monday mornin' music tarot shuffle, the v-day edition

that's right, bitches.

show your age - the end of the world

throw - lcd soundsystem

one step inside doesn't mean you'll understand - the notwist

light of day - joan jett

stephanie visite appart - the science of sleep soundtrack

valentines from postsecret

these hit home today, for me. happy veve.

tigress

it's difficult not to worry
about what happens next

certain looks
sort out confused looks

certain looks
sport confused looks

i watched us talking
in the mirror
and you put on that look
that says this little star
wishes she weren't single

it is the eye that catches me

a man protesting his worth

it is the air that catches you

putting the shake on your words

you are alert as a tigress
at a common table with her fate

you can almost taste it

we'll be gone by morning,
or be together by then 

and i believe every woman
has made up her mind to win

from Tenth Vertical Poetry

by Roberto Juarroz

Any movement kills something.

It kills the place that is abandoned,
the gesture, the unrepeatable position,
some anonymous organism,
a sign, a glance,
a love that returned,
a presence or its contrary,
the life always of someone else,
one's own life without others. 

And being here is moving,
being here is killing something.
Even the dead move,
even the dead kill.
Here the air smells of crime. 

But the odor comes from farther away.
And even the odor moves.

translated from Spanish by Mary Crow

with a capital "troub."

someday we'll be lions
fur matted with the proof of
activity and struggle.
caked with blood and mud
and effort - regardless of success
or failure.


someday i will wake up
shake my mane free
of the settling in darkness,
rise to prowl
the lines between sun and grass,
the sweet stagnant oven of 
savanna, and stretch...
prepare for instinct
and the sharp blows of hunger.


i will thirst and crave
hunt devour
and in the light pad of my treads
and the roll of my shoulderblades


you will prey. 


my toes are poking out from the bubbles. i always have to stick my feet out. in bed, in the bath, in the car...

is there a biological reason for it, do you think? some primeval need to see my feet so i know i'll be able to run, if i have to? i wonder these things.

i forgot to do my morning music tarot shuffle reading for the week. it turned out to be my monday evening music tarot shuffle instead.

i was distracted, it's a valid excuse.

as valid as excuses can be, i suppose.

besides, god knows i was desperate for some distraction. i seem to be quite adept at finding it in all the places i least expect, though.

oh, the delicate dance of untangling and trying to straighten the knots that i seem to be so incapable of learning to do.

will i always be this knotty mess?

i hope not. but we all know i'll be the last to ask for some help untying.

do you ever tire of the frantic pace of a leapfrog heart? i do. i just want the game to be over. to collapse into the shade and feel my toes in long, cool grass.

my knees are getting weak
i don't want to take that leap
but i could grab
those shoulders,
get my legs in the air
and end up
over your head and
too far ahead...

and i'm still talking about leapfrog, right? right. it was a good metaphor.

i liked where it went.

i blame the cinnamon.

and the bubbles. mmm.... bubbles.