Draw us in gold. We hold lightning in our hands and thunder in our knees. We are a certain kind of problem, officer. But we get most of it out by the shoreline in the morning. But it comes back come night time. Call be, babe, you’re the only one who knows.
Cut the linguistic tropes already.
If I hear one my cliche
I’m gonna shave my head into twelve lines die ‘em with bleach and tide then I’m gonna make you view yourself from the sidelines til you forget you have a face. Listen. If I SEE one more Tesla X——I might have to buy one.
When I unearthed her, her eyes were closed in a sacred blink.
I dusted her lips with gold and whispered,
"You are gorgeous in pieces."
I saw every bone, her very own ivory keys.
I whispered, "You are gorgeous in pieces."
You are gorgeous in pieces. That was when I noticed.
That was the ring.
I thought I lost it in my oldest home
after I gave birth to my Eldest son
on the top were two lions
jaws open wide
I loved that ring.
I loved that ring.
And then I'd pop two balloons outside of your ears so that you could hear the sound I think every sentence should make. POP goes your windows.
Yesterday, you left me reckless with the words: "Make me in the kitchen and place your breathing on our bend." Had me begging for breath. All the way back to the time you called me your "Cleopatra”. The way you held my face and whispered "How... How are you possible?" The time of our love story. The time I had to leave. And then time left me to sink but I replied with a moment in mind. Then remember happened. And I choked on it. Saw myself in my deathbed knowing that I spent my life well—keeping my promise
of responding to beauty.
"Backwards you were spinning I placed flowers near your head," I replied.
Nothing but lilacs for my Laurels! Nothing but loraxes for my Laurel.
O, and when the pen arrives I'll be sure to swallow it. I don't think I learned from my right year old mistake. Expect a rose-colored film graft-----
I just wanted to see red. It’s like you’re trying to stay out of heaven. Breaking out your own safe haven. Always Blue bird over red raven Always blues over truths. Always hurts always bleeds Depression it seems Depression runs thru Cuts thru Makes you Shapes you up Locks you down Keeps you interested Keeps you coming Keeps you loving Oh no Here comes mania She’s runnin a little late In the day But I’ll take her over him I’ll take her over the other session I’ll take her over and over - Succession Succession Succession Always success. Always More. Never afraid. Never no.
Cold and even with this breeze it ain’t worth it. But it’s worth the sweat and bronze burned shoulders. Poisonous sun. Aloe. My favorite part is watching it sink in. HER favorite part is watching the skin show itself out.
I guess we all have interesting ways of ending our days. Some take swigs of coffee then go for a mighty run. Bask in the poetic frenzy that follows. Practice that concerto in your fingertips-- don’t you lose that beat! Breathe, baby, breathe. Practice beneficial doubt. I guess we all have ways of getting through our days. Some people embrace changes others form a stampede and drink. Some people drive stick shift ‘round corners of cliffs or stitch up spliffs. Some people take the doors off their cars. Wrangler, Jeeps. Barbie Reynold’s pink. You’re a lot like heating pink letting it cool mixing it with white and tossing into light-- I guess we all have different ways of expressing our DNA.
On the days you wish to fall: Remember your mind.
how it fumbles and fights
for any sort of Love
and loss and scene,
end scene, never end
keep your will and accept
Be happiest when you’re
for the soul longs
to be proven.
So grab a Bible, I know you want to. Get yourself a red pen and go to town! Switch all the X's into O's speak it out loud and see what you conjure. Pay attention to your comfort. Pay attention to your smile. Pay attention to the alertness you feel after hitting twelve miles. Pay attention to your steps and remember every eighth breath. You're going to be amazing. Do you know that about yourself?
Let me find you.
Approach the city.
Pursue your visions.
Stand speechless while I watch your eyes travel until I'm sick--
I want a hunger that rivals the sun in anger.
I want a city.
Say a word.
Watch me let it in slowly--
Stack stars until they're magic and leaning.
Use them to cross over.
Send me stills of a heart unguarded
like the mad sense of a hatter
the flesh is an Experience.
Deceive me with elegance,
annihilation, and eyes that rob me of Love.
And I’d have you center stage—proving nature isn’t pain. Meanwhile, I’m on the ground with letter blocks building a tower that says, “I love you.” That’s the soul-mate in me. You’re the soul-mate in me. You’re the soul I am longing for when I yell, “Where is she, where is she!?” I have already written a letter to Stan. Told him that I didn’t need another plan. That I have shopping bags full of the scenes you bring into me. Out of me. My forever muse. Even your heartbeat is art. I’m going to record it someday and use it as my metronome whenever I’m feeling lonesome, or when I am missing you.
I can’t call it a library if you’re not in it. I think the flowers must have been dreaming when they made you.
Too bright. Too good. I was there. I felt it. I shook hands with you out of body. Beach first. Moment divided by a second. Re-birth. Back on sand, toes to water but to tell you my truth sometimes I'm too cold. Back on land in front of your building. No, no, back on sand. Hands behind my mind. Your head, my heart. I said something and I hope you heard it. Because when the moon arrives I'll have to go. I have to go.
Thank you so much for the call in. I felt I needed to post it as an episode because sometimes it can be easy to forget how appreciated you are! How much you're needed in the world. Thank you for your support and I hope you keep listening.
The sign said, "do not deliver the newspaper", but I wasn't listening. Oh, no. I was too busy looking at the angel in your reflection thinking I could look at this computer all day forever! This newspaper can walk from here, right? No, but thank you, officer! I think I'll stay right here amongst beauty , until God herself says run along baby girl. And even then I might play a gam of, "Or what..."
Now, I am dancing.
Now, I am back.
Back at our standard.
Back in our hour.
Where we danced like it was the end of our movie.
Where we danced like it was the end of our movie.
Life was her movie and it was only 32 years long
life is a movie and it's only so many years long
so by all means
3,000 times less
on a woman's body.
3,000 times more
the love she will have
for her first-born
and beyond this--
Colder than I am
when my nerves take their rest
Rest their break
Break they do.
When my doors slam then close.
One more inch of snowfall and
I'll be glad to escape these
red, dead eyes.
Making sure they lead with their sharp side.
My shoulders jolt and I scream for my darling
How long will this one last?
I’m sorry—I just noticed how actor’s hands don’t shake—oh, my God is that a bowling ball? How about we shake on it how about we lead woth the land how about we end in bliss. Im sorry---i just noticed how tragedy breeds comedy, no matter how fast you try and turn the page.
Let me know if you wanna trade nuances. Okay—-go for Significance. Go for magniloquence. I was told there’s no sleep till Brooklyn. That’s great because I’m busy staving off the energy trying to balance out the masculine and feminine energy and tripling down on synesthesia.
He says, anytime I’m stuck I write a sentence that’s true and I’m okay again. This fellow had a point. Something that is true always survives. The truth always survives the lie. Even if the owner is the only one who knows. Hey! This fellow had a point! This fellow was Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway said, “Anytime I have trouble writing I just sit down and write a true sentence. After that, everything’s okay again.” You see, everyone has a magic trick. But not everyone is brave enough to give them away.
Don’t tell anyone, but when I find myself stuck I write down a single word. Then I’ll look at it and begin to build a story around it. Think of it like a painter beginning with a single color. Getting inspired by whatever it stirs in them. It’s like a game of recall. Funny where a series of letters can lead you…
This is as far as I’ll go
“Do I get to choose the promise?”
“It depends, do you keep your promises?”
I explained to her that I would let her choose the promise if she was someone who kept their promises. Because people are more likely to keep something they chose themselves. When is the last time you broke something you chose? Or why. The only problem I can think of is one of anger. Anger trumps a promise every time, ask anyone! Anger leaves nothing left standing that can claim to be whole. It’ll tear right through you. Straight through the morality you’ve been building your whole life. Straight through the promise you’ve kept safe in a harbor in honor of love.
“If you keep your promises, then I’ll let you choose because you are more likely to keep the promise if you chose it special.”
Because people are more likely to keep a promise they’ve chosen themselves.
This is as far as I’ll go.
I will leave them for you when I am
gone, so you can read them to our children as bedtime stories while
I silently weep in the last corner I stood still in. The pictures we take
on Christmas day will have to be synced to the same day we were both
born. That way, we can always take two. I will always blink twice before
we get a good one. You will comment on my smile and I will say why oh
why are you talking about yourself - my unhinged angel. You look great today.
Do you remember when I told you that I would break my heart for you?
Well I would.
I would let you murder me too. I mean it, if you needed to. I would.
At least I would die in beauty. At least your hands were the last to leave me.
Every night I will read to you. I will read you half my journals, half
improvisation. Depending on the light and the way in which you lay. From that
angle I can see every part of you. You’re my favorite freckle. I promise to read
to you if you promise I can whisper. I want to have angels with you. We can
guide them and never let them figure life out the same way we did. We will
teach them how to love in the lost way. We will take them to the ocean each
week and ask them if they notice anything different. They will always say no.
They will always say yes! And take out their ink pen and list a hundred
different things! Just the way we taught them! Just the way we know them.
Our son will be named Ezra; our daughter will be Eden. If she happens to receive your eyes I will prepare her for what is coming. Teach her all the ways to say the word admiration and will make her a red picture frame to put her heart in when she wants to take a break from falling. She will be so beautiful, t
50 points knife play champagne on the bed red wine in the air everyone in a whole while I’ll stop laughing when you stop wanting to die it’s not a joke anymore it’s been fifteen minutes since I’ve heard you silent. You’re wearing red, you never wear red. Please talk to me my love is on the line my earrings are all in place back-breaking neck work to create a flower bed I go there sometimes when the weather’s right.
full of water.
and left the
and rolled away
the rain stopped.
The hills were
and happier than
So happy they did
relying on the rainbow
to clean their eyes.
Lest I be completed
in something other than
I’ll call out to you.
Stop getting involved
with my stars.
They aren’t very friendly. I’d stop
reaching out to them
if I were you, they’re not listening to you.
They’re never gonna see you—
Your lights are off.
You’ve gone out of business.
You’ve let people inside and they’ve taken
Even your favorite clock.
The silent one.
That doesn’t remind you of your
The loud one. Without controls.
It’s nothing like that Light Bulb.
Let it go.
it’s only fishing for compliments.
It’s a one-sided
matinee show you’ll never see the Ending.
You maybe saw yourself beginning.
Whatever it was—
it was not lasting.
That’s why you Dream
When you’re too silent,
people yank and stick their thoughts in you.
When they talk —
I dream of E n d i n g
Whenever they walk,
they are just beginning
will they always remain new to this.
if it mattered.
Because—I see your face on the cover of every magazine I see your reflection in the water of every bottle I drink and I’m scared to laugh when I get in the ocean because I’m scared I’ll cry for you. Every first year was half as long as your very first vein extending the sound of your very own heartache fingerprint smashing the ink spot on and off and on and off and on like the fraction that fractured my skull and the rapture that wraps you within where were you when you weren’t you? I can’t even get an hour and a half past you—baby halves of a half of a wishbone making fun of the spine in my backpack what’s the matter, can’t you fly? Fall asleep at the sight of your smile bearing beautiful armies of tears palms up like the shine of a spoon staring blankly at the chance of you ever seeing the backsplash of your own eyelash yes, you! The ladder crumbling underneath my skin my favorite favorite feeling so much better for me than hope because ho
It was on the mezzanine Where we saw day tame the night The stage held our eyes in separate hands clocked together methodical in nature Oxymoron we Lust Our smiles Stitched into microfilm Speaking of the light and how it loved us.
You once said to me, “it’s your soul that’s beautiful” Well, what if I told you that I haven’t been able to lose a beauty contest since I met you. That I have to make space now for impact. Because everyone wants to know my secret. My love. My aura. To join my flame. To claim my smile because now it’s worth its weight in Time. The priciest factor. The most pressing factor. Unabashedly precise. So forgive me. If I do not ask you how we could be better off because I’ve never heard of anyone who was “better off”. Without their “one” without their matching puzzle piece, without their sky, without peak without middle C, A or B. Without their Me.
2. Dear somebody, which is stronger, great hate or great love? Are they not the same? I will come back to these questions but I have a powerful feeling inside me -feels like whatever has been trapped inside my heart has its perfect hands pressed flat against my walls, pushing my ceilings into cathedrals. It is a good thing I taught myself long ago that mistakes can be, in the final stage, bring with them beauty. This is why for every mistake I stain a glass.
\My Type Of Angel - On your command
here is my voice.
I’ll send it to
you whole but
listen in fragments.
hold them still.
here is my music.
forget to remain
calm before an
audience I force
myself to remember
every cloud I’ve ever
seen—–then I exhale
in their memory.
I’m a lonely soul.
Need someone near
to give some of my
hearts away to
but I’m not waiting
for just any angel
I’m waiting for a
specific kind of angel.
One who will hold me still.
I miss you. Take me back to naps on your shoulder, to talks in your G20 on afternoons & mornings with my little sister by my side drinking our vanilla or strawberry boost. Take me back. Take me back to OUR laughs, in unison, where we smile the same smile and to the night where I came in from a run into the kitchen and out of nowhere you said “Adèle, you have this... angel like presence about you.” How I looked at you in shock. How you said “I’m serious.” And how proud, confused and determined I was to prove you Right. Take me back to poems every Christmas typed up with your hand written signature— Typed with your care and love. How you prefer lavender — over every color in the world— how I know why, without even having to ask, because I am your daughter— your “double creature emanating from cosmic wisdom. How I can feel you from here the way you say love you more! Because you do love me more- despite the mal -chemistry in my brain. E
To be ideally Gorgeous
Without putting a knick in time-- impossible--To go forwards and backwards
Within the same moment
-without knocking down a few doors--when getting IN turned out to be easier than getting OUT--
Okay but for now-- I need to figure out where do I put all of this San Diego sand
Soundproof not bulletproof
Wake up and smell the morning thunder.
Take what you wish From It.
Existence. A mirror image. A pleasant sound.
Your first quiet moment of the day. Solitude.
Jail cell with one window, just a Few cracks.
The guy in there’s man enough to admit that he thinks Birds are Beautiful,
and that flight could heal things. Secretly wishes the window was soundproof, but not bulletproof.
Says he would Accept death, if he didn’t have to Hear it Coming. The void is welcoming and
Droning. The void is a Perfect Pitch. I don’t think I have anything the void wants. It does not want
your Things. They are of no use to your Paths. There’s no such thing as Waiting, or Wanting.
There’s no Time. Problem Solved. We are Just Pieces.
Stop trying to fix yourself with a hammer and not nearly enough Nails– we don’t need Sealing. We are not envelopes–
Even if we move cross country
We’re not Envelopes
We don’t have destinations
Some kids laugh when they get baptized.
Other kids cry.
I wonder which is which.
I wonder which is more sinful.
What’s worse than a witch?
It lies in their electricity.
Call it classic
Reversed Richard, extroverted Eric. Once more with feeling!
And this time
For the people
Let the music through.
What kind of love is that?
Roll it again, people.
To the people
You are a person
For your own last laugh
(Enter the orchids)
Roll down your sleeves.
This is your moment.
Tell me to leave.
You— you are exactly like this— derivative of my future melded I To the cleverness Of you Compounded by the circumstance of you.
O, I’m concerned. Yet I’ve never felt so ME I’ve never felt so tough and treasured ...I’ll have to come back to you in forty years listen, ask me the question in forty years.
My most prized possessions can be found on Paper.
Something about the ink makes me want to be
Taller, Makes me want to stretch my arms out until they get So Tired they (decide)
to transform into Pages.
I want to be turned. --( permanent.)
I want to be touched.
Folded, Crinkled Tear Stained Ripped Numbered
Filled to the Brim
I want to be opened
in the same day.
I want to be remembered and stood up to Rest upon Shelves.
I want to end in the perfect moment. (I want to end in all the perfect moments)
I want to be protected from the rain and held in hands, frequent.
Want to be hard backed with one spine,
I don't want to be judged by how many pages I have to offer.
or how heavy I am
or how dark
my Cover Is.
or the words inside me,
or my ink
or where I'll fit.
I don't want to drown in Dust on the top shelf of what once was paradise.
Don't want to be used as a stool to Step On--
or a weapon for your fears of insects. ( for what you think is
And I saved a hallelujah for you. It is located in room number 353. Where your heartbeats should have been. I’ll be waiting there, along with a hundred other shadows. I see you in the mirror white devils. You are my ancestors. I am ashamed of you.
The last emotion
spent laying on my bed
waiting for you to Fall For Me
but not all the way just yet.
maybe two inches above me
Perhaps for the next eighty years
So we can watch each others faces change
they finally collapse and we'd lay like that for the next eighty years
watching our faces change, waiting for the Last emotion
To make us cry and when your single tear falls out of your eye
and into mine
I'll know exactly
how you feel.
What am I Supposed
the Train is still moving.
You Jumped Off
Left me with a Stack of bricks
like we all are
of Falling Over
There was no trace of handwriting
so I flipped them back Over.
I couldn't Bear to Count them.
You yelled at me like I
had jumped off
and you had not.
You Yelled At Me like you were on the train
and I was Not.
But you jumped off.
I did not.
You jumped off
I did Not.
and I tried to give you
Because you say
that I'm your Witch Doctor
But you won't let me
So grab a Bible- I know you want to - get yourself a red pen and go to town. Switch all the x's into o's speak it out loud and see what you conjure - pay attention to your comfort - pay attention to your smile. Pay attention to the alertness you feel after hitting 12 miles. Pay attention to your steps and remember every 8th breath. You’re going to be amazing, do you know that about yourself?
Smile Dream and
How else Can we be True?
Don't Forget to Explore
The places you've lived in It is Important
Because you can't go back there.
Mom and Dad--
won't always be there to Greet You.
...at That Door.
Be sure to lock your Front door. And use the same password you used for that secret clandestine
club you had during your blooming childhood.
You had to Think about letting your Sister in. As if you had a Choice.
She's been there since I was three--
When she decided she was ready to join us.
We Were Happy to
You knew this, so when you figured out the secrets of Speech you continued saying
LIke it was your autograph. (It became your signature had you known what an autograph was.
Listening to you incredible demand made the whole Family Happy. Left the whole Family in innate Happiness.
We were Happiest
When You were Being Held.
Want to know a se
My daily data report shows that I should know by now, that such Brazen remarks on the remarkable might leave far too many marks on the impossible human heart. O, who cares? Who calls? Whenever I leave town to follow Elizabethan poetry wherever it should go, landing in quarries and mouthfuls of ebb and ponds full of useful flow flowing backwards never sorry, allowing me one pose, slightly knowing, however sad it may seem, that i may never be coming back.
The phantom says to me/you’re beautiful, I love you/ no, you are love, I’m just witnessing/you are a prepossessing Angel/at least I thought you were/I was wronged/you win/ you don’t/ I love you / if you knew me/ if I knew New York/ if I hunted more/ if my voice was powerful enough for that/
It’s a wild honey night. Listen fierce. Check a pulse. All flowers match the sunlight. Tonight, crawl with me. Quick with stride. We’ve seen this before, death. But when we died we never became Rest I guess we were meant to be left– alive. Snapped twitch breathing–warm–anything but misery, sure. We are not indecisive we just know that’s not what we’re looking for. We float around, watching people get tattoos of things we’ve said wondering if they know that that’s the wrong kind of pain.
It’s a lonely story night. It’s a pain to control your might, it’s exhausting to try and take a bow after finding out that there’s no honey. And the night
is just as timid as you are.