Thursday, April 16, 2009


I can keep a secret, just not my own. 
I'm a open book, but I wish I wasn't. I want to share when I shouldn't.

I could lay in bed all day if I let myself. I'm still in bed right now. 

I get mad at myself for not being creative, when I know I've got it in me.

I'm automatically drawn to shiny and sparkly things. Like a raccoon.

These are stolen from Post Secret, one of my favorite blogs: 

Patricia: Secrets

1. There is a song I have been hearing for years in the Mexican-infused back kitchens of California and New York restaurants. It's called "Amor Secreto" and at times I cannot get it out of my head.

2. I have one secret in the world, and it's temporary. Maybe two. And a select number are privy to both.

3. Posting pictures on this blog is still a mystery (secret) to me. I will do my best to find out by next time.

Dirty Little Secrets from Otherwise Perfect Moms

Dirty Little Secrets is a book of compiled quotes from real American Mom's who are confessing what they do just to get by. While I'm not a mom, I can relate to a lot of what these women are saying (I do have a boyfriend that needs a lot of tender loving care). Here are my favorite quotes:

"I let my two toddlers eat Milk Bones right out of the box. I figure if they're not barking, they're fine."
"My shrink tells me to laugh more. What a waste of
"My rule is beer at lunch, wine at 5. Wine at lunch feels
like I have a "problem" but beer just seems OK."
"I bit my daughter's finger while trying to steal a bite out of
her cookie."
"My seven-year-old son walked in on us having sex. We
told him we were doing karate in bed."
"I do my son's homework just so we can get through it
. I grab his pencil and he just looks at me like I've lost
my mind."
"We forgot to buckle our two-year-old up in the car... when we
went around the corner, he flew over to the next seat and screamed 'f*#$ers!!'"
"It's impossible to keep my house clean so I just don't invite
people over. Ever."
"I tell my husband I am going to potty but actually lock myself in the
, sit on the edge of the tub, and read People."

Love, Olla

Secrets - Jessalyn

She took all of us and we in turn took each other, if only to find a morsel of her scent on each others' skin. And then, as was inevitable, we were left again only with each other and a fresh bitterness which we took turns playing nursemaid to.

What was it about her. That kept so many of us baying at her doorstep. Salivating for the slightest flick of her Atlantic colored eyes in our direction. She was a brutal teacher in the allure of silence. Anyone can be desirable if you can be quiet enough. If through silence you can suggest that the carrot seeds you hold in your palm are really emeralds.

The first time I split her I gasped and said, "You're pierced."
"No one ever notices," she murmured.
I did not understand how that was possible. She told me the story. As if the story was explanation:

The summer he left her. Wanted to become something exotic for him. Something strange and desirable in her strangeness. Went back to Florida. Went back to the humidity and the banyans and her mother and the man who did it had it photographed. His living room. Spread and knifed. Could not bring myself to ask her if from her body had flowed the most obscure and obscene tincture: clitoral blood. O what gold could you create, with that. What sicknesses you could you heal. The cunt already alchemic in its metallic lunar conjurings. Look here. Add this pale fluid. Transform. Did not ask but instead pulled her underwear up over her hips. Slept beside her in her slick gold sheets. In the morning left her dreaming in the waxing desert light. Returned home, as ever, to the man I lived with.

Only later understood just how much she had revealed. And much later, much much later, after she had gone, after she had left all of us, I found a line of mine in a poem of hers. Mine, yes, though refined to what it should have been, the pit expertly extracted with no soft flesh clinging to its whorls and folds: Secrets are telling.

Secret // under the table

sb - secret




death is a process

My very good friend Terra used to read Osho's Book of Secrets and send me text messages of bits of wisdom she found in there..

"Whenever you inhale, it is life, and whenever you exhale, it is death. The first thing a child does is to inhale. A child cannot exhale. The first thing is inhalation. He cannot exhale, because there is no air within his chest; he has to inhale. The first act is inhalation. And the old man, while dying, will do the last act, which will be exhalation. Dying, you cannot inhale - or can you? When you are dying, you cannot inhale. The last act cannot be inhalation; the last act will be exhalation. The first act is inhalation and the last is exhalation. Inhalation is birth and exhalation is death. But every moment you are doing both - inhaling, exhaling. Inhalation is life, exhalation is death.
You may not have observed, but try to observe it. Whenever you exhale, you are more at peace. Exhale deeply and you will feel a certain peace within. Whenever you inhale, you become intense, you become tense. The very intensity of inhalation creates a tension. And the normal, ordinary emphasis is always on inhalation. If I tell you to take deep breaths, you will always start with inhalation.
Really, we are afraid of exhaling. That's why breathing has become shallow. You never exhale, you go on inhaling. Only the body goes on exhaling, because the body cannot exist with inhalation alone. It needs both: life and death.
Try one experiment. The whole day, whenever you remember, exhale deeply and don't inhale. Allow the body to inhale; you simply exhale deeply. And you will feel a deep peace, because death is peace, death is silence."

If you are really alive you will not fear death.

PS: I just boarded a plane bound for Estonia. Wish me luck! My posts for the next couple months will be made from a few different countries..

St.Ofle -- Secret Smell

"You can tell by the kindness of a dog how a human should be."
- Captain Beefheart

this is a collage of a few photos that I took while visiting a slave plantation in Vacherie, Louisiana last week.

it was a slave plantation, but no one called it that.
They called it a "banana and sugar cane plantation" but they were kidding themselves.

I felt awful being there.

even a hundred of years after the last slave died, the stink of the evil part of the holy human spirit was still putrid and filled the air with the terrible secret smell of our horrible history.

Secret: The Key To Success Is Hidden Right Under The Mat


04/16 -- secrets

the topic for today is "secrets"