Follow Me On Instagram I wanna link link link you from your head to your toes

All right, now more coffee I guess


Follow Me On Instagram I wanna link link link you from your head to your toes

All right, now more coffee I guess

How To Do The Perfect Cat Eye

The perfect cat eye happens when the moon is right.

It happens when the spirits align, when the wind blows right in your direction, when the cauldron bubbles over and the forces of nature: the power of air and fire and the earth itself, deem you worthy of power. Do not take this power lightly. Let it radiate from the large floppy hat you bought for the season but will not wear, the pumpkin-scented moisturizer you promised you wouldn’t repurchase, the new black jeans you didn’t need. It’s FALL, you say, as you sacrifice your credit card for yet another cranberry colored dream.

You draw the perfect cat eye when you believe in your unending thirst for this power. When you believe in the power of your bones over the bones of others, and you are prepared to sit in the light of the moon on your bone throne. Nobody will remember who you are. Your name is now a candle going out, a shriek in the woods, a chill down a spine. Your name is what happens when somebody enters a room and forgets why they are there.

The perfect cat eye occurs when…your lips….is that a new NYX shade? Is that blood? Those who notice are too fearful, too fearful to ask. Maybe you don’t even know anymore. You tap tap tap your nails on the throne of bones, your eyes glimmer with madness. No one looks at you directly. Looking in your eyes is to face who you really are, your dark and your dirty. Your hair, it’s actually this wonderful Salt Spray hair product, you have to try it..or…is it snakes? Is it SNAKES?! The power vibrates in you. Bats follow you home. You vaguely remember light, but only when you are about to whisper a curse made of nightmares. “I HEAR LORAC MAKES A GREAT EYELINER PEN,” but LORAC..LORAC hasn’t been alive for 30 years!! Why is it so cold? Why does everything taste like fog, and nutmeg, and fear?? Who is it that roams these halls, endlessly, forever?!

Then, only then, do you flick the perfect cat eye.

You know, at least on one eye.

Advice You’ve Received As a Woman

What was it?

Reconsider The Awe

When I think about high school, I think about mostly nothing. While my time wearing braces and polos was no doubt an enlightening intellectual time for me, I often feel like the lessons I learned there were transitory and forgettable: remember your gym clothes, don’t get the cafeteria pizza, cover your textbooks.

Maybe the seeds were planted for real lessons: books > boys, don’t dry hump too much, lay off the blue eyeshadow, find what you love and do it. But nothing much came to bloom in high school, besides acne.

When I think about lessons, I do not think about high school. Still, whenever September rolls around, I feel both relief and slight envy that I am no longer in school. I usually buy pants and pencils, which dulls the pain enough, and then I do adult things like drink whiskey and not schnapps, which dulls the pain considerably. Then, the waxing nostalgic happens, and I’m thinking about 16 years old. Worthy enough, if only for the memories.

For somebody who hated high school, there’s not much to wax. Except how good it felt leaving it, how good it felt senior year knowing I’d toss that shit behind and shoot forward, how good it felt to have everything, right there in front of you. Ah, the goddamn awe of it. In a roundabout way, we’ve reached the lesson. Perhaps the only thing I took from high school, and, of course, promptly lost somewhere along the way.

It’s not even a lesson, really. It’s a memory of a feeling, and one I haven’t felt for a long time:

Reconsider the Awe.

I remember being in high school enough to remember feeling absolutely fucking awed at absolutely everything. When a boy touched my hand, sparks flew out of it. When I stayed out late at a diner and ate egg whites and soggy bacon with friends who didn’t even like me that much, I felt electric and almost wild. When I stood at graduation in front of 300 bored parents, I felt like the entire world was floating above my head, ready for me to grasp. When I heard a fucking SONG I liked—-revolution. When I got a haircut—new leaves turned, new opportunities abound.

This feeling has lessened so much, and replaced with—this egg sandwich is okay, I guess this sunset is nice, the date was okay, the new job is nice but hard. We censor our emotions because we know that life sucks and everything ends, and we’re trying not to get hurt along the way. It happens when you reach the real stuff, and the real stuff hardens your nails, heart, and head.

And today, I ask you to reconsider the awe anyway. To throw some cynicism aside. To feel shit wholly and gigantic, to appreciate things large and small and be wild over them. Get giddy with it: the fall leaves, a good hug, some new outfit, a good bite of pizza, a friend, a kiss. Get fuckin awed with it.

Why? I don’t know. Because phases of our life die so quickly. Because things end so rapidly and all we have are the emotions leftover from them. Because we get hard, and we forget, and because of those things, we lose the awe of it. But if we could hold onto at least a little, we can grasp at things fully before they are gone. And if I could close my eyes and see high school, I see: acne, denim skirts, and awe. Not much, but something.

I almost miss it. I’m gonna try it—-I’m rusty, but I’ll see how it goes. If anything, it’ll fade faster than curfews, than drugstore black eyeliner in your water rim, than concert ticket stubs you thought you’d never throw out and do. But maybe one day you’ll stand on some street corner like 300 bored parents are flapping their pamphlets at you, waiting for the ceremony to end. And you’ll feel alive. There: you grab the world above your head, you pay for your coffee, and you move on.

That could be enough.

My Lynx




Thanks, as always, for listening.