car sessions 2018

remember 2018?

i do. it sounded like this:

here’s to another go around the sun!

xo lex

fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 11

tunes of 2017

okay babies, here it is: my annual playlist for 2017, primed, primped and ready for the play button. each of these ditties certainly helped carry me through this motherfucker of a year. may they also make you want to smile, or breathe, or just keep dancing in spite of it all.

 

 

happy 2018, all! let’s own the shit out of the next 365.

the self(ie) love project 2017

womanhood. kind eyes. resilience. sass. a heart that feels. pretty skin. good bones. happiness. high vibration. gratitude. my dad’s eyes. just the right amount of crazy. a hard worker. a pretty face. a bitch who knows some shit. my vulnerability. my strength. my essence. my old soul. some swagger. a sense of humor. contentment. myself. a certain elegance. peacefulness. sexiness. a girl trying to get out of her own way. warmth. a woman willing to laugh at herself. a beautiful, intelligent, strong, caring woman of great depth and fierce spirit learning to honor herself and stand in her own truth.

that’s what i see when i look at me.

i die

{image via}

feeling monday like

[Pablo Delgado via]

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signs for healing, signs of hope: women’s march L.A.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

two days late, no bucks short

i made a point to shake 2016 off a full seven hours before the stroke of midnight with some deep meditation and a healthy dose of ugly crying. but i held tight to the tunes that carried me through the year, and two days into 2017, they still have me reaching for the volume dial. no baggage here, just feel good jams best served loud and spread round.

 

 

welcome me to the future, y’all. let’s make it bright.

xo lex

p.s. notably missing rom the above: “Freedom” from Beyonce’s Lemonade (damn Spotify library)

the falcon: ode to a car lost

 

i wonder
when they took you
if they noticed your smell,
that comforting mix of cool metal, warm leather,
and the more elusive qualities of age.
did they have trouble with the downshift
into first, like i always did,
or note the gentle “put-put” scales
of your acceleration?
could they feel the familiar slump
to your driver’s seat,
the way the back grooved just so,
a perfect echo of another’s body?
was that intimacy enough to make even
their heart blush?

was there more than one of them?
and, if so,
did the second one feel
the satisfying heft of your door clanking shut?
were my toeprints still there,
on the dash, and the windshield,
gauzing their view of the getaway route?
did they attempt to unroll
your fickle passenger side window,
finding, finally, that
jingle-jangle rhythm of release?
did they slide, intuitively, into that place
you always held,
elbow slung out the window,
neck nestled against your seat,
hair tousled (illicitly) by the passing breeze?
and did they smile, in spite of themselves
and the cold sting of their departure?
i wouldn’t blame them.
life always felt better from that spot.

were their silhouettes
the same as ours, framed
by the gentle arc of your rear window,
and the ruby glow of your tail lights?
or did they read,
through the noir haze of late night,
like the fugitives they were?
did they feel the way the world looked at you
with admiration,
how you were a gateway
to so many unplanned conversations,
so many unorchestrated connections?

i wonder
when they looked at you
if they saw only the price tags dangling
from your disembodied parts.
or did they also understand
the shared history they were dismantling,
the planned future they were tearing apart?

did they know
that just two blocks away
slept a man, a woman,
and one little boy,
who would miss you everyday
like a lost piece of their own hearts?

– a.
december 28, 2016

the broad: a color story

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pictured: (1) jeff koons; (2) takashi murakami; (3) jean-michel basquiat; (4) roy lichtenstein; (5-6) cy twombley