This means I'm one of the Donors of art!

I value, above all else, enriching conversation.

Please consider this when contacting me.

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Oct 12, 2007 12:51 AM
Subject: Minneapolis is pretty darn cool.
Body: I met Steve Almond briefly tonight.

The 6-line paragraph in the back of his newest book, a collection of essays called (Not That You Asked), describes him this way:
"Steve Almond is the author of the story collections My Life in Heavy Metal (Which I was told 8 times in one night that I absolutely have to read.) and The Evil B.B. Chow, the nonfiction book, Candyfreak and the novel Which Brings Me to You, co-written with Julianna Baggott. He lives outside Boston with his wife, Erin, and daughter, Josephine, whom he cannot stop kissing."

I describe him this way:
One hell of a guy. Someone I should have been aware of and paying attention to years ago but nonetheless, have had the great fortune of finally discovering. He is fearlessly candid, morally well-endowed, possessing the kind of voice that sounds great on the radio, and one of the most important authors of our time. And I haven't even read his book yet.

Upon signing my copy of the book (thanks again, Brandon), he shook my hand with genuine warmth, made deliberate eye contact, told me twice, "good luck!", and included the following, above his utterly disorganized signature:
"Leah-
Rules for use--
1. Fuck style - tell the truth.
2. Love your peeps at all times
3. Slow down where it hurts
4. Keep going."

And then he gave me a roll of Necco Wafers.

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for reals, yo.

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desperate, each one of us
for some kind of feedback
some kind of touch
some form of assurance
that we do in fact, exist
in proximity to one another

just begging to be touched
not like that
not like that

someone out there has to know
has to
what I know
someone out there has to be
must be
thinking the same

someone out there has to be
playing this same game

desperate, every one of us
each and every
one of us

for some kind of feedback
some kind of loop
just a gesture
toward a touch

desperate, every one of us

for something
to let us know we're alive
and worth the time

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Jiggle Me

Jiggle me
like the handle to your
leaky toilet dripping
Fuck me
like a dead chick
"Fuck me! Fuck me!" like I'm tripping
  (harder! harder!)

Talk to me baby.
Talk to me dirty like
I'm not really there.
Talk to me
Like the chick that's not all there.
Treat me like
an idiot
a child

Taste me
Like uncooked food
Spiced
A little too mild.
Go on, make that face.

Disregard me
Like that cigarette
Toss me aside
And I bet
You'll never again have a girl like me
that can bring you to your knees
But didn't.

You're not worth it.

---

The Second Half

When all the king's horses
and all the king's men
gave up putting humpty together again...
They left him behind, they left him to fend.
Unable to move, he couldn't defend.

His friends just didn't know quite what to do.
They thought and they plotted
They furrowed and stewed.
They got all retarded and ran in the nude.

They came back to humpty,
Still there on the ground.
They observed his predicament
and once again frowned,
Put their hands on their hips
and paced all around.

"I KNOW!" Said a girl,
about the age of 23...
"We'll paint the bits of shell
and we'll hang them in a tree!
We'll hang silver chimes
and some pretty trinkets too!
His song will last forever,
longer than me or one of you."
What a way to exit,
what a way to finish life.
"He couldn't have wished for more,"
said his sad but pretty wife.

So they hung poor Humpty Dumpty
from the nearest willow tree.
The sun shone through his painted shell.
His song went out to sea.
And once the children overcame how creepy it all seemed,
They laughed in happy anarchy
'Til their clothes ripped at the seams.
They came up with giddy nursery rhymes
And invented silly games.
They wrote each other novels
And they stole each other's names.
They danced beneath the Humpty Tree
For generations many.
They remembered how their king gave up,
Despising tyranny.
They told their children of the story untill it came to pass
That the second half was long forgotten
Of the egg without an ass.


"    "

Here's to the nights we felt alive
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry

Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.

There are periods of history
when the visions of madmen and dopefiends
were a better guide to reality
than the common-sense interpretation of data
available to the so-called 'normal mind.'

But I don't want to go among mad people.
Oh, you can't help that, we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
How do you know I'm mad?
You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.

Perpetual anticipation is good for the soul.

Work like you don't need the money.
Love like you've never been hurt.
Dance as if nobody's watching.
Sing as if no one can hear.

Live like it's Heaven on Earth.

May there always be work for your hands to do;
May your purse always hold a coin or two;
May the sun always shine on your windowpane;
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;
May the hand of a friend be always near you;
May your heart be filled with gladness ever to cheer you.


Don't ask yourself what the world needs;
ask yourself what makes you come alive.
And then go and do that. Because what
the world needs is people who have come alive.


Life and death,
energy and peace...
If I stopped today
it was still worth it.
Even the terrible mistakes that I have made,
and would have unmade if I could...

The pains that have burned me
and scarred my soul...
it was worth it.

For having been allowed
to walk where I've walked.

Which was
to hell on earth,
heaven on earth,
back again, into, under, far in between,
through it, in it, and above it.


Here's to the crazy ones.
The misfits.
The rebels.
The troublemakers.
The Round pegs in square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They're not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo.
You can praise them, disagree with them,
quote them,
disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can't do is ignore them.

Because they change things.
They invent.
They imagine.
They heal.
They explore.
They create.
They inspire.
They push the human race forward.
We make tools for these people.
While some see them as the crazy ones,
we see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world,
are the ones who do.







acid faerie's essays
discordia
Some Perspective




I'm majoring in Creative Writing with a minor in Film.
On the side, I'm crafty with um... craft...
supplies.

Wooden boxes get painted, mosaic-ed, or otherwise adorned.
Trinkets get accent beads.
I paint when I have the space and time.
I draw when the mood strikes me.
I make jewelry. I knit. I crochet. I sing. I write. I profess.
I create.

I'm crafty.






house plants

                                   delicate sculptures

                                   made of wire

                                   and crystal                                          

and rooms full of     
                             satin and silk

                                   velvet and chenille

                                   the color of burgundy wine

                                   royal blues indulgent hues and oh

                                   the color red

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leafygreenpuddle doodle where you can
leafygreenpuddle doodle where you can proof photo