caroline you're unrefined
like fake wood floors and cheap boxed wine
you are the buy one get one kind
oh caroline the unrefined

and caroline you're careless too
your friends will fret the things you do
like getting no sleep and meals too few
oh caroline the careless too

caroline you were designed
your life was carefully aligned
an axis: a path you'll one day find
oh caroline who was designed

catching a song

so there's this song that i fell in love with the second i heard it
and ever since i heard it, i just want to hear it again
radio plays are few and far between
and each listen just makes me want to get ahold of this song
make it ever-accessible
at my fingertips
there to enjoy whenever i please
because this song makes me feel
like me
and i sing along to it without shame

but the song's just not for sale
and even if it was
it would be selling at a price i don't feel like paying right now
so i just have to wait
till the song comes out on itunes
and till i feel ready to give up that last 1.09 itunes credit i have

none of this is true

but it's a pretty good analogy for what is true right now

liar

song i wrote:

He said don't flatter yourself
you're not that entertaining
as a matter of fact,
you can be quite draining

If i were you I would tame it down
take off that paper crown
leave it right there on the ground
Hurry, now, you're drawing a crowd

it's your fault at the end of the day
that's what you get for finding someone to blame
they'll all say it's ok
but look at you; you're covered in shame

he said don't pardon yourself
you're as guilty as i am
you may speak your thoughts
but you don't apply them

just forget about everything
take off that purity ring
no one keeps their angel wings
I could cage the bird and she'll probably sing

It's your fault at the end of the day
that's what you get for finding someone to blame
they'll all say it's ok
but look at you; you're covered in shame

she said i'm done with you
I hope to God you're a liar
Alli can blame myself for
is that tragic desire

I'm a coward but i put on a show
act out a smile after every blow
this is how the aftermath goes
i leave with the blame instead of the rose

I'm done with all of this blame
I'm finally through defending your name
you're gonna tell me i've changed
I wish that I could tell you the same

Take my advice
make no more excuses
for the love of your life
and all his abuses

the strangest thing to be grumpy about

I have the strangest thing to be grumpy about.
I was experimenting with oil painting yesterday. It felt perfect! We have a large basement that feels a bit cavernous and unfriendly during the winter, but now that it's the middle of a hot, muggy summer, it feels wonderful in the bowels of our little home! So, what a novel idea it seemed to be to do some painting in this basement of ours.
however...
this morning I took a peek at the self portrait i had painted to see if the paint was dry.
The paint was not dry.
In fact, it had been eaten by a mouse.
A mouse literally ate my face off.

Now that is something to be grumpy and amused about.

Caroline the Small episode 1

Sorry it's sideways

if today was a pair of shoes

If today was a pair of shoes...
it would be sandles: loose and informal...but bad for your posture if experienced for too long.

where art lives

today I was sitting under the few full-grown trees on the downtown pedestrian mall while Annie worked from her laptop. The book I had brought to read was less enticing than the dense, summer activity around me.
so I sat and watched
and I began to notice
the art in everything

An old man set himself on the ground against a building, leaving his guitar case open at his feet. He strummed his guitar gently...almost inaudibly, then began to sing with a voice that started as a yell and sweltered into the soulful ring of pure southern gospel.
art

Then, a moment after his rich song had begun, a young man with a traveler's backpack weighing slightly down on his youthful stride and a camera hanging around his neck, knelt down at the old man's side and began to take pictures. He squinted through his lens as the old man sang on. I could only imagine what he saw.
It was the art of observation.

At some point, a white-haired tourist with high socks and white shoes summoned the young man to his feet and I watched as she talked with him. From my little observation dock a few feet away I tried to read their gestures. The young man explained his pack and his camera, and, I imagined to myself, the the jar of peanut -butter in the side pocket of his pack as well. The woman listened eagerly, her curiosity indulged.
It was the art of inquisition: of curiosity and conversation.

I watched for awhile longer: the tourist, the photographer, the singer. I had to smile when the old man sang "Lord, I can sing and I can sing on my own. When I sing, I can sing alone," and in a moment of subtle irony a man watching on the side-lines noticed an empty chair and brought it over to the old man for him to sit in. The man who sings alone accepted the chair graciously and I wondered how many others noticed what a team of contributors had made themselves a part of the moment: the song: whether from one side of it or the other.

perhaps no one really sings alone.

And this was my reflection
my art