jetlinergirl

[jetlinergirl]

The Parachute

at Cheer Up Charlie’s

like Christmas in New Zealand

Golem with his long-haired passport photo

The guitarist from Boston

with a black strap on his ankle

alone with the disco ball

and Joe who gets dreads in his hair too, Carly not so much.

They live on a farm in Queensland

time zones and 20 hour differences.

And the parachute that stayed up

amid the voices top haircuts and drunken woes

The dead cicada on the table as I’m writing now, legs up on its back

the quiver of limbs, a final stretch

an antenna to wave goodbye.

#cheer up charlies #cicada #cicadas #new zealand #boston #parachute #christmas lights

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Son of a Peach

The donut - and here I’m spelling American - direct from the Airstream on 1st Street.

People lining up in their Sunday best.

Pregnant bellies and couples married to a bore. The nurse in powder blue.

There wasn’t any lemon and sugar on it, just cream cheese icing, cinnamon, warm spiced peach compote orange-y on top.

And a smear of honey butter.

One fork and you’re out.

#austin #austintx #austintexas #gourdoughs #doughnuts #donuts #donut #doughnut #beignets #beigne #foodporn #gourmetbeignet #gourmet #foodie #food blog #on the road again #on the road #travel blog

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Austin City Limits

Watching bats along the bridge.

Car lights red and white over the railing.

"No soliciting."

Everyone’s gone batty.

Like watching fireworks from La Ronde.

White pants, blades of grass.

My headlight running into you,

a Taylor Swift song

the tenth mosquito bite.

And off they go flapping across the water

Leaving guano to step our shoes into.

#austin #austintx #austintexas #austin city limits #austin bats

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One More Day in Miami

Barbecue chicken on my thighs,

the element of flesh

Michel from Boucherville

Il fait 24°C à Montréal, à Miami

The scar on my arm reappearing like a scorch of the sun

Holiday-ay

It would be so fun

Where would I rather be?

Coconut Grove?

Kentucky?

Nashville, Tennessee

Let’s see if the cowboys don’t get too rowdy

One more day in Miami

Atchooming all over the place.

Into your crystal ear.

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AC

I'm sitting outside waiting for the AC to kick in. Some weird trumpet music keeps sounding in spurts, somewhere close-by, in the distance. Yesterday we walked from Trader Joe's with paper bags in our hands. He bought four dollar wine, I got some Gouda and mini carrots and a Toblerone bar. Today we had flautas de pollo at Los Amigos. He drives me everywhere under the sun. Should I come home already? The cat looks at me under the orange tree. Everytime I travel I treat it as if I'm going to be away forever. Where are the people I am missing? It's not fomo just wanting to expand. Looking for your haptic touch Wanting to vomit you out anyway, and be alone. Be all alone and so severed Like a camel bareback in the desert night.

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Leaving Los Angeles

Lifting off from LAX Saying goodbye to the palm stalk, the highway the low buildings the blue windows on UA. Going to FLL Where is that couldn't even point to it on a map. The whole row to myself but I'm probably just gonna watch Louie how to make comedy out of our old selves or the new ones continuing to expand I wonder if he's gonna get a job taxi-ing on the tarmac Nothing ferments here it all evaporates. Nothing tastes molasses, just sugar cane puff Criss cross in the air Land in swimming pool blue I miss you, I'm going back down to the East Coast.

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Entertainment Tonight

What all did we do? Went to the Landmark about five times. When is the money gonna run out? Keep us entertained. A girl singing at the pie shop. Not bad, not good. Best key lime pie I've ever had - was yellow though, no lime. Talks of the CIA waiting for the Metrolink, that will never come. I hate taking photos of landscapes Where should I put my commas? Semi-colons to your face. Why is this poetry and not CNF. It's hot out here. Not hot to die for but plenty enough. Et j'attends et j'attends et j'attends. He should be a co-me-di-an "Mawm we had KFC last night." Who said I wasn't going to Nola. Le grand retour, à qui s'en attend le moins.

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California

Sitting on a doorstep,

Oranges setting in the California sun.

I am not happy to be leaving California.

It had only just begun.

Now I’ll miss the trees rolling over on the highway

the street names: Lomita, Effie, Alameda

his hand brake the way he pulled

the nothing of nothing to do

the cats roaming like leopards.

His funny ways.

The way I could hate California.

My underwear showing - and me not caring - under the blue jean jumper.

I miss you my In-and-Out burger my animal sauce

the beach I saw twice, once foaming at night: Santa Monica.

What did I do here?

Drift, stroke the porcupine quill?

Got my legs waxed on Magnolia.

The moth flitting at the Bellagio.

The hotness that won’t recede

The walk up to Trader Joe’s

The 6.99 blueberries.

The smooth of his platypus hands.

I’m a spoiled brat with bleached hair.

Still, I want someone to sing me to sleep,

hold fast.

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Bikini Bottoms

Wearing my bikini bottoms while my laundry airs and the sweat pools between me and the couch. I haven't written since, since I started I guess. We're both picking at our legs, Animal style. Is it because I don't want to remember? How will I make it to Texas in this heat? Must send more clothes home. My sweatshirt, the minibar. He has Taro boba while I watch, suck the tapioca. What can you remember in this heat. The coin laundry, the cash-only donut shop - one chocolate glaze, the other stale krueller. Last night we went to Colcoa, the French Film Fest in town at the Director's Guild. Except we were in the wrong theatre so 20 minutes into L'affaire SK1 we ducked out across the hall to watch what we were really looking for: the documentary Of men and war. I can't bother to capitalize. In this heat. Why bother. My hair is like straw should I cut it all off? Sprawled like Bridget Fonda - in that movie - with Morgan Freeman? She answers the phone. What is there to say? Nothing. Nothing. What was better: Las Vegas or nowhere at all? Where am I in the world, and no I won't float off to Catalina. Where when how. When all I ask is you.

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L.A. Laundry

Can’t wait to do my laundry

too much Ed Sheeran on Top-40.

Get me the hell out of L.A.

Drunk on iced tea and stranger’s conversations

Is it my fault I didn’t turn into Monroe on the Blvd?

Maroon 5 She will be loved on da radio

Tattoos and casquettes and seven-year relationships

I feel like a cardboard box being shipped somewhere.

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Spring chickens

With our feet up against the sun.

Nantucket boats in the distance.

Belly full of Boston cream pie (tiramisu-lite).

The creamiest quiche in history, morsels melting in my mouth.

Andrew Bird singing the violin into the Canyon.

Craft table at ICA we send postcards all the way to L.A.

“The destination is…” the train’s voice in the distance.

Bay windows in sunlight grocery car alights

into the pizza crusts we circled the store for

Picking up dumplings asking for take-out

right outside Gourmet Dumpling House

Céline Dion party reenacting Mommy

Tout le monde en parle up there on the telly

Léonard Lalumière, on peut dire qu'il en est fier.

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Check out the baby next to me. Happy as a clam until the whole thing came to a stop. Then baby’s face turned grim and he wailed, “No!”

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Lobster Ravioli

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Monopoly City

The pole rising up and down, my lobster ravioli.

Today consisted of merry-go-rounds and Italian primo plati.

All along Newbury, blondes with purses, Japanese girls with their flawless assemblage of geometry.

The Giorgio Armani shades really did suit me.

Bringing back memories crossing at Quincy.

Although, when it comes to mind, we never left Abercrombie.

Bahstin, Bahstin, your accents delight me

Thank you for Charlie and inventing the T;

If it weren’t for thee, I’d still be on the connah, waiting to board the C.

P.-S. - I’m in Matt Damon and Ben A-fleck territory!

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Popcorn Girl

Maude doesn’t think my hair looks orange.

We (she) pumped up the mattress until it was crinkly and turgid. Ew, can I use that word here?

Boston looks like Monopoly. A board game: all the majestic apartment buildings on either side with the train pulling you along this never-ending street. Adults in their carrrs playing at parenthood and real life.

I asked the woman with her dog (a mysterious mutt, but probably a hot dog, at least in part) if she wanted to sit down but she reluctantly said no.

Across from us a fiancée (or married already) - dark hair in a posh semi-couette, nails ready to bite, the skin taut against her bones and the finest aquiline nose - talked insurance coverage while her bespectacled beau stroked the black fur on her neck. “It isn’t a neceh-ssity.”

Maude’s chocolate bunny only has its legs left, or some indistinct base.

We ordered Pad Thai and Kao Soi from the place across the road. They chatted in a corner and eventually moseyed along to the front counter. Yes? Um we called for take-out. Last name trop compliqué; they looked us up by phone number.

I ordered a Thai Iced Tea too because they had it. She poured big syrup and the orange on top.

Almost paid in dollar coins.

We came home and watched Tu dors Nicole. I’ve got a crush on the drummer, his puncturing stare.

When I got off the T I realised I didn’t know which apartment to ring at. So I passed the yuppy restaurant with pushcarts in the window and pressed Kent #6 (no answer) before checking my Facebook screen capture and remembering it was next door.

I woke up at seven today and peed for about an hour.

My hair looks exactly like - yes, that’s it, this is the analogy I’m sticking with - the orange of my tea.

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Nocturne

Pull the wig off, the blond of my hair, lay the clothes over the chair

drop my head bare against the rug.

The bathroom pink where it creams, the gurgling pipes like Gaudís arrest my soul.

What circles of light in their yellow wombs gave birth to this.

The basement peace of the street just outside, walkers and talkers

with their lives strolling by.