Sunday, 13 December 2009

Freckle

Am I a writer?
Do I write in order to become a writer,
or is it like a nose, or my eyes.
Something is simply is. A part of my human
complexion.
Speckled words freckled on my screen,
lines, aged lines, that form in the ridges of a
well-thumbed page.

I sneeze. and I write it. Immediate yet conscious.
I don't think it should be conscious, only immediate.
Like the grabbing of her arm when I walk.
It should be like brushing my teeth. Maybe writing
would be more unconscious if I didn't think about
brushing my teeth.

Meanwhile I have these words of others.
The ones I must analyze, scattered and dispersed,
for points. Freckled in my
periperhary. She uses words like iridescence and
emerald.
It's understated and calm. A meditation in the form
of precise, extraordinary detail.
Like a scientist describing the phenomenon of
feeling, silver and cold dark deep.

I wonder what will become of these hands. Will they
hold yours or another. Will they always seek yours
in ways that aren't how you think.
I want your hands like a child?
To walk the woods with you and teach you my
freckles. Like ancestors.
I want to skim stones with you and speak until
all sense falls asleep.
Watch the cinema shots that make you inhale,
involuntarily.

It seems hopeful, too human? It seems true. Little
and golden.
Simple two.
Words and hands and eyes.
That way others can hold your small body and dip
the tip of their noses into your heart that is oversized,
like the snow flakes that press themselves down on
the small
branches of a young oak tree.

I can then go and see if others smile like I do.

I can see if others have beautiful eyes. "I'll watch you
through the smokey haze."
We have metaphysical string tied in a deep full bow
between us.
And it's made of silverwood. Elastic and firm. It
swims and freezes but it unties, never.

Silverwood like hazelwood but made of moon
and the sky on cold days. Made out wind and that
soft sound you make when you wake in the morning.

I still feel lost, like an old traveller. Pocket knife
worn and stupid, and brass leather bag filled with hours.
There will be this feeling until I find another
traveller.
Take me with you. Let me clasp your pinky as
they cheer.
As people grow from you, let me swing
on that disobedient curl. Winter comes and let me
sleep in the arc of your neck in between the vertebra.

One day when our joys and tears write
themselves into our old freckles and the creases of faces,
We will smile knowingly and pick them away, one
by one. Until all that is left is simple and two and
golden.

Sunday, 6 December 2009

not a Twitter plug, honest.



(but, in case you're desperately curious, @shellbelle6 & @gijohazelwoods)

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

"you're right, it is like a kitten... f*cking kitten..."


And here is where my love for my family (and for this song of indescribable beauty and wisdom) acquires physical embodiment :) what we do for 'em, eh?

p.s. that's the sister in shot :)

Sunday, 1 November 2009

Allah, Allah, Allah



"Shelly: omg. jo can you watch something for me?
i thought it was awesome

Jo: yeah sure
but you have to watch this first
unless you've already seen it haha
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnhgpVb-u5s

Shelly: http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html

Jo: Sally Field's most critically acclaimed work

Shelly: PAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA
omg
Ok mine is on an altogether different level. haha

Jo: hahaha
yeah I'm watching
seaweed haha
afraid to be a chemical engineer haha

Shelly: haha

Jo: drinking gin at nine o'clock in the morning hahah
oh my cod I love this woman

Shelly: I KNOW right! I knew you would :) I did also. wait it get better.
s

Jo: Rome, ooog
*oooh haha
Dobby hahaha

Shelly: hahahaha
yes

Jo: swallow the sun oh my goddess

Shelly: :) nodds knowingly

Jo: faeries hahaah

Shelly: I'm sure there could be some scientific objections..... but.
haha

Jo: "excuse me, can you not see that I'm driving?"
my god, that is exactly the kind of thing I do

Shelly: :D yes.
It rings true right?
i thought she was awesome. i want to get her bok.
haha *book.
i want her bok choy. haha

Jo: literal immediate out-loud response?
tears up "oh my god, this woman is- has a genius..."

Shelly: :D
i knew you would appreciate it!. there is another really awesome one but it's for another time. the talker is less cool than her.

Jo: haha ok: :)
seriously, kudos and thankfulness for finding that
can we embed it on TJS?"

Monday, 28 September 2009

Thursday, 10 September 2009

Sunday, 6 September 2009

"A Case Of You"

Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"

On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
oh I would still be on my feet

Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"

Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet


© 1970; Joni Mitchell


(cover to follow soon, we can but hope)

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

Just checking in.

Thursday, 6 August 2009

11:42 am, July 31st '09

It's been a long time since I was sat here on my bed waiting for a call.

It's been even longer since I've expected one from you.

My insides are turning; I'd eat to pass the time but it wouldn't stay.

I shake.

I wait

to tell you how,
even now,
with this truce in place,
my fingers fight-

first spelling out your number like it were their own name,
then knee-jerk refusing to dial.

And somehow you are here,
in my city, just as I've cracked-

but why would this surprise me?

Monday, 6 April 2009

New


Awesome, love it.
 
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