My friend Ariel featured the lovely Lykke Li on her site a while ago and I had been meaning to share her with all of you for a while but I kept forgetting. Lykke is featured below on what is called The Black Cab Sessions. You'll quickly see why. She is SOOOOO talented. Thank you Ariel for the heads up. xoxox.
Ooooooh & I'm totally loving this Stockholm street version that I came across tooooooooo....so yummy. I LOVE this chick. xx.
i asked polite. i asked twice. i was taught that there was no shame in asking, no harm in trying. “you’ll only regret what you don’t do.” and yet, nothing. no sign. no whisper. i am bound to obey the rules diagnosed to me in perfect handwriting. 9’s never confused for g’s... hands always resting gently on the knees. there is not enough time in the world to perform the kind of autopsy required for breaking this ground.
Some days it’s harder to be optimistic (like this one) Some days I land And some days I miss it. It has nothing to do with you. And maybe less to do with the who I think I am \ / \ These are tears all over my glasses These are prayers that go deep into sleep that is shallow. I hope it passes. I’ll know tomorrow... More or less, What lands first, Is what qualifies as best. Hurt is only there ‘cause you need it. because I need it. because the world is healing a bruise left by dinosaurs and too many wars built by words said too late to take back. Today I’m built like an Indian in a cupboard Waiting to be picked up And made real, By a hand much bigger than myself.
Today is: the first day (on earth) the first day (in this body). Opportunity is everywhere. Language is empty. after watching - carefully - the way the heart administers Life; the exact precision with which blood pumps through it - i open one eye to feel the life that lives on outside this cage of flesh - to find out how the ocean manages to vaporize enough to nuzzle against a mountain - to experience the potentially of light reflected through each molecule and each atom - to witness how words work to limit imagination but broaden understanding - to realize that sitting is to flying what laughing is to crying except that living is not to dying what seeing is to blinding because there is no such thing as death...just a loss of breath.
I have balanced out the figures in my head. counted every quarter, packed up every book you never read. moved everything into Love. the place is looking good. I think we should... but as you know, Time will have it’s say months will make way into years and then it’ll be closing time For us my dear dear Husband, that you could have been. you waited too long. (a fate worse than sin) I am past ripe now and raw with introspection. you missed the flight, flew right through the intersection. there was only one fatality. Us.
Imagination came home last night. Late. Just to visit. I was not awake, But still (in the darkness) I could hear it enter. Sounded like aluminum foil touching fillings. Reminded me that I need to get quarters for laundry in the morning. Controlled my dream state and dictated a poem. (Not this poem That poem was in some other language I will have to get it translated)
Before Imagination left, it told me why it hardly ever comes around anymore: Your brain is usually too full of your ideas... There is no room left for me. Seems like you are clearing out some space in there these days, Soon enough things will be like they used to be.
My hair stood up from my arm, there was an electrical storm in my belly. And when I woke up today I knew how Imagination knows How to make itself grow out of simple things like Peanut butter & Jelly.
so, today was not what your ordered. maybe the meeting didn’t go how you planned. it’s like you asked for sugar, and got a bowl of sand. So? go with it. continue where that last listless lingering lesson left off. notice things. begin to understand... and then not. allow your imagination to run wild... with out stop, just sometimes. just be (the) cause. listen to each second of a brief intermission. leave alone unexamined thought. you are a beautiful gem stone don’t let your self sink like a rock
I cant believe I haven’t written a poem about you yet. how absent minded and absurd! when you first got here, I knew you were more... more than just a bird. In a window. stalking my stove. I knew you were a part of me (and visa versa... and vis a vis) Love. and lover of the sun-kissed air. time marker and reminder of my own magnificence. holding a fortune in each fold of your wings. cooing at my silliness and inability to become as clear as see-through things... like crystals, poppies and egg shells. but I’m getting there. by thinking less and being more - still - so I can coax you Dove: isn’t a beautiful enough word to hold you. and so, I’ll only ever know you as God.
one time i thought i made something of it. but then some years past and i knew i was just cornering a building, with very few lights left on. maybe in park slope. or carry town. the differences between places can sometimes be: only smells. when your face is pressed against brick, and your toes are cold, because flip flops are not appropriate foot ware for an early spring. no body taught me that. i just learned it, along with other things that common sense defies or inadequately defines. i act like i don't care. and sometimes i actually don't... but mostly i do and too much. this is how the witch hunt starts. like climbing up a ladder, or leaning over a tar paper roof, it's the heights of things that get to me and ground me like: a relief a map a drop of syrup after it's done being sap. i would start to count on you, if i was better at math.
Never before have I forgiven so much so fast. One sip of air later, breathe first, ask questions last... I’m driven By some other source I know Is providing The ropes. The reigns. The course. All I have to do is stay on it. Because this is the purest force Of Nature. Of Love. Of God.
I’ve been given this life (and everything in it that I will ever need) came before me... it’s so easy to trust, when there is no such thing as fear. my mind is works effortlessly, When I let go of the wheel...
Each page in here has and equal and an empty... but words are truly thicker than forget, and memories are made up of a handfuls I never fully wish to get broken from. I take only as much as I can consume and besides...i don’t want more than I can carry. MUSIC (luckily) weighs nothing. And makes my mouth just as numb. I think now, that I can stay alive a little bit longer, Just enough to stroke each page as it should be nearly tussled, And I could try a little bit harder to evaporate any enemies I might have made along the way.
These empty sides are like excuses for reading less and coming back to respond in some other colored ink. That page is not what I consider to be for myself as much as it can sometimes appear that way. It was merely a pronunciation of the independence I had just newly acquired. I would suck the juice out of it life if it meant I could linger there. But as of yet I prefer this electric and automated freedom. Feeling that ways was necessary to the process of sneaking out of the house at night And then back into the garage in the morning. The sun-burnt sidewalk always slick with ocean fog. My car left purring, seeping out smells of old cigarettes - And I can hear the sounds of pianos, My goodness. These pages could strangle me. Two by two. Or none at all. I am amazed by what I’ve done, less so by what I have become.