Isn’t it funny the things we decide we’re capable of when the depression fog has lifted for just a little too long? How will we survive this hope?
You show me how to stay alive in this world, and I’ll show you how to break apart, slowly, imperceptibly, until we are a thousand tiny particles held together by the belief that there is something, besides this, that matters.
Category: Ordinary Days
One Post a Day
My vision is this: write and share one blog post every day, whether it is a 3-line haiku or a 3 paragraph feminist analysis of the book I just read. Write even when I don’t feel like it, even when the writing is mediocre, even when it seems useless to write.
My reason is this: I am gathering material, voice, tone, and skill to write a book. Writing a book takes time, observation, and consistent effort. It is not magical.
My worry is this: that writing every day will be difficult to “add” into my already packed routine.
My conviction is this: that the gentle tug in the pit of my stomach must be heeded, and that this is the way to listen. This is necessary.
My reminder is this: that it doesn’t matter if people read what I write. It only matters that what I write is true.
Here we go.
what the world can take
in between
moments of feeling
like I am not enough
and worrying
that I am too much
for this world
I am astounded by
my presumption
to know anything
about what the world can take
or what I can
On German Food
Food descriptions in Munisch och Garmisch, Deutschland
huge Turkish sandwich stuffed with lettuce, tomato, fresh parsley springy and green, hot sauce, yogurt sauce, onions, root vegetables roasted and fried, wrapped in a soft bread, like a large, flat pita
blood orange juice, washing over tongue with tang and ache and lust, deep release
fresh-squeezed orange juice, pulp excited jostling in the sweet liquid sunshine
tomatoes red on the vine, waiting ripe and heavy, expectant, in the rough wooden bowl
brambér jam is thick and startling! more flavor bursting and somersaulting than expected, dark and airy at the same time, tangy and bright but also musty and sacred (blackberry jam)
frambér jam is like sauce, or pie filling (strawberry)
hazelnut sweet bread, coated with sugar
strong strong strong, thick coffee at früstück
loose-leaf Earl Grey tea, aromatic and cutting
pretzel and bright orange cheese dip – strong, aged, like a shockingly sharp cream cheese, topped with red onion and green scallions
carrot, apple, ginger, orange juice – overwhelmingly sweet and full of eager carrot pulp
“classic chocolat” creamy sweet clouds of cocoa-filled warmth
a sandy, bitter, and rich “butter” that I guessed to be tamarind paste, but turned out to be tahini date paste, and now I’m wondering what tamarind paste tastes like
white, bloated sausages, large and phallic, floating in water. Chris and I were a bit too repulsed to try them
white, slightly sweet grits, thick and sticky
On Cafe Daydreams
Character sketches at a cafe in Garmisch, Germany
thin waitress wearing light gold glasses and white shirt, very focused and quiet, not interacting with her coworkers much, except with thin-lipped eye crinkles to show appreciation and respect
woman pushing a stroller wearing jeans and a silvery, mirror-like raincoat that falls down to her knees, covering her arms and shoulders, reflecting the light in rainbow pools
dark blue t-shirt on a tan, blond man with a chiseled face and deep-set eyes
blond woman with light blue jeans, dark sandals, and embroidered pants with a rip in the knee
two women with short hair, severe faces, and biking outfits
heavy lash makeup barista with dark red hair tied up in a high ponytail with a thin silver scrunchy, wearing a dark outfit with white stripes down her pant leg and thick white sneakers
woman on her phone wearing a raspberry-colored wide, long dress and a creamy muslin hijab, thick and sturdy covering her head
wide, built woman wearing jeans and a beige t-shirt with gold dots on the front, holds herself as royalty or great beauty
On Rants
Fuck shame.
Fuck trying to control shame
Fuck trying to live well
Fuck chicken
Fuck hot tubs
Fuck tomatoes
Fuck taxes
Fuck entropy
Fuck old dead composers
Fuck using shame as manipulation
Fuck manipulation
Fuck abuse
Fuck our abusers
Fuck this stupid, ugly couch
Fuck being cold
Fuck asking for money
Fuck subscriptions
Fuck Instacart
Fuck smartphones
Fuck anxiety
Fuck weakness
Fuck parenting
Fuck killing
Fuck crafting
Fuck furniture
Fuck clutter
Fuck red
Fuck social movements
Fuck having a public voice
Fuck being
Fuck being human.
On Setting Each Other Free
Our harmonies don’t match yet but our melodies are synced. We complete each other. We are the point where the water falls, freely, through the air over the cliff, a waterfall with nothing holding it back. We are the feeling of mud squishing between my toes, we are a symphony, we are clean sheets. Our love is euphoric, but it is also dangerous.
We are vulnerable because we set each other free.
We are weak precisely because we feel so strong when we are together. We feel invincible, but we are not really that strong. Two lost souls, finally found, never absolved.
On Prayer
Forgive me
I have forgotten
myself
again
Believe me
if I could do better
I
would
Please, I just want
to feel like
myself
again
On My Father
who can cup water in his hands
and drink from it
who can whistle but can’t
explain how to do it
rough hands
warm laugh
tipsy after a single beer
thinks he can’t stop
but he can
who doesn’t know he is held
On Being
it’s okay
it’s okay to let go a little.
it’s okay
it’s okay to feel a lot.
your thin smiles
your spontaneous tears
your exhaustion
your collapse
your cravings for touch
it’s okay.
it’s okay to not be okay.
hope may not be an uncontrollable force,
but a surrender.
Siena Rose 