Indian Summer

i have been playing in puddles.
my rain boots are worn in
from endless adventures
where I jump
from puddle to puddle
and thought to thought.

i wouldn't have it any other way, too.
because, even if times get stormy
and even if my thoughts get cold,
there's nothing worse than being left in a flurry of emotion
where you are abandoned

numb...

because there's no blanket warm enough
and no compassion in sight
to keep you

alive & well.

xoxoxo


Indian summer, you're doing us right, but hot cocoa and cuddles are quite lovely too. :)

White Walls Say Nothing

Over the course of the past few weeks I've been helping a non-profit organization in Buenos Aires calledgraffitimundo. I'm not one to coax people into donating, especially since most of the folks I know are poor college students, but if yo

u have anything to give - awesome. If you don't - still awesome.

There's something unbelievably beautiful about urban art, in my eyes. Thus, I figured I'd reach out to anyone else who may agree.


Here's the kickstarter:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/whitewallsdoc/white-walls-say-nothing-buenos-aires-street-art-an

I know it's a big goal... but it's going to be amazing, if successful.
♥

-Mon

I am completely different but exactly the same.


So much reflection, love and gratitude for my past, present and future.

I miss the playa and all of the beautiful souls who I had the pleasure to meet and share this experience with. Yesterday, I developed only one of my disposables from that beautiful event and I couldn't help but cry. 

With Autumn having begun on Saturday, I look back on my summer and think: "wow." The friendships I fostered and the few individuals who I lost all made the most unthinkable impact on me. 

Fall began in endless laughter, soon followed by a somber shift in mentality. There is so much to look forward to these next few months... 

I'll update this more often, the therapy is nice. 

I love you guys, by the way.

-Mon

Fiona Apple has still been on repeat

"We're like a wishing well and a bolt of electricity
but we can still support each other, all we gotta do is avoid each other
Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key
Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key..."

 Today, this song has been resonating a little more than usual.



xo,
Mon

An Internal Monologue

//Goosebumps all over my body//

It has been the most fascinating experience this summer with so many ups and downs. 

Essentially, I am just so very thankful for everyone in my life. My family, my friends, my acquaintances; everyone is just so beautiful.


The other day I woke up with a new frame of mind

and I have been trying, quite effortlessly, to love. 


And it feels so nice. 


So very nice.

xxx

(As Fiona continues serenading me)

"It's happening..."

I feel like a new human being ----

with a heart full of gold.

Photoz by SWOG + Mateo Miller (2nd from top)

Rrrrring

Hello operator,
please ring me 459
and if you disconnect me
then I'll give it one more try.

But if the trying goes on
(there's no one on the other end),
I think I'll get the picture
and I will never call again.


[Why am I so attached to my phone lately? It's literally driving me absolutely haywire to the point where I feel no longer like myself! How sad is that? When one measures their satisfaction based on how many interactions they have via cell phone. It's impersonal, up to the same caliber as those social media bullshit websites. And yet, I still keep checking my phone and I still keep my social media bullshit websites up to date.

I've hit a funny place in my head, methinks. I need to figure this one out.]


-Mon

[Mixed Media; Acrylic + Oil Pastel on Wood]

[Through the looking glass;]
peering out of a window
into the grassy knoll
where the children frolic
and the sweet surrender of frivolity
resonates.

It captures them
serenades them,
(if you will)
"come play,
unabashed
until one day,
this sweetness
will become ill-advised.

"Come play,
and let creativity tickle your fingertips,
let adventure tantalize your soul
and join the rest of the world
in frivolity,
because you just don't know
any better."

But,
don't be fooled,
because frivolity is a double edged sword.

We all want to play-
but games are only fun
when there's little
on the line.

Because
when emotions get the best of you
and all you can do
is see your losses:
no gains,
no pleasures;
just pain.

That's when you come to realize
that (maybe) its all

just

not worth it.


-Mon

A new post

Back,

with a new head.


Spring cleaning. Out with the dull life...

One of My Turns

"Day after day, love turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man.
Night after night, we pretend its all right
But I have grown older and
You have grown colder and
Nothing is very much fun any more.
And I can feel one of my turns coming on.
I feel cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum."


pitter patter, eh?

-Mon

Because the headlines have been a mess the past few days,

Art is everywhere - and it can be crafted to be seen at first glance; or rather, noticed with enough time passed. So beautiful! So much potential! Now, off to read...

s/love,
Mon

A Plausible Finish

A plausible finish by Charles Bukowski

There ought to be a place to go
When you can't sleep
Or you're tired getting drunk
And the grass doesn't work anymore
And I don't mean to go to
Hash or Cocaine
I mean a place to go
Besides a death that's waiting
And a love that doesn't work
Anymore.

There ought to be a place to go
When you can't sleep
Besides a tv set or a movie
Or a newspaper
Or a novel about a woman
With her clit in her throat.

It's not having that place to go
That creates the people in madhouses
And the suicides.

I suppose what most people do
When there isn't any place to go
Is to go to someplace or something
That hardly satisfies them,
And this ritual tends to sandpaper them,
Into a dullness where they can relax
With out hope.

Those faces you see everyday
On the streets
Were not created entirely without
Thought: Be kind to them:
They have
Escaped.

Where is my mind?

-x-x-x-

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

-ee cummings

-x-x-x-