Two Minutes and Five Seconds

This is basically my life right now.

A List of Lists

Red Things
-Buttons
-Bears
-Candle wax
-Toasters

Blue Things
-Blobs
-Frogs
-Eyes
-Memory

New Things
-Babies
-My zit
-Gloves
-The term

Moo Things
-Cows
-Grass
-Cud
-Cows

Glue Things
-Tape
-Elmer
-Frowns
-Hugs

You Things
-Glasses
-Haircuts
-Bow ties
-Cats

True Things
-Physics
-James Madison
-Pineapples
-Numbers after 12

The Princess and the Pluviophile

You were so happy when I knew the word "petrichor."  Nobody else knows that word except for me and you.  How does that work?  When I asked, I didn't even think you would.  Was that really how it happened?

Needless to say, this gray weather has made me more than a little red and blue with wanting to see you.  Thing is, I know you're dying to see me too.  You're probably dying just a little more inside because you know the word "petrichor" and you love the rain and you're the reason why we talk about it every time it occurs and why I go walk around in boots and an umbrella in the downpours that I can.

I know I'm your princess, okay?  Just let me know when you figure out what that means for yourself.  In the meantime, I hope you can figure out from my discombobulating responses and loud laughter that you're my pluviophile.

We'll be pluviophiles for life, okay?  No, that's not a commitment to you.  It's a commitment to me and to the rain and to the petrichor.  I swear by my title as a princess.

However.

Right now, we can be pluviophiles not for life at the same time and together.

A Second Hypothetical Conversation with Howard Long

Hello my dear Howard.

And how are you tonight?

Oh.

That's good.

I thought you might be at least a little better.

But that's fine.


So it sounds like you miss me Howard.

Fine.  Just fine.

I CARE.  You ROCK anyway.


Once again...the moon.

Yep.  It's pretty romantic.

I'm kind of serious this time.

What can I say?  Where do I start?

Okay.

Deep breath.

Let's face it--I was wrong about you.

Just because I did not know you, just because I saw the boyish side of you, just because you were far too afraid and I just too unsure.

It all changed when you told me what you want to be when you grow up, and that matters.

"Perhaps I'll let myself," I said.  "Perhaps it's not just the attention he's giving me."

And it worked.

You're wonderful and charming and delightful and I know I care more than ever even though I've totally always cared.  Thanks for the letters.  We haven't admitted they're love letters yet, but the wax seals prove it for us.

You should have told me you were going on an expedition of everything too.  I'm not supposed to know, but I'm told it's because you want to meet me at the edge of the universe.

That'd be nice.

I've seen more moons in more skies and I'm starting to change my mind.  The moon can be as creative as all the things you've done that I never thought were possible.

That were for me.

I didn't know you adore Clair de Lune too.

Want to dance to another song?  I'm sorry it's in Spanish again.  But you'll probably like it.

Adios and fond farewell.


Sapo Azul por Jesse y Joy

Stranded

So we're stranded in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a rescue fleet.
It's like laying in a street
At 10:39pm
In the Milky Way
On Earth
In America
Outside my house
Alone.

But I am not outside my house
In America
On Earth
In the Milky Way
At 10:39pm
Laying in a street.


And yet I'm still alone.

Space Camp

Captain stopped the spacecraft on a distant planet which was shaped like something I could never describe.  A lot of little alien kids hopped on and we gave them a ride.

"Where are you going?" I asked a particularly short one; I think it was a girl.

"To save a galaxy!" it chimed.  "And survive a supernova!"

"You really think you'll do that much?  Aren't you a bit young?"

"The youngest youngling ever!  Exactly so!"

And then the supernova hit.

I banged my head on the deck and things got fuzzy.  Red lights went off.  Alarms blared.  My nose bled.

In the morning, those kids were gone, so the only thing I remember...

Was them smacking the floor and screaming "I THOUGHT THIS WAS SPACE CAMP!  I THOUGHT THIS WAS SPACE CAMP!"

Herbs

Mint and lavender.

Mint for me, and lavender for you.

You picked the mint from your garden.

I picked the lavender from a speeding comet.

Mint has soothing properties, perhaps it can make this comet slow down.  Oh dear.  The comet looks like my heart.  Mint is a bit too much for it--you know how I feel.

Slow down everything, because I can't do it.  Not when you give me mint.

Here is your lavender.  A marvelous little plant.  Lavender is poetry.  Lavender is a pastime.  Lavender is purple, which just so happens to be a combination of two of my favorite primary colors.

I have a feeling you like those colors too.

I can't keep calm, so if you want to ride the comet with me, you had better find a way to slow things down.  I don't want you to stop giving me mint.

If only we had a little more thyme.

Whack

Everyone is dead.

I'm looking at you, pathetic humans.  You bloggers, you.

You're sad and broody.  All the time.  And yet your stuff is so remarkable.  That's not fair.

The parts of me that are dead go stiff in the dirt and I weep over the carved stones of their dwelling places until I am forced to avenge their death and structure my life around reviving them.

I beat the ghosts of myself with a club.

You dance with your ghosts in the darkness.

I am alone in the light.

I want the light.

I don't need ghosts.

I don't want to write ghosts.

But you all do.  And it is beautiful.  It's not fair.

Maybe it is because I do not know your darknesses.

But I want to write bright.

Is that too much to ask for, in an existence of divine shadow?

Please take pleasure in what happiness I can offer you in my jealous and ignorant state, you little lurking beasts.

For I will not be morbid.

Here is a microwave and some leftover pasta.

Here is my favorite pair of gloves.

It's getting cold outside, but you don't have to cry.

If you do, you can still be sad.  But make it a good sad, without the raw gore and sobbing embellishments.

Here is a tear to go with the cold.

It was not fun to extract from my eye.
Go ahead and sigh.
Just don't die.

I'm Not Dead. It's Called Homework.

So you know my secret.

I'm still traveling the universe, but the thing is, the longer I'm here, the more like home it feels.

I still sit in class.

I still have a job.

I even went to Homecoming and Sadie Hawkins.

Now isn't that funny.

I'm here, but I'm hiding, but I'm all over the place and won't get out of your face.

Kind of like the universe and my life.

Here are some post cards from another dimension.

A Letter to Fear

Dear Fear,

Hello dear.  How has it been since I ran into you?  Remember, when I fell out of the space craft and landed in the black hole?

I hope you and Anxiety are doing well.  I saw her across an asteroid belt the other day.  We chatted about the two of you and paced back and forth a bit.  By a bit, as you know, I mean a lot.  She told me all about her pacing in the kitchen while she makes you sandwiches.

Grilled cheese is your new favorite.  Perspiration is the butter that browns the bread, and the cheese is the filth that gets in humans' heads.

And I hear there's a baby too.  You named her Worry.

Well you know what they say about Worry and rocking chairs.  Bet she's fun to put to sleep.  Bet she drinks her bottle all up.

I just wanted to let you know something, Fear.

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You stalker.

Get out of my life.  You and your creepy family and your pet tarantula.

Don't make me get a restraining order.  Do those count out in space?

Serenity Blue

Just So You Know

I like it when you fold paper cranes better than the pouring rain.

Sometimes you have to write in pencil, not pen.

People will tell me it's less genuine.

But hey.

It's different.

And that is absolutely everlasting.

At least as everlasting as the thread on the friendship bracelet you gave me.

My  nail polish is chipping away just like the time.

But at least the time has been spent on you.

House of Bricks

Come brother, come sister,
Come into my house of bricks.
It's better than straw and sticks.
I won't play any tricks.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.

Listen one and listen all,
There's a big bad wolf outside.
He runs around, but we will hide,
And he will be denied.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.

You're a pig and I'm a pig,
But we can make some stew.
Maybe the wolf will fall in our brew.
I have fresh vegetables too.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin CHIN!"

He could huff and he could puff,
But he couldn't blow MY house down!
But...why does that make you frown?
I thought his eyes were yellow, not brown.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in.
I'm just a sheep, but I'm in wolf's skin."

---

Straw and sticks aren't as strong as bricks,
But bricks will kill you slower.

So if I'm not stew
Before you're through,
I'll shave my chin
And let you in.

I Can't

Don't mind me as I fall asleep listening to my favorite things.

I'm just living my dreams.

Working.

So hard on other things.

I hear they matter.

That's what I'm told.

So why do I feel so worthless, knowing that I really didn't have time for that essay?  Knowing my teacher was okay with it because she knew how hard I was trying to live my dreams and realizing I needed sleep?

Still working.

So I'll doze to the sounds of the extra credit analysis written on the same poem by the girl a few rows away because she took the time to say it exactly the way I felt it but could not describe after sitting by gray walls by day and listening to elevator music and wearing gloves by evening and night.  And just because I couldn't write like that.

Living my dreams.

An exasperated, exhausted writer who can't write.

I just want to.

Let.

Go.

The Blue Girl Has Waited Long Enough

I'm sitting on the rings of Saturn with Oakley, who is texting his girlfriend.  Apparently there's great reception here.

It's so dark.

It's so bright.

Definitely a starry night.

"Serenity Blue," Oakley said, looking up from his phone, which lit up his face.  "Serenity Blue," he said, "tell me about love."

"No thanks, Oakley Johnson.  Scars."

"Isn't that the best kind of love?  The kind that scars you?"

"Does she have scars that match yours?"

"Yes!  Etched on our hearts!  They hurt--wasn't supposed to happen.  But so worth it.  You can't love without scars."

"True.  But you're in a haze.  Loving isn't worth it for everyone."

"Let me guess--"

"Yep."

And I put my hand on my chest and felt the scorching against the back of my eyelids and Oakley knew a scarlet letter lay there, scratched along my veins, yet nobody else on Earth or the moon or Saturn had an S like that anywhere within their souls.

Not an S for me.

Not for Serenity.

"No wonder you're Blue.  You love young.  You love deep.  You love Long."

"And how Long does it take for something in return?"

"Well...at least you love."




Here is a song, so listen:  Here is a Heart by Jenny Owens Young.

A Hypothetical Conversation with Howard Long

Hello my dear Howard.

And how are you today?

Oh.

That's good.

I thought you might be at least a little worse.

But that's fine.




So it doesn't sound like you miss me Howard.

Fine.  Just fine.

I don't care.  You stink anyway.




On another note...the moon.

Yep.  It's pretty romantic.

And by "romantic", I mean that it's the biggest rip-off I've ever encountered.

There's nothing special about the moon.  Nothing unique.  Bajillions of other people called dibs centuries ago.  It's taken.  Don't try to woo me over with it.  Neil Armstrong's footprints and an American flag and the sighs of the cutest couples to ever have existed make it feel so crowded in this place; there's no room for you and me here.

You have no imagination.

Honestly, the moon?

Never mind that I adore Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune like many before me.  Never mind that it has the word "moon" in the title.  IN FRENCH.

The moon is all you've got?  Even Juliet knew that the moon is too fickle for love.

No, don't say anything more about Romeo and Juliet because that comparison stinks even more than you.  Hard to picture, I realize.

Don't believe a thing that song in Mulan says about manhood, because I've seen the dark side of the moon and there is nothing mysterious about it.

Why can't you think of something better for us, like the laughs ladybugs or the geography of Jupiter?  Even that's settling.  I stayed within the galaxy.

I know!  The Milky Way!  Then we could give each other candy bars for the sake of chocolate and expressing our gushy hearts through succulent caramel.

Oh, you don't like those?  Okay.  Never mind that I do.

Huh?  I'm not being nice to you?  You have to do the settling?  Nonsense.

What's that you say?  I wore a skirt without shaving my legs last Wednesday?!

1.  Well this is awkward.
2.  You noticed?  Ew.

What's wrong with the moon you ask?

Obviously you aren't listening.  Talk to you later.

Eat Your Crust

It's kind of hot here at the core of the Earth.

And it feels a bit odd.

Like when you peel apart flower stems to see what's inside.  Because you're bored and you can.  The Earth seems like a big thing to get to the center of, but trust me, when you're soul-searching, you can do anything.

Funny thing about getting to the center of things is that the real fun's already passed by the time you're there.  All that's waiting inside is sticky white stuff, when the flower petals are on the outside.

So much for inner value.  I no longer have a reason to attempt self-esteem I guess.

All that's waiting here is sticky white stuff.  As in, a very sweaty girl whose shade of foundation is called "Porcelain".  You aren't missing much by not being here, believe me.

Stop complaining about Earth.  I'm not saying I'm homesick already, but man, you have it good up there on Earth's crust.  The mantle is hardly worth your time, and I think I've expounded enough on the core of this place.

Remember all the awkward parts in the Bill Nye videos that everybody loves?  Remember that one kid who always sat eating sandwiches with his parents and never ate his crust, and they always told him to?  His name is Richie.  You are Richie.  Don't be.

"Richie, eat your crust!"

Because the crust is great.  I always eat it first, even though I think the rest tastes better.  Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't.  But either way, the crust is the journey.  Either way, it's good for you.

So yeah.  I like the meadows and peonies much better than this viciously hot stuff.  Do I regret the trip yet?  Nah.  We're going to the rest of the universe and beyond.  That's like the crust to the crust Earth already has.  And it's a big one.

This sticky white stuff is more than ready for a new color.  Captain told me I have galaxies in my eyes.  I really hope that when I find them, they're lime green.  If they aren't, I'll draw over them with my favorite crayon.  Maybe that's a center I could handle someday.

Sweet Home Alabama

All I really got out of Italy was a full stomach and spaghetti sauce on my face that nobody except Birdie Malone decided to point out.

Captain took us back on the ship and looked us in the eyes and said that he had always dreamed of going to Italy.

Our turn.

Anywhere WE wanted to go, we'd go.

Dang it.

Where did I want to go?  Even now, I'm still not positive.

We spent the day in Ghana and Argentina and Thailand and Denmark and Washington D.C.  We climbed a mountain in Switzerland and rode tigers in India.  Mateo Romero took one with him and hid it in his room, and I promised not to tell.  From what he said later, the tiger didn't do so well while we were scampering around England.  That was Birdie's choice.

I learned more of the crew's names by then, but kind of lost my sense of direction along the way.  Also, I was a bit frustrated.  I left my math homework at home.  Not that it really mattered.  Not that I would turn it in any time soon.  Definitely not like I wanted to do it.

But I don't like unfinished business.

Jamie wanted Florida, Persephone said Greece.  Constance led us to Zanzibar, Galileo to Hawaii.  And Jimmy...out of everywhere in the world...decided on Las Vegas.

I don't like Jimmy too much.

Oakley Johnson and I were the youngest ones there and we were up.

Dang it.

Still not sure where to go.

Why not Scotland?  That'd be grand.  More than grand.  Fine, Scotland.  Or Ireland?

But Oakley.  He had no trouble.  Bless that blasted kid.  He looked up at Captain and muttered, "Alabama, please."

"You were just in Alabama.  That's where you live," Captain said.

"Yep."

Oakley's nineteen.  He was home for the summer, but he usually lives at college and loves the isolation.  Why go back?

I must admit though, seeing him hug his mom was a bit neat.  Even though he just got up and left her again.

My turn.

"Uh...home for me too, Captain."

My mom was happy, just like Oakley's.  She didn't mind that I had to whisk myself away again after only a minute.  The fact that I wanted to be there out of anywhere else in the world at that moment must have been cooler than I thought.

I took my math homework with me this time.

And Mom gave me a PBJ.

Still not sure where I am.  It's going pretty fast.  But wherever I am, I'm here.  That's the point.  And if I'm here, I'll be everywhere.

A Mess of a Preface

If you go to the baseball field and get an old paper stuck in the wheel of your bicycle, you may just get to the edge of the universe.

Captain says that after you travel everywhere and see everything, there's a cliff where the universe ends. It's terribly hard for me to imagine it, coming from a minute freckle of existence where mothers do all the laundry and a murder smells like hamburgers on the grill. But it sounds possibly sort of about 23% worth it.

 The spacecraft left today and I went with it. It wouldn't have happened if the wind didn't blow an application for an expedition of everything in my path. There were fourteen out of fifteen signatures. I can't believe they let me come. The only skills I have are feeding birds and wearing a backpack stuffed with books and angst. What do I know of stars and dimensions?

But I guess I did return the application. The man gave me a grouchy look at first, but he said he liked the galaxies in my eyes and to call him Captain.

 I don't have galaxies in my eyes. If I did, surely Howard would have said something. But no matter. The way Captain puts it, there will be much more than galaxies to see very soon.

For now, I'm watching the sun set like a loaf of bread from the spacecraft. I'm floating in the ozone layer above the apple orchards, so if you're passing by that way, wave goodbye. Tomorrow we'll hit Italy. After all, we have to see the world before getting too carried away. It shouldn't take long; it's just the world.

No one is going to believe this.

I feel like a mess.

 But here is a preface.

 I'll write until I'm at the precipice.

You know, the big one.

At the edge of the universe.