her eyes are thick set,
and she takes her blinking slow.

it sounds like winter outside through my closed apartment windows.
and if i wake up early enough i can smell autumn on it's way.
but then i remember it's texas, 92 degrees out, end of august, and there's still a while before my sweater weather days.

listening to edith piaf.
for the rest of the night.

bonsoir,
xo.

i sat.
in the chair that creeks when you come and leave.
languidly fumbling hair in between index and middle fingers.
staring at the small lamp in the next room.
laughing at nothing when you can't take it anymore.
eyes heavy.
and head. and heart. and feet. and breaths. and beats.

the silence is even heavy.
the walls are heavy.
the shower water is heavy.
the sheets are heavy.
the moon is heavy.
waning, waning, waning...
i feel it too much.

how is it that everything's so heavy when you feel empty?
...tell me.

i'm. going. to. die.
this year is looking pretty brutal.

my schedule, you ask?
monday: school 8:00am-5:00pm

tuesday: school 8:00am-11:00pm (5-11 i'll be working as a photo lab monitor, which means i probably won't actually leave or get home until 12am-ish.)

wednesday: school 8:00am-5:00pm

thursday: school 8:00am-uncertain..hopefully 3pm.

friday: work 10:00am-7:00pm

saturday: work 9:15am-6:00pm

sunday: homework 12:00am-12:00pm

and i even am, for some absurd reason, considering applying for an internship for gulf coast. i'll have no time, but i desperately wish i could. my english professor last year wanted me to, and i just received an email from my poetry prof this semester who inquired about interest in the position.
i'm actually pretty certain i'm going to apply. uuuuuuuugghhhhhhh.

considering my schedule for last year/this summer/and this current one,
i don't know how i'm still alive, honestly.
i really don't.

don't think i'm going to be too fond of this year. my freshman year spoiled me, i presume. not in the sense of work load (it was still quite hefty) but rather concerning the matter of professors and classroom make-up in general.

in other news--i now have a solid idea for a tattoo. thinking i want to get it for my 20th. in my heart, i want to. but iffy, indecisive me is shakin'
i'm mainly troubled that if i do, it will hinder me in the job realm later in life.
and that'd be really drab.
perhaps i'll wait until i'm in my later twenties. or thirty. thirty seems like a nice age.
i feel so trapped in my age. it just doesn't sit suit.
that's one of the most immense internal conflicts i obtain.
being labeled with a certain age and provided limits, but feeling as if my soul is confined to an inescapable shell/society in which i do not fit within.
mais, c'est la vie, non?

in the mood for some macy gray.

full moon tonight.
(which also means a photo is up here: http://www.flickr.com/zoenoelle)

today was le first day o' school.
lots of awry happenings--like my car dying right as i turned into the parking lot--that i've not the energy to type about.
i'm not sure about my classes as of yet. i'll have to wait until the end of the week to conclude as to whether i've got good vibes or not.

my faja, brother, and sister paid me a visit. my mother was supposed to as well, but got stuck in the airport due to weather (she's a flight attendant)
i missed them all so terribly. and now i miss my mama bear even more.
we went out to eat, nonetheless. i had a scrumptious greek salad, in case you were wondering.

my patchouli oil and nag-champa incense have now been restocked and i've also acquired a new ring.
all is well.


sweet dreams,
xoxo

the monotony begins again.

things worth mentioning that happened today:
-brenda from america's next top model came into the place i work to try and sell a camera.
-that's all.

playing make-believe and watching old horror films.
i'm ready for winter.

this is my last day off.
i'm rather perturbed by the thought.

these past four days have been my longest break since i commenced school in 2010.
wasn't long enough to recuperate all of my depleted energy, unfortunately.

i'm going to go mad.

mama's gonna sing you a lullaby...

this guy's voice kills me.
but oh my, how i'm in love with joanna.

don't want to think about it.

mind, wide-awake.
eyes, half-asleep.

what i've done today:
-commenced a countdown to autumn (there are 36 days)
-snuggled with zora
-rummaged through the interweb abyss for old victorian photos
-listened to leonard cohen
-hid from someone ferociously knocking on my door

"Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
as she came riding through the dark;
no moon to keep her armour bright,
no man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, 'I'm tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
a wedding dress or something white
to wear upon my swollen appetite.'"

Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way,
you know I've watched you riding every day
and something in me yearns to win
such a cold and lonesome heroine.
"And who are you?" she sternly spoke
to the one beneath the smoke.
"Why, I'm fire," he replied,
"And I love your solitude, I love your pride."

"Then fire, make your body cold,
I'm going to give you mine to hold,"
saying this she climbed inside
to be his one, to be his only bride.
And deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and high above the wedding guests
he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.

It was deep into his fiery heart
he took the dust of Joan of Arc,
and then she clearly understood
if he was fire, oh then she must be wood.
I saw her wince, I saw her cry,
I saw the glory in her eye.
Myself I long for love and light,
but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright?"

sufjan stevens music video for "you are the blood" using silent horror classics.

i dreamt in french of ghosts and life lessons.

biggest craving for a mango and a thunderstorm.

sobfests are the best releases.

fumbling strings. tangled sheets.
red lips, dirty nails from clenching the mud in fists, untamed eyebrows, wild hair, lousy limbs, and dark shadow spread across eyes. morning eyes. foolish tired eyes from staring at the night sky for too long.
empty perfume bottles. but the smell wafts through my nose and blood just the same.
even though nothing will spray.


making coffee.

new song up. "coffee stain"

-dance cleaning with a broom
-screamin' jay on repeat
-kitten purrs
-patchouli incense
-homemade soup brewing on the stove
-gray skies


lookin' good.

things i'm working on:
1. growing out hair
2. cursing

both exceedingly difficult.
my hair is currently in the awkward stage, driving me mad.
and i have an irrational fear of cussing that's quite vexing.

lovely.

(advice more than welcome)

WHY is dora maar so underrated?

i mean, i absolutely adore picasso..but it's unfortunate that he overshadowed her almost entirely.

nostalgia. standing on a roof before the hurricane in isla mujeres. 2005, i think.
brother's hand. long hair. band-aid on head.

can't recall if i've posted this before or not. nevertheless.

me n' my lady.

THUNDERSTORM.
finally.

why is it that my mind is so able to perceive?
everything i actualize before actualization and nothing can actually be actualized as perceived.

"i dreamed that you bewitched me into bed and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane."--none other than, sylvia plath.

happy birthday, lucy and andy!
andy, you're exquisite.
lucy, my core.

xoxo.

juste comme ça..

made a stop-motion. i'm deplete.

my mind is a desert-storm.
relentless. i'm restless. smearing ink.

prop 8 just overturned!!!
heck. yes.
i'm inexplicably exuberant right now.

awoke to cat purrs filling my empty belly.

"It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments."
--Oriah Mountain Dreamer

listen: scout niblett--i wanna love.

the steady throb of pulsing inside.
beat. release.
beat. release.
beat. release.
amorously emptying.
beating, beating, beating, beating a bit more languidly.
vitality drawing out of me.
and then the thrashing. threads for veins.
weaving. sewing away.
like gazing into a rothko painting all crimson and purple then muddled to gray.
lured through the black lines into some mysterious cosmic place.
pulling and engulfing without your say.

and then arrives the steady throb of pulsing inside...

i've never seen such bloodshot eyes.
disillusioned eyes of mine.