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

January 22, 2017

 

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two days late, no bucks short

January 2, 2017

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

December 31, 2016

 

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

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the broad: a color story

December 28, 2016

 

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

fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 9

December 13, 2016

 

like absorbing
a hundred bombs a day —
a thousand —
with the very core
of your being,
into the very synapses
of your soul
                but then later,
at bedtime,
the folding up small
into one another
inhabiting the same space
air
being
returning to the same
home base.

like sneaking past
the monster’s den
on the tippy toes
of your breath,
waiting for the tremble
in the earth
bracing for the roar
                but then after,
the storm past,
light spilling from your smile
from your eyes
melting the memory
of colder hours.

like trying to
tame the lion
again,
and again
knowing that it can’t help the truth
of it’s own wildness,
that it will bite the hand
that feeds it
                but then at night,
your voice in the darkness,
calling out
for solace
for security
for love
calling out for me.

that’s what i’ll tell you
when you ask
what it was like
when you were two.

– a.
december 13, 2016

 

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still hoping after all these fears

November 9, 2016

everybody in this country was feeling some kind of way this morning. winners. losers. hims. hers. dark, light, rich, poor, red, blue, educated or not. we all had a stake in what happened last night, just as we all have a stake in what lies ahead. i’m not afraid to admit i was saddened by last night’s results. not so much because of who won or lost, but because of the principles that appear to be the prevailing voice of this country. what’s done is done, and yes, moving forward means coming to terms with the outcome presented to us. but i refuse to accept that a great America is one built on a foundation of fear, hate, exclusion and aggression. whatever our politics, whatever our individual needs, we cannot hope for betterment as people, and as a nation, if we can’t stay connected to our own shared humanity. so as we look ahead, let us do so with understanding in mind and compassion at heart. let the path forward be a bridge that unites us, not an endless valley filled with resentment, anger, and disappointment. yes, let’s be great, America, but let us also be full of grace. let us find the dignity in respectfulness, and the courage behind love. that’s a future i’m proud to stand behind; that’s a future that gives me hope for my son, for us all.

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fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 8

July 26, 2016

 

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agnes martin: understated, inspired

July 25, 2016

 

a few dreamy faves from the Agnes Martin exhibit now on at LACMA:

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{images via: 01, 02, 03, 04)

fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 7

May 20, 2016

 

that moment

(as a mother)

when you realize what you have to do

shed

let go of

doesn’t make it

any easier

to watch you grow up.

 

– a.

may 19, 2016

fieldnotes on motherhood, vol. 6

February 5, 2016

 

plastic shovel in my suitcase

miniature shoes by the front door

car seat framed in my rearview mirror

letter magnets in my underwear drawer

 

little handprints on the mirrors

yesterday’s lunch still on my shirt

puzzle pieces in my work bag

toy cars constantly underfoot

 

tiny toothbrush in the bathroom

sunday’s paper now torn apart

discarded pickle in dada’s shoe

refrains from books i know by heart

 

colored chalk dust in the driveway

collection of  buckets on the stoop

floating letters in the bathtub

conversations we’ve got on loop

 

bright thread woven throughout my day,

bread crumbs leading me back to what’s true,

the signs and symbols of my child,

i’ve come to cherish

these pieces of you

 

  • a.

february 3, 2016

 

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