Draw · the · Latch

Green Shirt--Elvis Costello & The Attractions
The Love You Save--The Jackson 5
(can't you figure out what my problem is??)

and of course:
Ain't Misbehavin'--Fats Waller

I totally read that as Stevie Wonders of the Modern World and got really excited and then really perplexed. And now I'm disappointed that it doesn't say that.

It's such sweaty weather, I feel like salt crystals are forming on my skin, like I'm some kind of great English Channel swimmer. I've been eating so many grapefruit, and my mouth tastes a little bit like too many cups of coffee. The immediate remedy that springs to mind is a spoonful of jam and a glass of ice water.

Things are kinda totally perfect with Luke right now. Emotions make everything too muddled. We went to the High Falls yesterday, sat under the rushing water, billy-goated over the rocks. Not wanting to be a total pussy, I tried to match his pace, and so now my feet are punctured and battered and my knees are purple. But he told me over and over that I was beautiful, took me to his home to feed me, and so I ended up in his bed. I feel full-up and glowing. He's kinda totally perfect.

And yet it's the reassuring casual perfection, like all of last summer bottled into a week. And like last summer, there's a refreshing detachment, minus my stupid strict parameters. It just is is is, and I'm remembering why that was so awesome in the first place.

There's a jar of blueberry preserves sitting chilled in the fridge waiting for me. I've got some sewing, and also probably some other responsibilities to deal with before school starts next week. I'm such an unprepared fool.

I am so good. I am lying with my dirty feet and yellow sundress on the mattress of the attic room that is only mine for a little while longer. I am alternately sipping pale ale, cold ginger tea, and water. The fan is on its highest setting. My hair is still wet with creekwater.

I feel like I'm secretly courting my best friend's boyfriend. But it's so simple and pure and sweet, I feel like a pet kitten. I'm mildly muddled but ultimately blissful.

( Second Sight | W.S. Merwin )

This poem is wholly everything I am and everything I feel these days.Theeeeese dayyyyys, these days I sit on corner stones and count the time in quarter tones to ten. And ride on the back of a tandem bike and listen to mix cds from middle school and swim under the trestle. Under there. Under where? Underwear.

I made this for Louie. I bought Ali a shirt from the thrift store that says "77: seventies funk" in those dorky fuzzy iron-on letters.

saying bye-bye to Rosendale?

boop boop badoop.

This is for me. What should I do? Think I should respond?

Dark Night Of The Soul (ft. David Lynch)— Danger Mouse/Sparklehorse.... oh my lord, don't that bass line sound familiar? It sends me into chills of ecstasy. That's no hyperbole.


I post this song because it seems fitting for the day of the premiere of Half Blood Prince. Thank the lord for Ms. Ali Gruber, my fellow fangirl of not only Twin Peaks but also Harry Potter. In keeping with tradition, we've both made special shirts for the occasion:





fuck me, I'm such a nurd.

Eve: "Well, I guess the only thing I really need is a harmonica."



Next week is the DJ Ali Gruber Michael Jackson Memorial Dance Party, the week after is Harry Potter, Broad's Arm Wrestling League championship and Street Fest. And Gemma's back in town. So much awesomeness. My life isn't boring, I am.

Morgan was a slice of peach pie served with an extra scoop of cinnamon ice cream. New York has been weeping all over me since we parted, today being the first respite of blue in awhile. Rosendale is cool gusts of hot wet floral air. The rail trail is even more chocolate-pudding-licious now, and I was to be caked with it today but for a broken bike chain. But of course I made cardboard fairyhouses instead because, duh, that's what I do. Seriously though, Morgan, my post-hostess etiquette is atrocious. I mean to call you and tell you that Louie is in love with you but I just did so I'll have to think of knew things to tell you but you are probably tired of my dork-voice for the time being anyway.

Also: shoot, guys... I guess I'm going to college?

the new glasses, new hair, marlene on the wall, and that mark you can barely see that shall henceforth be known as the tea stain.

Hello, old friend. It's been just a bit. But as for a brief update: plans are manifesting as concretely as my wobbly immature capriciousness will allow; I butchered my hair in a frenzy of self-consciousness—I think I will dye it copper; all I want to do is watch Pete & Pete; tonight I walked home from a bellyful of root beer float listening to Changes, and damn, that's my life.

i gotta try.

but what am i even doing?

Yesterday I was so miserable for no reason that I shut myself in Donna's bathroom and cried, but she finally noticed and was really sweet and made me coffee which is what I really needed. But today was sososososo much better. I went over to Aja and Eve's at 9 this morning with a bag of rhinestones and glitter and brickabrack and lil' girlfriend and I made a batch of fantastic easter eggs. Such a comfortable atmosphere of frantic crafting warms me to the core. We also hunted for fairies in the lightly flaking snow and ate macaroni and cheese while watching Jackie tap dance and had a mermaid drawing contest.

Afterwards I had avocado toast and two cups of coffee and a slice of Billie Holiday chocolate birthday cake at The Market. It tasted exactly the way she sings, which I know for a fact since Mike put on a Lady Day song just after I ordered. "I feel like I'm experiencing synesthesia!" I called from across the room. "That's fantastic! What's synesthesia?" was his reply. I ordered more coffee as an excuse to stick around and peered over my book as he tried to put together a mix of songs he thought I'd enjoy. I love love love boys who flirt with music. Especially when they do it well. I gave him one of the two eggs I kept: purple with an image of Elvis crowned with gold glitter and surrounded by puffy clouds. Jesus Elvis.

edit-- Knowing how zany Dan McCormack is (blonde curly wigs, baby doll limbs peeking out of his pockets, asking the models routinely to scream as loud as possible...) I brought a box of sparklers as a prop for long exposures. The class went gaga- until we set off the fire alarm and I had to wait outside in my robe for the fire department to come. hafgsajdhfdshfgsf.

I'm sorry we were both so tired and lost and aching full of holes that could not be filled with pastries, and that I wrapped you in flannel when you should have been in bed (though the evening turned out enjoyable after all.) But breathing in time to Old Friends, rasping Tom Waits with our real whiskey voices, smelling sunshine and bergamot oil on our hair and skin: I am happy to have spent my weekend thusly with you.

I need to stop being a papoosed little baby. I need somebody to kiss. Fuck it, I am so serious.

In an effort to promote the spirit of Spring, I've been pulling out my summer dresses and drinking my tea iced. Refusing to wear a coat out regardless of the actual temperature, because there is sun! I'm going to die of exposure. I don't care.

Monday night, after I crawled home from Ali and Louie's and a strenuous day of thrift store conquest, Sonya contacted me to tell me she's in town, and then drove all the way from Saugerties at midnight so that we could sit on my dirty floor—positively lousy with thread and tiny paper stars—and catch up. (That was a long sentence. I have no regard for grammar.)

I didn't get any sleep, but I did get some two-dollar breakfast the next morning, mmmm. I wish I could do more for Sonya, but all I can do is offer a bit of cheer... and really, how can you be unhappy when you have sunny-side eggs and sunny-side weather, Jackson Five and adorable puppy boys serving you coffee? I know I know I know it's only shallow comfort, but it's all I have to make me happy, and so oh, how I cling to it.

Speaking of, I just pulled out my little lemonade dress, and it's heady with the smell of sweet olive oil tortas and honey. I wish it was June, and Gemma and I were sitting in a patch of clovers, eating drunken goat cheese, drinking lavender jasmine iced tea and reading E.M. Forster out loud to each other. If I close my eyes and inhale, I'm right there.

The Morning Dumb-- Yoko Kikuchi




Cherbourg (KEXP Session)-- Beirut




Desafinado-- Antonio Carlos Jobim




Love Is Overtaking Me-- Arthur Russell




If You're Ready (Come Go With Me)-- The Staple Singers



If you understand the flow of this mix, you understand me.