what could anyone possibly know?

what do you know of me, of my dreams, of my past, of my fears, of the blueprint that is me? it is not the blood that flows in these veins (please, one sister is a prefect, the other a super-high-achiever), it is not the friends i choose to surround myself with, it is not the close ones i share food and pillows with. it is the fundementals of what makes me today, and the reason why i think and act in the way i do. the single episodes that play repeatedly, over and over and over and over in my head–try as i might to remove them i can’t they come back to haunt me over and over and over and over and over.

what could you possibly know of my dreams–of my aspirations, of my hopes? what are hopes? recently the exboyfriend and i discussed (i scoff) the concept of hopes and what it means to have hopes and none at all, full stop, finish, chop stamp, no more, period.  what could you possibly know of my wants? sure, frivolities and bags and shoes and jackets and cars and puppies and skirts and shirts and earrings and bangles and chains and gold and jade and pink anythings and flowers and lacy underpants and bikinis and make-up everythings.  but what do i want? do you even have an inkling of? or do you just assume to know.

am i going through teenage angst, gee whiz celia you’re too old for that. that might have been frustrating, this is just fucking juvenile. one line then, stay the fuck away and shut up about the things you do not know about my life.

what do you know of the whispers of my dark, and the cold words in my ear. what do you know of the visions that play in my head. what do you know of my youth and what really happened out there. what do you know of death and proximity to deaths. what do you know of haunting, of one’s own fucking mind. what do you really know of my pain or why or when or what or of things you do not know about. what do i know of pain or blood or death or suicide or the not so fine line between anger and black hate.

so today was a bad day to cross me, especially since my sisters and i didnt quite have a wonderfully sisterly lunch.

poor celia, going through her ‘no one understands me’ phase. knowing and understanding are two distinctively different things. just as you, thinking you understand but there are so many things you haven’t even begun knowing.


english lessons

my dear boy, its octopi, not octopuses, says the english teacher from the british council. however, tis most odd that my spell check highlights octopi and presents me a corrective “octopuses” which makes me think maybe it is the british/american english difference. i shrug. but please eat your words kittycat, i’m not crazy afterall.

the huffle might be right, maybe i am wearing myself thin with all this school. i’ve never been one to be joyful about school, its a good day if it wasn’t miserable.

i do not mean to sound all histrionic, or like i am overreacting, but as the deadline draws closer and closer, the more i don’t think i belong here in this sunny city.

my steve

just finished reading Terri’s book, my steve. its been out for a while now, but i only recently received it as a gift (i received two actually, within a week) and it has been a precious gift, not only because i’ve wanted it for a long time now, but because it was significant gifts from people who sat with me when i sat, staring fixatedly at old re-runs of croc diaries. i remember the moment i found out about his death. i was staying in a hall-room during a particular youth advocacy camp. i don’t usually stay in during camps that i train in, but the prospect of rooming with the hufflepuff and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn to travel west was too enticing. a phone call (can’t remember who now, please inform me if you are the one) came in and told me, i sat there in disbelief. i remember the huffle saying i looked grey and shaky. had to get my act together for the next segment, i went in and broke the news to the whole room of participants and we all took a moment of silence.
the book was a painfully honest one, sweet and funny–and surprisingly visual. i teared up from the first chapter, and held a choke in my throat through it all. the last few chapters had me openly crying, much like the tribute i watched on livefeed on animal planet.
thank you for the book, and thank you for the book.
i resolve to give a part of my first paycheck to Wildlife Warriors.


there is very little i love more than the written word; outside of books books, there are font art, scripts on cloths, graffiti.

look what i found online that made me blue in the face with lust.

Jeanine Payer’s collection:

the bangles/bracelets (because i love them so; my bangle collection weeps)


In the midst of the chaos
When the wind is howling I hear
the ancient song
Of the ones who went before
And know that peace will come
-Susan Stauter

Frankie ID–$USD485.00

May the sun bring you new energy by day, May the moon softly restore you by night, May the rain wash away your worries, May the breeze blow new strength into your being, May you walk gently through the world and know its beauty all the days of your life. –Apache blessing


For as long as it lasts let the singer be the song. For as much as it’s worth let the truth outweigh the lies. For this single moment in time let my own voice be heard. –Susan Stauter

Torrence –USD$770.00

I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie. And I want my grasp of things true before you. I want to describe myself /like a painting that I looked at closely for a long time, like a saying that I finally understood, like the pitcher I use every day, like the face of my mother, like a ship that took me safely through the wildest storm of all. –Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. by Robert Bly


There are only seconds left, in a pattern of timeless moments.
-Rupert Mould

Barbara –USD$365.00

“Come to the edge,” he said.
They said, “We are afraid.”
“Come to the edge,” he said.
They came. He pushed them and they flew.

the rings (oh my pitter patter heart)


What lies behind us and what lies
before us are tiny matters
compared to what lies within us.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson


and you,
a windrose, a compass,
my direction, my description of the world.
-Ian Burgham

infinity–USD $300.00

Quietly now, the dreams are sleeping now it is time to live.
-Montana Wojczuk


Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story–Homer


Keep not standing
fixed and rooted.
Briskly venture,
briskly roam.



(the semi-translucent thing is a diamond slice)

And I will thread a thread through my poems that time and events are compact, And that all the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each as profound as any. –Walt Whitman


(contains 7 rough cut diamonds in the vessel)


I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream. –Vincent Van Gogh


When the act of reflection takes place in the mind, when we look at ourselves in the light of thought, we discover that our life is embosomed in beauty. –Ralph Waldo Emerson

other things

baby bracelets (skylar –USD$125.00)

Just think lovely thoughts and they lift you up in the air. –J.M. Barrie

Will cufflinks –USD$355.00

Freely we serve,
Because we freely love, as in our will
To love or not; in this we stand or fall.
-John Milton


in the whirrling of the fan

dear boyscout,

you’re back, its been months, its been literally months. you’re back and my voice is caught in my throat, a raspy nothing that comes out when i tried to formulate my first words to you tonight. i thought i would stand there and feel a crush of emotions, given as i remember how i felt the last time i saw you physically in front of me. i thought i would stand there and freeze up, but my feet moved and my voice came to me.

have i missed you? yes, i have. i haven’t played a hand of dai-dee since you left. have i missed you? yes, i have. in many ways, in the littlest corners of this tiny city. but i am okay, and surprisingly, i am happy. i am happy, and i am blessed to have so many, so many who care. i no longer think of why things ended or what might have been, neither do i think of us in the future. in this moment, in this moment i know you and i and the etched line in the sand between us is perfectly clear.

you asked me once, a long time ago, perhaps a different girl ago, if i even knew how to be happy. you wanted me to grow, to be more. to stand up for myself more. to laugh more. to go out more. to make friends more. to be angry for myself more. to be happy more.

in this second, in this me, i am happy–not because of you, not because of anyone else, but in this minute, i am me, and i have found that which i have lost a while ago.  what matters is not so much of what of me is left, or what of you is left with me. but really about growing.

goodnight, goodnight.