Thao with the Get Down Stay Down

Thao with the Get Down Stay Down in my living room from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

Thoreau.

All Good Things are Wild and Free - Thoreau

Sophia Loren: the precedent of beauty

a journal filled with photographs

My most precious finds have always been those of little to no cost. They’re the random one dollar vintage sweaters found on an unlikely street corner while innocently walking to breakfast. Or a borrowed worn in t shirt that feels better just because it’s someone else’s. Or those shoes you bought on sale for 10 dollars when everyone else paid $210 just to have them right then.

A best friend and I were having a conversation composed of theoretical questions pertaining to what we would lunge for first in case of emergency in the house. Our emergency of choice, a fire.

The first thing we both decided on, with little doubt, was pictures. Pictures, in essence, beyond the 19 cents it costs to print them, are indeed priceless. They are the foundation of memories lost and memories one hopes never to lose. They are the reminders of beautiful events or feelings expressed in a past instant. Photographs let you hold on, even when you know you should let go. And they also remind us of who we never want to let go of.

After going through which exact pictures we would throw in our bags in record timing due to the now expanding pseudo fire, I looked around and although my computer and camera, speakers and Italian memorabilia screamed at me to take them next, I realized that I didn’t care. I could carry on, leaving them behind without a second thought.

Books were my next thought alongside various newspaper and magazine clippings over the years. Music, of course, came into consideration when I saw my little external hard drive sitting there on my desk with tears rolling down its eyes to be in the bag for escape. And I will admit, if I have five extra seconds before I flee, I will grab it. It does hold the music, which is partly the definition of who I am.

Then I remembered it….My journal. Lord my journal. A gift. To me, free. Filled with my conscious. Filled with thoughts transcribed into old paper, binded together in a thick cover, decorated with dark browns and reds laced with gold, all so I could throw it in my bag on the way to the park or carry it away quickly in case of emergency.

This led me to think of notes. Notes left to me, notes I have yet to send, notes I have written down to write someone with intentions to mail or give, but couldn’t find the right time to do it.

These… are what I would bring in my emergency. These photographs, notes and journals would be all I need. And if, in fact, these pages were to burn, these photographs were to be lost and these notes were to be blown away, I’m sure I wouldn’t even remember what they all said or captured, because we move on each day to something new, and that’s the beauty of having nothing to lose.

With this imaginary reflection brought on other thoughts. I have nice shoes. I have nice jackets and nice dresses. I have a great car and a camera. I have an ipod and a computer to blog with. But as I looked around, all the things that meant more to me and the things that I found myself always going towards are the things that cost little to nothing at all. The cheapest things, the sale items, the street finds, and the hand-me-downs are always the best things. Gifts, handwritten cards, photographs capturing laughter, a moment of innocent happiness, things lost that I found, bargains and pass downs.

And now, as I am thankful there is no fire, that an emergency is not near, I can only be grateful to have these things, and be okay to lose them.

Scarf, $ 4

Slippers from Italy, 6 euros

Rings, my grandmother’s and mother’s, free

Scarf & bag, gifts from my beautiful Guatemalan roommate in Italy, free

my mother’s necklaces, free

Lepidoptera

My butterflies,
they fluttered all the way down
to my fingertips.
And then,
floated all around me,
and landed on my
heart,
tonight.

A collection of my favorite poems from my favorite anonymous poet

For you,
A little golden poem.
Not gripped in tragedy
love
but like a kiss,
at least I hope
should it touch your mouth
like a little golden bee
to unwind in you what needs to be open

The things I hope.

For you
are like castles.
IMMENSE and open,
burgeoning in Spanish courtyards
singing
Que Sera, Sera!
There,
I hope
You find a place to connect constellations
and listen to sleeping children.
that your laughter remains
simple,unpretentious
like a kiss!
In that way, should it touch your lips
like a little golden bee,
gently beating
its little wings

you pollinate the world.

-----------------------------

The more I try to overlook you, the more pieces of you I find.
For instance,
Pictures, tucked away in forgotten books.
Berets and the myriad trappings you used for beauty, (that really my darling, you never really needed.)
The long sinews of black hair that still attend to the porcelain and towels while you have been away
and the smell of orchards, that you grew in your sleep still stir my sheets and linen, bringing them to life.
Even after all this time.

I wonder what you are doing.
If boys and summer are alive on your windowsill,
offering open hands and doves.
I wonder how much longer I will wait upstairs.
Anxiously listening for the clamor of your arrival, knowing that behind it, is the soft phonic of your voice,
come to paint my room azure and fill the pocket of my chest.
I wonder these things
I wonder these things and miss you

dedicated to my muse.


- to my anonymous craigslist poet who breaks my heart with each beautiful word.

I am, a little bit of every person I have ever met

my one true love

Not only does magic hat produce the best beer in the whole world, but it also gives its sippers life lessons when they pop open their bottle caps to take a nice crisp swig.
Yes, I've gotten weird looks when I tell people that I rely on magic hat caps to give me inspiration and a reason to move forward, but I clearly don't care.

Dear magic hat,
I love every 12 oz of you and with each sip you steal even more of my heart and memory.
love, lauren.

I collect them all and have them laying around my desk and work space for inspiring thoughts and ideas.
I close my eyes and reach to the top of my shelf and grab one.
Some people read quotes from Aristotle or the Bible in the morning to start their day, I drank a magic hat and save the cap in my wallet.

My favorite cap, which still makes my heart skip a beat:

"Enjoy a heart, it's a work of art" (sigh)

on tap or in the bottle, you can't beat a magic hat in your right hand and good conversion on your left. my favorite bartenders are the ones that get excited about the top as much as I do and give it to me without asking. They always get 100 % at the end of the night.

If you don't know what my favorite beer is, you are not my friend. Stop reading this.

Magical Hatteras:
"The Ancient Ritual of brewing a distinctly rich and flavorful beer is nothing short of magic. Our mysterious mix of time-honored ingredients, chaotic chemistry, humble patience, and blind faith age into the secret brew we share in the rousing company of good spirits.

"Feel Strange at least twice a Day"
"Beer for peace"

"And no Oompa-Loompas"

"Music Soothes our Savage Yeast"

"Ingredients: Beer"

A good song when you wake up means it will be a good day

Secret Songs:

what the hell.
you know how great bands decide that after a rather long song on track 13 that goes on forever and ever then finally ends, yet doesn't skip to the next track, but keeps on going in silence...
until finally.... the secret song starts playing?

Here's my question: What are we supposed to do with the time between the secret song and the end of the eleven minute track before it? Five, even sometimes up to ten minutes of waiting in silence and anticipation. Are you supposed to talk? Or is that rude...like talking RIGHT in the middle of a great chord in a perfect song. This tactic of the secret song is not good for impatient people.

Here are your options: you could press forward. But then you risk accidentally pressing too hard and then the whole album starts again from the beginning and then you could try again but you risk it yet another time. And you don't want to just fast forward through the song before the secret song because somehow they are connected, like high heals, a cigarette and Frank Sinatra.
Everyone knows what I’m talking about. It's a trap I tell you.

And the craziest thing about the secret song is that it's usually always SO good. The whole album could potentially suck, but that one random track tucked in between silence and distant harmonies can make you download the whole virus filled track before it, just to get a listen to them jamming in the back of a studio pretending like the mics aren't on.
So you are forced to wait or take crazy risks in hopes to put just the right touch on the seek button.

The greatest though is if you are casually listening to the whole album and without realizing it you are listening to silence as you continue your business and then ALL OF A SUDDEN, without any warning, there it is.

The first few beats start and you look up from your work and start smiling hysterically because YOU DID IT. and you can listen to it with no stress about button pushing or impatience sitting in dreadful silence. you can enjoy the song as it is supposed to be enjoyed. with your whole, open heart.

and there goes the secret.