: SMUUUUSH

have you ever experienced any of these symptoms?

*the overwhelming desire to squeeze every bit of ridiculous cuteness that a creature possesses into a tiny little compact ball of cute and just throw it away in one quick, spastic impulse.
*the uncontrollable reaction to squeal, stomp, and shove your own fist in your mouth, then proceed with baby talk for a full, unintelligible sentence.
*the indescribable sense that terminal cuteness is real - a condition that renders humans unable to think clearly and function normally at the sight of puppies and (some) babies... and sometimes grown puppies and grown babies, too.

just: SmUuUuUsH. 
ugh, can't take it. 
too much. 
needs to explode.

cute attacks can be serious. protect the ones you love. be uglier.

: warning

[why does summer rain seem so innocuous?
there's just something about that moment when perspiration meets precipitation and we can't tell the difference because we spring from the same source, follow a similar cycle. 
we are full of it and together we evaporate.

summer showers cleanse indiscriminately and are superior to all

except for the ones we take. we take everyday. we take those for granted.]

the tar told me a secret when my cheek was pressed against it:

"stay magnetic, pull together"
so i softly whispered, weathered,

"this is water, we are water"

and when tears dropped, rain dropped harder

'til suddenly i knew to start

to heal the hurt and mend the heart

every beat and breath was mine
i spoke to hear words in real time

vital traffic signs the same
and life turns into life, the game
my mind controlled the dole of pain
oh, i was in that summer rain; we are the treatment and the threat, both at once.

: four years later

There is nothing more revealing than process.

I've always been fascinated by the idea of process over progress because I don't believe there is a firm trajectory for the evolution of one's own art.
Four years of semi-consistent blogging has taught me that it is not time nor talent, not patience nor even persistence that makes a poem. Personal expression will not always be pretty, sensical, or honest but when all three components weave their way into my words the satisfaction is ineffable - the medium speaks for itself.

This blog is a mess, my mess, where I throw pieces of poems out into the waters of the world wide web to see what sinks and what swims... but usually it isn't that dramatic. I can let all the crappy ones float around if I don't care enough to save, submit or share them. Posting online for no particular audience or reason helps me detach just enough to be able to recognize the difference between poems that clarify and poems that confuse. And this blog is a timeline of the most important part of my process: to just keep writing, writing, writing.

: backwords, backwoods, backwards

some flashback advice from 2009 rikki

give your eyes the attention they deserve.

be a guru.

moisturize your elbows.

if you try it, commit no matter what.

choose the selfish option sometimes.

hope harder than you doubt.

don't go outside without a coat in winter.

shove tissues in your sleeves.

put a pair of socks in your purse for prom.

don't seriously shop alone.

do yoga - ohm three times fully at the end.

don't buy tuna sandwiches at gas stations.

eat the cake.

fart and walk away... but then come back and admit to it.

trust someone at a time.

keep one small secret forever.

to sleep, shut eye; to dream, middle eye.

: $

paying for art is thrilling.

why? do i support the industry? no, i support me and mine.

i buy muses & time so that

maybe one day someone will believe me when i write

we are more than a reflection of a collection of

stolen albums. oh, itunes told me you'd be some kind of person but, guess what?

if apple falls, it bruises just the same.

: trundle beds

Last night I saw a small, silver overturned thimble in the grass. I wouldn't have spotted it had I not been staring at my feet while walking towards our meeting spot. When I tried to pick it up I instead sat down beside it and touched the rounded top and realized immediately that it belonged to you - but I just left it there because whenever you lose something important the first place you think to look is where you last remember holding it.
I could never move you,
so you left
and I stayed
put with your little thimble in the grass.

: over breakfast

Are there things I am sure of?
I love yogurt, cereal, and bananas.

Smile! We are still young.
The deer don't know us by name
But by our presence.

Each book is a brick
Though this home is one story
The walls are full of books, lives stacked as stories.

A physical mirror, a flesh reflection and
a semblance in an open alley.

: may-kus

1. creek

if we could only
share a laugh over a fart
in a crazy creek.

2. supermoon

supermoon was out
from behind the cloudy haze
she was really blazed

3. tourists

locals looking down
dirty pavement, kicking stones
Up! a new city

: osh

live music is a beautiful struggle.

some Osheaga moments:

snacking on fruits and nuts behind the little yellow inflatable man during of monsters and men, borrowing lighters, making small talk with too many torontonians and then getting a beautiful face painting from a generous, artistic stranger!

making friends with Momo the security guard between the two main stages, thus getting VIP access to sitting on top of the barricade when the other guards weren't looking - then watching Sigur Ros, Florence, and Justice from up there! (also spotting friends in the crowd behind me)

ermagerd! it's snerp derg!

a worthy meeting spot: Chevrolet sign, red car.

the perks of knowing that the porta potties up on the hill never had long lines.

the hose, sometimes.

shaking the branches of wet trees at the electronic stage after missing the hose, making it rain.

shade breaks, lying on the ground and feeling it move you.

the red string and the rain during passion pit.

going up on shoulders during the shins, there's really nothing quite like that perspective in a huge crowd.

sharing big carrot sticks with strangers while waiting for city and colors emo rant to end so everyone could ogle metric.

james vincents voice bringing me to tears and then the aftershow "James! Come here!" then realizing we'd have had nothing to say to him had he obliged.

hey, do you like films? (shove postcard in strangers hand)

security not giving a fuck that everyone was harboring mickeys in their panties.

the hilarious lack of stylistic diversity thanks to aa and urban, thus contributing to the major difficulty in finding anyone in the crowd.... and yet! the serendipity of bumping into people you know or recognize just a little and being overly excited. then bumping into people you know well and believing there is a god and destiny is real and fate brought you together and all is well and good in the world forever. being grateful for being able to know the difference.

letting oursevles take the escalator instead of the stairs in the metro home, just this once.

finally making it home alive and increasingly more dirty each night, knowing that your body is a hell of a lot stronger than your mind.