Thursday, January 22, 2015

Winter Running Playlist

Is it just me or does everyone pretend to be dancing when they run? No? Just me? Well, hopefully this music will inspire you to feel the same way...

Home - Kids of 88

Your Heart - Dirty South

Sun Blows Up Today - The Flaming Lips

Laura Palmer - Bastille (Kat Krazy remix)

Suavement - Elvis Crespo (Kennedy Jones remix)

Of the Night - Bastille (Fix8 remix)

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

The Call

C. Dale Young
                           in memoriam Cecil Young

I am addicted to words, constantly ferret them away
in anticipation. You cannot accuse me of not being prepared.
I am ready for anything. I can create an image faster than

just about anyone. And so, the crows blurring the tree line;
the sky’s light dimming and shifting; the Pacific cold and
impatient as ever: this is just the way I feel. Nothing more.

I could gussy up those crows, transform them
into something more formal, more Latinate, could use
the exact genus Corvus, but I won’t. Not today.

Like any addict, I, too, have limits. And I have written
too many elegies already. The Living have become
jealous of the amount I have written for the Dead.

So, leave the crows perched along the tree line
watching over us. Leave them be. The setting sun?
Leave it be. For God’s sake, what could be easier

in a poem about death than a setting sun? Leave it be.
Words cannot always help you, the old poet had taught
me, cannot always be there for you no matter how you

store them away with sharpened forethought.
Not the courier in his leather sandals, his legs dark and dirty
from the long race across the desert. Not the carrier

pigeon arriving with the news of another dead Caesar
and the request you present yourself. Nothing like that.
The telephone rings. Early one morning, the telephone rings

and the voice is your mother’s voice. No fanfare. Your
father’s brother is dead. He died that morning. And your tongue
went silent. Like any other minor poet, you could not find

the best words, the appropriate words. Leave it be now.
You let your mother talk and talk to fill the silence. Leave it be.
All of your practiced precision, all of the words saved up

for a poem, can do nothing to remedy that now.

Friday, January 9, 2015

- Oscar de la Renta

This made me laugh... and reminded me of my brother

Real girl New Year resolutions (see 9A, 17 and 22 - nailed it)

Interesting connection between childhood guilt and adult depression

Do you follow Humans of New York on Instagram? I highly recommend

This song is my jam right now. As well as this one and this one (shhh...)

Shrimps faux fur pieces are so cool. Plus, how cute is her website?

Jimmy Fallon realizing he missed his chance with Nicole Kidman is adorable

Reading this book now and can't seem to put it down. I also can't wait to see the movie!

Dying to try aerial and acrobatic yoga. The aerial circus hour class looks amazing

Friday, January 2, 2015

On Friendship

by Kahlil Gibran

Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."
And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.