In The Mix 2026
Tuesday, February 10th, 1am, 2026
just a thought or two or six:
february wind is warm through my car window, the song and ideas for future loves, makes me think of summer. for as long as i can remember, ive enjoyed the season for what it is no matter the weather. but, the single taste of 75 degrees flatters me. the birds flatter me as i purposely set the stage for them. to set the mood. i’ve been searching for a scene, so much so ive given a purpose to the opportunity. i wait. i sip paint. famished, i eat. zucchini, clay, purpose, possibility, opportunity, a single thought for days, glitter, the mirror, a reflection, work but not for money rather something to do, but money is good too i suppose. if days off left me alone with only my self, i doubt my ability to find comfort in anything- maybe the only thing- wind. it would bring me to think of dirt and seeds that i’ve watched others sow and grow. i’d let in a breath and the only way i’d let it out is for someone else. i’d wish but not for me. i’d let the weather get to me, make me cross or let my mood fall into pros and cons. what is a boundary? i can’t see it on my skin or through the open window. so, i’d just ask myself to be free and to not plea unless i’ve thought of what the open door would do if it’s boundary was to not allow the wind to close it. i can’t want unless i need and so, then i want again. if i can't want, am i ready? how do you know if you’re ready? if i throw all these ideas to the wind, i will know. if i believe in what it tells me after will i know how to need rather than want. you have to see the thoughts to connect the dots. the thoughts only come when you let go and fold like clothes. there is both a need and a want for growth and to be sown.
Tuesday, February 2nd, around 9pm, 2026
mushy but good gushy:
the flys killed me before i could die.
what was left of my body turned my mind into fiction.
nothing i could hear had a key.
out of tune,
without a truth.
i can’t even find a way to plee.
Friday, January 9th, 2:36pm, 2026
w cottage.
games fill the top shelf dustless,
a piece of everyones personality shows through trinkets, decorations and books.
it all makes the space flirty.
a pink lit paper star hung center to dried flowers and cat posters,
the tv console filled with nothing for the tv rather records, cds, speakers and metal instruments.
a sick ass biker jacket over the chair, what should fill its pockets fall scattered five feet away.
jacket still cool!
a triple layer of sweet scented neutral colored jackets hung over lace up booties and a black “this is my girl bag”.
our natural aromas carry from our rooms into the hall and down the stairs.
mixing between home cooked dinners, baking and incese.
