Dreaming Too Vividly Lately

Weird

friend: "If any girl likes Monty Python, she's a keeper"

me: "Girls like Monty Python! I like Monty Python!  I listen to my parents records of them."

friend: "Elsa, look at you, compared to any normal girl."

me: "Oh. Right"

When the Going Gets Tough...

Cold

The creeping stench of body and too too too much
treadmills me to that place I sleep.

I let the lack of location seep into the
paranoia creeping into the cold back corners of my brain
as I lie awake in bed running my fingers over my scraggily ripped rib cage.
Tiny ridges form a mountain pass to steep and
I plunge off the rib and into the abyss of my stomach. Fuck I'm still not asleep.

My eyes are puffy as if my body is telling me to force them closed,
And I surround myself with glass,
perpetually gnashing my teeth
so I wake up with scars on the inside of
that dreadful dark cavity, my mouth.

I feel the chills,
and no not the chills of superstition or a bad prediction
but a hair raising sensation satiating every pore
until the cold becomes so situated on my skimpy corpse
that I surrender.

Beirut in my hometown

Beirut is playing tomorrow in Milwaukee at Turner Hall.  I so want to be home now.
Shows out here are insanely packed and expensive and hard to get to and the fact that it will be an intimate show and inexpensive and in MILWAUKEE yeeee I wish I was there.

Thanksgiving

I'm in Marin County at my Godparents for Thanksgiving, and I forgot how charming the Bay Area is! There are so many things to be thankful for.

1. My family.  We have gone through a lot this past year, and it has made me realize how much I need them.  My parents are so devoted. My brother continues to be the most important friend I have. We will stay strong as a family, no matter what. 

2. My friends.  My friends from home, who understand my roots, who know my history.  My girls at Scripps, the brightest young things I've ever seen.  240 housemates. Jonah and Joseph, my improv brothers, and Box, my improv family. And my camp friends, who understand the magic of Leelanau and Kohahna. 

3. My education.  The fact that I feel stable in my learning, and growth as a student and a person.  I am so grateful to be at the Claremont Colleges, surrounded by people that are inspiring every day.

Can't

Pasadena

Art history homework is so much easier to do in Pasadena, surrounded by pastries and coffee.

The Last Night

They knew it was me. 

Through my scent, they way I walked

My “heyyyy girls,” 

The slip under the fence, the clasp of my abs, the soft swing of my hair

Knotted in damp curls

Told them I was no predator

And how small I feel

When stating up at the white abyss that knows no end

Reflected in black marble,

Far as visible

A cool so deep 

That in between my arms

Rippling with taught muscle

All I feel is 

Open.

They were all sleeping, 

Together, under the overhang of the barn,

The hot breath through giant nostrils

The calm swish of long tail.

She put her nose to my stomach 

And I breathed. I breathed the air of eight years.

The holy air

Pure as the milky way

I sat there, in the dust, cradled by my horses

And cried and cried and cried. 

And they understood. 

Avocado

I think one of my favorite foods is straight avocado.  My housemate's uncle owns an avocado farm, and 20 ripe ones just arrived on my living room table.  YUM

Always Know The Right Thing To Say

Another Revival

I wish I could take the art film seriously

But I was actually more focused on your breathing

And the fact that I still don't speak Italian

_____

I take the art film so seriously, 

Taking vigorous notes in cursive, 

Remembering the directors previous work,

Discussing it in fluent French twice a week.

Though I'm not afraid to laugh during the screening.  

Your breathing is the furthest thing from my focus,

The inhalation of midwestern night air

And exhalation of cigarette smoke

Is happening, but I'm not thinking about it. 

Another thing; 

I speak Italian. 

Get Rid Of It

DESTROY WHAT DESTROYS YOU

Three Albums

The other day, on a long bus ride, I was thinking a lot about albums that say something about my past, present and future. At this point in my life, these three albums are my favorite of all time.  

1. Weezer Blue Album (reminds me of 2006)

When I was in middle school, my Godparents son (god-brother?) was in high school.  He was soooooo cooooool. And he loved Weezer.  We would drive down to his house in Chicago from Milwaukee at least once a month, and eventually I asked him to burn me this CD.  Listening to it in my CD player on the drives to and fro became regular. And, also, what a perfect, classic album.

2.  Merriweather Post Pavilion (reminds me of 2009)

The first time I ever heard "Summertime Clothes" was also the first time my boyfriend-y like guy (whatever) showed any PDA.  He held my hand in the backseat of a car full of our friends as we drove to a nearby park on Lake Michigan to get high. This whole album reminds me of that period of time spent with him.  I remember packing for camp listening to this album on repeat and wondering what life would be like without him when he went to college and I stayed in high school. Then I went to camp, where no ipods or personal music devices were allowed, and of course whenever we could listen to music I would try to sneak this album on and everyone would give me weird looks and skip the track. I listened to "Brother Sport" in the shower when I found I had gotten off the Waitlist of my first choice college. The combination of happiness, nakedness, wetness, and AnCo was amazing.  I know it’s cliche but I have such an emotional attachment to this album.

3. Fleet Foxes Helpless Blues (reminds me of 2011)

I listened to this album on repeat in the horse barn this past summer at camp.  Being alone, and completely exhausted, in a 100 year old barn with 6 horses, listening to this album, wow.  The small of hay, and sweat, the look of tanned skin and feel of tanned leather. The calm sense of this album helped me deal with all the emotional stuff that went down this summer.  I remember running on a remote Michigan road to this album. And falling off horses but having the pain and happiness of life be more overwhelming than any injury, feeling more internally than externally. I would often decompress by singing Blue Spotted Tail to my horses as I fed them dinner.  I love this album.  

Private Moment In Margaret Fowler

I love "the secret garden"

Dog Eyelashes

I realize that one of my favorite signs of happiness and contentment is when a dog's eyes are half closed, in the sun.  Their little eyelashes barely shading their eyes, they look so satisfied. I saw a dog just basking in the sun today and it reminded me of all the millions of things I am grateful for.

Pictured: my dog, Gwynneth

Right Now, Outside

Two trees growing together.

The presumption that they will grow together

And develop roots, strong and regular

Is what's throwing me off

The pretty tableau of two attractive brunette teenagers

Succeeding
Pecks at my throat.

I thought I had angst

But now I'm realizing that the offspring of two artists 

Have twice as much weirdness
And are bound to crash;

Because

Its a fucking human life

And all one cares about is creating meaning

Perhaps spotted with happiness

Before your skin stretches over your cheekbones

And the vermin nibble your finger bones
And the stench of your rotting body
Is overwhelming even to the worms.

The stop and start has been driving me a little oddly off.

The days when my eye habitually twitched

Combined with

The nuclear -ness of a family that took vacations together

To art museums

Haunts my now fully hollow self

To start in a new place 

Change of location change of locale
Has power, somehow

But

Half of me is somewhere else 

And the words come out covered in a dusty curtain.

Our roots 

Filled with fertilizer, are being hacked and chopped and mutilated by 

Life.

Therefore, think about the idea that sometimes moving and fleeing and changing and changing

And growing up 

And out

And away

Is normal even though

For a human, nothing is normal. 

Back At School

‎"I am two fools, I know,


For loving, and for saying so


In whining poetry." --John Donne

Peace

SCRIPPS

Scripps College is the #6 happiest college in the nation according to The Daily Beast. And CMC, Harvey Mudd, and Pomona rank above us. I love where I go to school. West Coast best coast.

Picnic

Hot. Summer. I went in Lake Michigan twice yesterday and it was numbing.

The End, Pathetically

tha ump tah ump tah ump lets me know that my time us up

that something must move past the

iron grate lips that

prevent me from uttering what's on my mind,

that is fervently whispering memories, corrupting my balance.

I barely remember how your lips taste;

though I think of the moment behind glass

more of an observation that an actual

movemenet of the flashing flesh.

But my rememory

feels the oils in your curls

as you cup my jawbone

like no other man has done since.

I imagine wine filled nights to no end with the iron springing out of my mouth

and onto a balcony into sensual twists that mimic my hair.

I imagine days that end when the sun pierces at a five o clock angle, traveling through souls to cure depression.

and I listen to Angles

as I sit shivering,

and tell myself it's just the air-conditioned gallery

when really the sound of The Strokes, Animal Collective, Radiohead, and Explosions In the Sky

have reached beyond the usual cliche of teenage angst,

and cause my arm hair to stand erect.

I taste Wisconsin, California, Michigan,

and wish that the places my heart belong

could mimic your patterns.

Because as I clung to your hips, and crawled up your shoulders

through the ever-warm night

as we wizzed through the streets

of my territory, Milwaukee,

I remembered.

Things I had tried to forget,

things I had shoved past with newness and a lack of dew.

When really all I wanted

was to climb down a crabapple tree,

instead of up a wet one

with only one kiss

to remind me of all the ways, that simply,

I love you.

Nerdyboyz

I want all of them: nerdboyfriend.com

One Year's Time

Written May 2010

And I wonder if going to college in California where there is no difference in the weather

Is really necessary

And you say it’s lovely

(for old people who have already felt)

But either nice with a side of beautiful

Or gorgeous with a chance of happiness?

How pure and organic is your sugar. Oh, it’s sin - thetic?

I rather like moping on the rainy days

And besides, people that live in California have mental disorders

From a lack of balance

____

Written May 2011

And I wonder if living in Wisconsin where spring doesn’t come till June

Is really desirable

And instead of moping? I’m outraged!

(Why the hell haven’t the trees bloomed)

Mental disorders? As if they weren’t there before,

Because what kind of teenager

Writes a winey poem about moving to Los Angeles!?

I clearly already had problems. And besides

Emptiness still exists in warm weather

But it can be tempered by an afternoon at the pool.

Blast from the Moody Past

In honor of it feeling like winter in Wisconsin, here is a story originally written over a year and a half ago in December, 2009:

Her letter was no longer on his wall. And they were repeating themselves. Things he had texted her, thoughts she had spurted out over the phone, they were all reviewed.

He moved from New Haven to the South. Then to the Midwest. The to the West Coast. Then back to the Midwest.

And, she noticed, he had taken out his piercing. “Why?”

“Because I felt like it. That should really be the only reason you do anything in life.”

***

She had cried in front of him twice. The first time was on a Friday night, the type of Friday that eats at the stomach because one could be out, hypothetically having fun with a bunch of other smiling teenagers (who were only smiling because Friday was an excuse to binge smoke). Yet she was indoors, on the floor, leaning against he bed so the wood frame dug into her vertebrae, sure to leave a raw red mark. The tears were already there when she decided to call him.

He was riding his bike, and could not hear her through the sobs. He switched into protective mode, and through cell phone towers he managed to calm her down. She was never an emotional person anyway. She was smart, in spite of everything, and lovely, and better then this, remember? He made sense. Their conversation turned away from the bad to the future, to the sun that never shone where he lived. They talked for two hours, and he biked completely across Portland in that time.

***

He came back for the first time at Christmas. They were hollow, and it was mutually understood. Swaggering as usual, he made it to her house on Christmas, and they sat in front of the dying embers, as the room slowly grew darker, and the frost crawled up the windows.

The next night, she tagged along with a group of kids she didn't know to a park to go sledding, because what else was there to do? She was loyal to Wisconsin, especially in winter. She giggled through the dark tunnel to the park, and when she came out the other end he was standing there. There, tall as ever. She took him and they ran the edge of the park. They yelled at each other and she hit him with her small fists and he shook her more then was probably necessary. She could tell the tears were close behind, and she pulled down her hat to cover her eyes. Not many people saw her crying. Not even him. But he knew that the tears would turn to ice, and drew her in closer to his kaki coat.

The police came, and they ran further into the park. Their friends shouts, begging them to return, disappeared into the icy river. Desperate, their friends tried to drag them out, to bring them home before the police entered the park, but they were rooted to the spot. When they decided it was time to leave, they walked hand in hand through the tunnel.

She mumbled: “Come find me. Do you promise?”

“I promise”

And he did. They kissed for the last time and he got into the purple Jeep.

The next morning she woke up in her best friends bed with the sun glaring through the window. Her friend pulled up next to her and rubbed her back.

Vomiting was not unpleasant. Her friend followed her and held her hair back. A tall glass of water was produced, the only thing that entered her body for the whole day.

***

“No last semester was just bad for me,” he tossed out, peering up at her from his dorm room bed many may miles away, through a computer screen.

“Nooo, second semester senior year is supposed to be the best part of high school”

“Well, I was just fucked up a lot. On a lot of drugs. And drunk all the time”

She wished she could hear him, but they had already stopped communicating.

Raining

The new Bon Iver album has leaked, but I'd rather listen to it when it is actually released...oh the torture. For now, it's a rainy day, so I'm reminiscing while listening to this amazing rerub of Skinny Love.

Missing College

This hilarious tumblr makes my heart sore:

http://peopleofclaremont.tumblr.com/

things I missed

1. the lake

2. suburban starbucks

3. boys

Leaving

Crickets eat at the air;

dense with a shade of purple the color of salty water.

As fingers run over the last grooves

the sketched out lines of screen

the last bubbles of the fountain

like a perpetual fish tank aerator accompany my dreams.

Silent, captured, the air breathes

with thoughts of leaving

weaving

through eternal checklists

in my overwhelmed mind

In An Aeroplane Over the Sea

But for now we are young

Let us lay in the sun

And count every beautiful thing we can see

Cali Bruh

I was lucky enough to spend the day at the Jonathan Beach Club in Santa Monica on Saturday. I will really miss California. I head back to Milwaukee on Saturday.

Mental

The Magnetic Fields

This song has somehow stuck with me over the past few days...

I Don't Want to Get Over You

I don't want to get over you. I guess I could take
a sleeping pill and sleep at will and not have to
go through what I go through. I guess I should take
Prozac, right, and just smile all night at somebody new,
Somebody not too bright but sweet and kind who would
try to get you off my mind. I could leave this agony behind
which is just what I'd do if I wanted to, but I don't
want to get over you cause I don't want to get over love.
I could listen to my therapist, pretend you don't exist
and not have to dream of what I dream of; I could listen
to all my friends and go out again and pretend it's enough,
or I could make a career of being blue--I could dress
in black and read Camus, smoke clove cigarettes and drink
vermouth like I was 17 that would be a scream but I
don't want to get over you.

too much

Its back

Crawling in my stomach

With pink limbs through my torso

Up up into that center

Ive been starving myself for two days

Purpling food until black cigarette smoke remains the only behind lights

taste that lingers

Restricted

Makes me want you more

I want you more, more, more,

I want to feel your arm muscles flash

And run my fingers through your

Woods of a head

Forever and roll in the moss until my breasts are covered by the slight green velvet of yourself

My headaches throb inside my chest and I want to cocoon my self

Yet the only thing I can think of is your green comfort

That wraps me so tight that even your superior taste in music barely shakes me

Who am I tricking when I say you do’t shake me?

You shake me, alright. Enough to make me slap you

A slap in anger, in belly wrenching sideways feeling pure sharp unfairness

And I need to turn that hand around and take our over flushed face

With my ever growing arm muscles and love and love and love

I’m opening myself up. Do you know?

WFB

I've been thinking a lot about high school lately. I went through my friend Tessa Binder's polaroids, and here are a choice few that really make me miss Milwaukee and the crew.