Because You Asked Me To

     "Tell me a bedtime story," he commanded, still jumping up and down on his bed.
     "It's late. Aren't you tired enough?" I knew I let him eat too much cotton candy. We had just gotten home from the highly anticipated magic show, The Amazing Jeff. I was sure all of the excitement of the night would promise me an easy and early bedtime. Clearly, I was wrong. "Besides, I'm not really that good at bedtime stories."
     "Sure, you are! You're the best! C'mon, for me?"
     "Alright, but I don't go around doing these for just anyone," I warned. "I'm only doing this because you asked me to."
     He crawled under the covers and snuggled close to his stuffed bear. "Deal."

     Once upon a time, there was a duck and a rabbit who were the best of friends. Duck and Rabbit did everything together. When it was sunny, the two friends would walk to the lake and Duck would swim around while Rabbit lay back in the shade, lovingly watching his web-footed friend enjoy the cool water. When it was rainy, Duck would waddle over to Rabbit's den and they would have rainy-day dance parties together. Duck would turn on The Bunny Hop and they would hop around until the sun was once again shining. Rabbit and Duck were on a lifelong quest to make life together as fun as possible because "that's what life should be about!"
     One day, as Duck and Rabbit were walking through the meadow, they heard a rustling sound in the leaves. 
     "What was that?!?" Rabbit asked in a panic. 
     "It is probably the Quail family out for their daily stroll," Duck assured Rabbit. But just as they took another step...SNAP! The leaves rustled around and without either of them realizing what had happened, Rabbit was caught in a hunting trap!
     "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no," Rabbit cried! "How did this happen? We are usually so careful! How will I ever get out of this mess?!?"
     Rabbit and Duck stared at each other in disbelief. Yes, they have heard of animals getting caught in hunting traps, but never in their wildest dreams did they imagine one of those animals to be them.
     "Hold on," Duck said, trying to remain calm. "Maybe I can open it from the top and you can hop out?" But alas, Duck lacked any sort of joints in his wings and webs, making opening anything close to impossible.
     Duck and Rabbit felt helpless and was beginning to give up all hope when Bear came waltzing through. "Bear! Please help us! Rabbit got caught in a human trap!" 
     "Well that is not good at all," Bear said matter of factually. With one giant swat at the metal cage, Bear's powerful paws destroyed the hunting cage and Rabbit was able to hop out and be saved!
     "Hooray! Hooray!" The three of them jumped and cheered with joy! "Thank you, Bear! You saved my life," Rabbit sighed gratefully. 
     Bear smiled, "it was nothing. Friends gotta stick together in times like these." 
     "Yes they do," Duck said gratefully. "Yes they do."

      As my attempt at a bedtime story came to an end, I watched him as his chest slowly rose up and down with each heavy breathe. "Finally," I whispered. "Good night, precious angel. Fly away to Neverland."

*a short story by Emily Street*

What Lies Beneath

      I could smell her on his shirt as he came home late, again. He walked in the door, reeking of her sticky bubblegum perfume that they only sell at cheap teeny-bopper clothing stores. He often comes home drenched in her young essence. How could she do this to him, to my husband? How could she make his shirt, the one that brings out his piercing blue eyes, how could she make it smell like a baby prostitute? I had picked that shirt out for our 8 year anniversary. We were fighting that day, nothing out of the usual. I never know what our fights are about anymore, only that they always end with the slam of a door and a tear-stained cheek.
      That night, however, was different. He came home from work earlier than usual with a bouquet of flowers and a kiss with an actual spark. I'm not sure if it was the surprising scent of gerbera daisies that covered up the stench of that whore or if I allowed myself to look past his infidelities for yet another night so we could be in love again. He looked so good that night; still in his suit jacket, his chestnut-colored hair freshly cut, and the shirt I had given him earlier that morning that made his ice blue eyes melt with just a glimpse. He took me to dinner at Château de Delicatessen where, for a moment, he paid more attention to me than any other juicy morsel that landed on his plate. Of course, all good things must come to an end. Everything went back to normal the second we stepped through the door to our humble abode. I paid the sitter and he thanked her for her time. After quickly making lifeless love to each other, he once again retreated to the couch and I fell asleep, cold and lonely, on my bed for two,
      Tonight, however; tonight he is not getting away with it. Our life, our family, my marriage will not play second-string to that filth anymore! He follows the same routine every night. Right now he is taking his clothes off and jumping in the shower before he falls sleep to the faint glow and low hum of late night television. I walk into the bedroom we have shared for close to a decade and see his shirt slumped over his dresser. The noise of the shower hides the the sound of my footsteps, allowing me to live in my own moment and observe the situation like a fly on the wall. My eyes, keeping focus on his shirt like a lioness to her prey; my memories of that night playing over and over like a never ending slideshow. I chose that shirt out for him hoping he would wear it with me in mind. No, he wears it for her.
      What has been the point these past few years? Why did I bother with a huge, fancy wedding and a photo book that captures every moment of our holy matrimony leading up to our happily ever after? When will our happily ever after come? No! I will no longer cry, not for you! How could she? How could you? How dare you! Why did you take that away from me? Why can't you let me be happy? You don't deserve me! You don't deserve this life, our life! We loved each other once. That meant something to you, to us! What about this house, this house we worked so hard to make a home? You don't fucking deserve this house! You don't deserve any of it! My heart is racing and my breath has gotten heavier. Panting hysterically, I reach for the bottom button on his shirt and pull and yank until- snap! The button pops off and all of my anger and excitement rushes through my soul and out my body in an orgasmic, colliding rush.
      The shower water turns off and I am frozen, staring in shock at the intentional damage I created on my beloved's apparel. A smirk creeps onto my face. For a moment, I have won. You have been defeated on my terms. It was me, not you, that ruined a perfect piece of us. I know what I have to do next. I calmly walk to the top drawer of my desk and get out my sewing kit. I pull out the needle and thread and begin to reattach the button back to it's original place. As I thread the needle in and out of each hole, securing the fastener in place, I could not help but smile with delight. This is mine. Every time you wear this shirt, with your piercing blue eyes that light up the room, I will know. Everybody will compliment your attire and tell you how perfectly handsome you look, but it will always be damaged. The public eye can only see so much. The wreckage is often what lies beneath.

*a short story by Emily Street* 

"And writing was one of the things that saved me: the discipline and abstraction of putting my life into words, every day, helped me to cope with shame and it's first cousin, despair."  ~Shantaram


This post goes out to my writing allies- Jordan Ramay and Paolo Baker

Rumor Has It, This Place Is Magic!

It's been a week since the greatest weekend out of the year, and I can still smell the familiar stench of grass and anticipation. I close my eyes, and I can still see the mountains and the palm trees encircling the desert oasis around me. My lips still tingle with the sweet taste of boxed-red wine and I can still hear thousands of whoops and hollers coming from the all over the polo fields. There is nowhere else quite like it and no other place that can make a troubled heart feel whole- Coachella.

Once a year, Goldenvoice puts on this miraculous 3-Day music festival at the Empire Polo Fields in Indio, California and pack it full of a wide variety of artists from indie and hip hop to electro and punk. Coachella consists of 2 outdoor stages, 3 tent stages, and 2 smaller nonstop dance stages. Not only is Coachella an honorable place for musicians to perform, it is also a premier location for visual artists to showcase their work. I have seen some amazing artists and some incredible shows at Coachella. This year alone I had the  privilege to see performances by Explosions in the Sky, Swedish House Mafia, Flying Lotus, Radiohead, Childish Gambino, Santigold, and Dr. Dre with Snoop Dogg (to name a few). Artists go all out for Coachella, bringing in special guests and showing off their best moves to impress the festival goers. I cannot imagine a better weekend than being surrounded by incredible music, jaw-dropping art, and amazing friends.

This past year was my fifth year at Coachella. Each year is different; full of new music, art, and crazy stories. Each year I use this weekend off to reflect on my life over the past year. I give myself enough alone time to digest exactly what happened last year, what is happening this year, and who/what really matters in my life. As I watched the orange and red colors of Saturday morning's sunrise paint the sky over the Coachella Valley and above the ferris wheel, I could not help but wish everyone I loved was with me watching in awe as God gave the campers His best light show. I sat and thought about my sister, who has gone to Coachella twice before, and imagined she was next to me. I would have told her how happy I was that she was able to make it and how I think Coachella is the best thing that ever happened to her. I would tell her how happy and proud of her I am and how I could not think of anyone better to spend that sunrise with. Even in my memory of that early morning, I still see her right beside me.

As much as I wanted my big sister next to me during my favorite weekend out of the year, it is still encouraging to know that she has been to Coachella before and has therefor grown and discovered herself in ways that only Coachella can teach a person. I believe that everybody should experience Coachella, at least once. My first year was such a learning experience and I feel like I gained knowledge about society, culture, and myself that I would never have learned without the help of the communal bonds and kindness of Coachella strangers. I want everyone to know that exact feeling. Year after year, I pray for two of my best, lifelong friends to magically come up with tickets and to camp along side of me while we run and play in the grass and listen to music that makes our soul weep with joy. For one those friends, Coachella would be a home away from home; for the other, a life-changing weekend and a surprise love-affair for everything Coachella stands for. It is my vow to get these friends to Coachella. Mark my words: it's gonna happen.

Coachella is more than just a music festival, it's a state of mind. Coachella is helping a stranger hold their campsite together during high winds, it's offering a beer to a complete stranger because they wished you a "Happy Coachella," it's getting together with old friends and new friends and making old friends feel new again while making new friends feel old. Coachella is both what the world should be like and what the world will never be. It is about strangers coming together with the common goal of making it the best weekend of the year, and it never seems to fail. Every year I claim that this will be my last year and every year I depart Monday morning with a tear in my eye and a soft whisper: "see you next year."

*Thank you, Eric Hankins for your wonderful photo-art! You're amazing!*

Fear of Living

In a little tiny house
by a great big window
Sat a little tiny woman
in a big comfy chair.

Each day she looked out
and pondered each ponder
And questioned the matter
of what went on out there.

"Perhaps there's a world
less transparent than this pane?
A world that lets me live
rather than just look and stare?"

But though her curiosity
she never stepped outside.
The comfort that she knew
simply never let her share.

"I can try again tomorrow,"
she said after each sunset
Knowing that in her heart
she would never even dare.

So day in and day out
she soared in her thoughts
Of how lovely life would be
without relentless fear.



*a poem by Emily Street*

If Last Night Never Happened

If last night never happened

Then why am I so scared,

To look down and see the damage

Of my tights completely teared?

If last night never happened

Why do I feel remorse,

For the things I cannot remember

And everything that was forced?

If last night never happened

Then why do I weep so much,

About what I could have done

Had I not have been so lush?

If last night never happened

Would I still feel the way I do?

Would I think the victim a coward

Because she decided not to sue?

If last night never happened

Then perhaps I could still trust,

That every look that I receive

Is not a look of lust.

If last night never happened

Then tomorrow would not be

Another day to get over

The self-image that I see.

I would be well-rested in the morning,

And each emotion would be captioned.

But all of that is gone,

Because last night really happened.

*a poem by Emily Street*

Escaping Fear and Letting Reality Take Hold

When I first started this blog, I was so excited to have my own space to write about something I love, even if that something is as simple as putting tape to my lips and peeling it off. I had all these ideas about story lines and pictures to post. I had visions of wearing my heart on my online network of a sleeve. I wanted to use this blank canvas to get used to seeing my work in a public area. I was going to let go of my fear of being publicly criticized and say whatever I want to say because I want to say it. From the moment I opened this account, it was as if every thought that went through my mind had to go through 4 or 5 censor stations and the ending product ended up not being my original thought at all. Writing was so much easier when I didn't make it my life's calling. 

Even sitting here right now, I can't help but tell myself how dumb that sounds and how I shouldn't care about other people's thoughts or if anyone is going to read this at all. "This is yours. Make this yours!" But all is easier said than done. In fact, it's easier to give that advice than it is to take it. There's always going to be that overwhelming fear that I'm not doing this right or that there isn't a real theme to my blog, but that doesn't mean that I should give up! No, what I have to say really isn't that important or even necessary to read. Yes, I could just as easily write this in my private journal and feel just as accomplished about a discovery through my personal journey; but maybe there is just one person who randomly stumbles upon my page and identifies with it. Maybe my uncensored words will be exactly what that person needs to hear. Maybe the purpose of life is to make yourself happy and fulfilling that selfish need, in turn, makes other people happy.

I think about writing all day. I'm obsessed with it. I always have been. I have about 50 different story ideas in my head; all complete with character analysis, plot lines, supporting plots, and most of them have some sort of a riveting twist. I don't write any of them down because as soon as I do, they're real. My stories have life to them and are right there, for the whole world to see. My newly acquired goal for 2012 is to write down at least 3 of my stories. They will be publicized on my blog for anybody and nobody to see. I am going to face one of my greatest fears and I will not let criticism bring me down. In the end, this is mine and I will do with it as I please.

and I will end this piece with a picture of me with tape on my face, because some things should never change. :)