Thursday, March 27, 2008


Runnin down a stranger’s street
Late for something I cannot remember
There was a comet in my childhood
Now I’m just a woman under a streetlight
Losin my magic
Losin my voice
Wonderin who’s screamin from the sidelines
I’m watchin the sea erode my footsteps
Not able to admit that
I feel betrayed by what I loved
My floating ocean solace
is far away.
But the reoccurring salty waves
Can you feel it in the breeze?
How can I see his eyes
How can he see my eyes
And not see me.

Lyndsi Shae

2:29 aM

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

SOS... this ain't no Rihanna.

Why am I in the library?

Roll-outta-bed hair and basketball shorts
Clickin my bare heels
A little embarrassed of my desire for a pedicure
... and a girly dress.

Developing a philosophical crush on Mary Wollstonecraft's book.
Listenin to Explosions In The Sky
Writing six pages that are due in two hours.
Thinkin about my Katie and Kelsey and how Brooklyn would make an ug-sigh sound if she were here.
Wishin I had my journal so I could play with this sweet scanner
and fill my odd desire to post my soul on the world wide web.
(lookin up synonyms for desire.)

I want a smart cookie.
The sun is out.
The pool is open.
My sister is in the same town as me.

Friday, March 21, 2008

I can see A lot of Life in

There is a place in me that calls for words, or rather, there is a separate space that calls to be heard…. Like I am suffering from the Pangea of my inner components. But if they were to find each other, the clarity produced from their unity would be too much for the earth I stand upon. They would burst from punctuation… overflow the parenthetical footnote attempts to explain their truths. And still, be too much for pages overlooked and paperbacks singing silently from second-hand shelves. For now, it is enough to be here on this fleshy dirt beneath me. It is enough to pass by the dusty pages and listen for their call. Because in my ears, there are little waiters… who patiently linger for the right words, who jump and dance and call upon the rain when the dryspells become frighteningly familiar.

Today there are waves in the air that web the world, a computerized connection. A cheap imitation of what has always been possible. If we were to open up our senses, we could feel the woman next to us in the elevator, the men flying over us in stolen airplanes. We would know those through the walls, above the ceiling of our apartments, across the countries… those who walk in perpendicular paths, who balance the equator like tightrope walkers, who live within thoughts like ours, who walk on the valves of your midnight pulses, who feel the tightening of your veins in morning… who would know you and feel no shame.

1:38 PM

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Workin on it.

Deseret Towers.
an illusion of time.
the first floor ripped out while the stories above hang still in the sky.
were they not depending on their foundation?
The sixth floor and me, we remain somehow.
She replies with
a collage of broken windows against our empty field
a chain length fence around a passing vacant breeze.
the echo of a closed door,
the ghost of a laugh...
the shock of the coming day.

i no longer need you to define who i am.

Monday, March 10, 2008


This is the battle for everything.
For my Kennylove.
For sleepin, not alone, and not awake.
For strength against the allure of cheekbones and falsities.
For what I want.
For letting go, of what I want.
For letters.
For words.
For childhood.
For the right mouth at the other end of the telephone wire.
For the breathing of bare winter branches.
For splattered ink evidence.
For my own voice against the dripping faucet.
For what my mother calls “feeling centered.”
For fighting what my father blames on the way he was raised.
For saving my sister, my brothers.

For never denying the remnants that are sweepin themselves under the rug.
For the secrecy of a sunriser.
the patience of a night watcher.
the clarity of a bridge jumper.
A battle of waiting.
A battle of hope.

March tenth 2008
6:14 aM
Motorcycle Driveby-- live in Georgia; Third Eye Blind
Can't sleep but its monday.