Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

Water

(working title)

Veins blue and bulgy like rivers

flowing lines

slipping off the deep-end

A deep-sea creature

coming to the light

I asked ‘what do you love enough to leave?’ 

Fall off, like fall leaves 

in the shrunken trunks of Autumn trees

The night looms, all vulture-like

Darkness awaits to rush through us like water

so I rushed through it like the Aquarius I am

and like the Aquarius the great ocean was, in another life

I waded through those waters,

and felt its pressure against every bone in my body

like the bustle of my city against its serf

two soles against the turf 

But in the morning, we’ll evolve

like a butterfly from a caterpillar

And proceed like it’s always been ours to take

everything and nothing

Until a wave comes back again

to hit me, to floor me,

to seal me like an envelope

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

Cerebral Poison

A gentle retreat back home

back inside the safety net of insecurities

Spending all our lives curtsying around the truth and then we’re gone

The moon smiles at me

but it can’t be trusted

It’s part of some conspiracy unknown

Condemned to happiness

Do the boats keep leaving?

The doors keep closing?

I’m right there

I’m an eternity away

Forever and a day 

Forever, you say

But let’s have our last hoorah 

some time soon

So I can abandon you on your pedestal 

for a brighter day

a lighter life

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

Submission

Words are good servants

and bad masters

Like me, sitting there, on your wired, wicked chair

above the green, green grass

Yet I am human after all

Not a brick castle with magical bridges that cross my waters for me

In a cloud, you are

that yellow brick house overlooking forever

But your windows are mirrors

and vice versa

Lofty dreams

A park floater…

the type your Grandma looks at all funny

As if she hasn’t been down that high way

The see-through walls of your exteriors

aren’t that high and mighty

You’re just my horse

and I’m just a hair-clipped girl

looking into the rippling waters of our cubed expectations

Re-tracing winding roads we are no stranger to

Yet every time, it appears to be the path less beaten


Boy you are the bush, not the tree

But your branches get me every time

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20081204 / Goodbye Poem

(Aracelis' Workshop)

How do I say goodbye to such intimacy?
The air between my shea buttered skin and my favorite shirt
You’ve treated me well and warm
Goodbye
The light between sacred sheets and rose duvets
Dear, spirits in my elevator - the only ones tangible to my day’s relief
Numerous sighs – goodbyes
Sweat in lifelines
Night in earlobes
Summer on taste buds
Farewell – you – white dressed homeless man on 12th street
Farewell 12th street
Jingle of keys
Goodbye the thousands of beautiful sunsets
Millions of gorgeous eyelashes unfolding like rose petals to the touch
The hundreds of train passengers I have fallen for
All of our secret deaths
Goodbye
The thoughts on my mind that wake up with me
This is how I say goodbye to my life, fingers locked listed:
Goodbye rough muscle, smooth teeth
The ghost in my closet that I’ve wasted many a 6-year-old bone trying to tippy toe past – stay fast asleep and friendly
Goodbye the eye: a deceiving bitch
Goodbye the bag on the brownest tree that my cousin told me a dead baby lived in
Goodbye jarred lady bugs, attempts to fly, jealousy
Goodbye the 3 days of cold lonesome I never got to warm
Goodbye to the Brooklyn bound A trains to Lefferts
Left us with dirty bed spreads
Goodbye BedStuy, Bushwick, the Village, Toronto, Brampton
Goodbye corner cracks, cracks on the corner, crack on the corner of your bed
Goodbye lead, paper, everything toxic
Goodbye skyline, blaring computer screen
Goodbye screams in pillows for hands
Goodbye blue sky, bubble gum pop pink crushes – like stronger than love
Goodbye alleyways, used tub water
Goodbye my sister: my first love, first shoulder, first spine, last love
Goodbye inny belly button
I will live with you in the dirt of old quarters
And love you between purple velour coffins

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20081130 / Ode to Nuit

Artichoke smoke mascara embedded eyes
kind - your pools of pupils are
I drown time in them
Diamond hair clips enveloping the rivers of each strand
Tangling like dream catchers
May I ask - where do you put my nightmares?
Craft them into something useful
A better me
You hide my secrets, fears with fingers of mosquito nets
I hear you whisper in the dark when I'm scared
and I create hobbies of imagining what I'd say back given the occassion you were talking to me
about me
I came up with one sentence...
Lock the door behind you
Friends told me to caution myself around you
knock me down, nocturnal
Temptation skyline of a smile sink
Baptize me in the thick scent of your chamomile weed
Your night and day personality saturates many of my moons
Where do you end?
Eternity between my toes, you are -
the insides of my eyelids
The one I will always look forward to resting my head next to
The gotham man on the moon

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20081015 / Night Time

She meets you in the dead of the night
Where the sky and floor join at some place unknown
To carve scriptures in your flesh 
For another to read
If body language were vocal, we would all be in trouble
But at least more comfortable in our own skin
The wrinkles on our tongues
Curves in our laugh lines
The kind of curves that your eyes dive off of
Dangerous, elephant ivory: smooth and glossed over
The sparkle swimming in her iceberg crashing blue irises
Confidence drowns in these pupils
Caves for nostrils
The curve and break slope in her nose resembling your people 
"The chosen ones", all 13.2 million of you
But here you’re the only, 
besides the 300 year old sky scraping oaks 
and sheets of midnight marauders forest green grass, for miles.
The dark night is cut through with hard laughs escaping soft lips
Red as brick
Teeth, cold as bone
Breathe, abrupt like knuckles cracking
Skin lying under thumbnails dug into the point where the thigh meets the hip
She throws her hair back taking all the stars with it
You went to sleep late
Stayed up memorizing her scent,
as thick as burning whicker
Intoxication always induces how quick late nights turn in to early mornings

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20110817, tumblr piece

The Quiet American

Solemn blues paints a snowy 42nd street

He looks downtown and sees a set of buildings from 1958

The background of a Madison Avenue bourgeois flick

David LaChapelle drowns Tupac in a tub of chains

His brown bold body, like the coffee cake of my honey

The minds eye is open when your naked eyes lay sleeping

Attraction of flame

Spying on the science of fire

Dancing for fame

Icy coated caves it floats through

Like birds coasting in the sky

A black and white life up against your grey hues

Hanging socks, shower floor, toilet box, sail ship, space ship

Towel

You

US

Bright lit blue-skied battlefields

Welcoming grass like sheapskin mats at the end of your bed

Chipping blue stool reminds me of the smell of a place I once called home

Like mental locations

The air chair pops passionate pupils of luxury

Iceberg oculars

Pony-tailed eyelashes

Your denim-patched, delicate, tumultuous heart beats as a bee buzzes 

Docked boat, leather belt man

You have the entire netted world in the palm of your hand 

that you simply squeeze to relieve stress

Casting a powerful stare out of your glowing sunglasses to nowhere particular

Then casually moves forward

You wear your aura quite well

What else could look so good on you?

Projected films and moon-lit pillow mountains

You’re an anorexic bird for the holidays

Or a Willy Wonka blueberry smoking really old cigarettes to assist enlightenment

You step off the street into the traffic of a floaty device and fruitful tides crashing little clear cups of blue juice on your back where you cannot see its magic

You chase your tail like a foolish dog

The silence before the storm comes and a really gorgeous light blinds my eyes

Tinting the world to look like a 70’s film


Dusty books and hippy hair 

Blank stare nudity

Hey! Don’t you think Errol street’s backyard alley is funny?

Kaleidoscopic topics in search of better bop-it’s

I wish to dream in Frida Kahlo’s style of painting

And living

Dazed eyes behind round sunglasses

Beads in your hair, over your bed

I don’t know… what are you anyway?

Just another troublemaker? Another poison? Another psycho?

The quiet Russian walks in a room of hills that look like sand clouds in the direction of a door that will show him all his simple life’s pleasures

Suntanned California

Fake flowers on diner tables

A young couple in love pop like balloons or whiplashed atoms in the crystal freezers of time captured on a Polaroid

Intra-uterine memoirs of candy painted cars and swimming pools

Statues and Kurt Vonnegut paintings 

All the links of childhood floating on a mattress suspended over the dirt next to the skyline

The stars in the sky arrange themselves to look like the states on the American flag

The blue man asks what is it all for? 

I stare for a long time and leave altered

With eyes that are a little more hypnotic and glint with the glitter of six year olds crowns

Space stuff exhaled to send its thoughts and prayers to the heavens

They grow up to become happy-go-lucky girls and boys at SVA.


Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20110623, tumblr piece

I jump I hump I jump

a low altitude earth orbit

the acceleration of gravity

Kate Moss’ shiny hair gives away her expression to the wind

A chill on the back of her neck

Frumpy goosebumpy

Mountainous Max humbly glows 

Surrounded by the cannon crashes

Venus gets knocked out of orbit in a leopard bra holding a blue bong

the shy and shining shadow silhouette of an unidentifiable young man

I spy an Einstein eye sty 

Bacteria grows where flower petals fall

She’s like a tattooed merry go round in the water

All lit up and frantically yelling, giggling, at peace, at part

The future at a different time is grasping, clasping, rasping for this moment

What a hopeless romantic the past is

Ironic ivory and mudded mahogany 

A headdress holds all of her thoughts under 

Secreted secrets

Dazzling down, down town

The halo hair of Andy Warhol boxed in a crossed coffin

For no one to stare or shoot at any longer

Until the next one comes along

And makes a damn mockery of your picnic shorts and bare back and outstretched abs

Calmly clenched fists

Uptight sweater knits

The trees have holes in them that embody your body whole

He’s an interesting man, that oak tree

A tiger in a kitten’s body

Stretching itself thin and weary, wirey, fiery

Frayed finger foreskin, delightfully dilapidated 

The pattern his hands make remind me of things I speak too often about

If a ball bounces six times how far does it travel vertically?

Well this depends… if it’s in the park it travels more trees and less assholes

If an obnoxious kid dismisses this ball, how am I supposed to care about something he doesn’t care about himself?

But I think I do care

Its only fitting

Like the bottom of a tea cup and the plates that were made to unite with it in coffee cuddles

His mouth is shaped as the sound of a whistle

The message is the messenger

Many manly masculine leaves frenzy feminine a bout de soufflé

A sacred smirker, with an arm muscle the size of the dove in his right hand and a 40oz in his left

Weird pant pockets 

His curls are whisps of smoke, disintegrating in the air of broken brokeh

Bloody buddy holly, you are drunk

But a beautiful insomniac that can’t stop snaking and shaking

Maybe its that pipe dream in search of a ripe lean

Fear fantasy

Her cheekbones show most when she’s left speechless

Hiding from whoever, however in fetal position

Wishing she was another man’s woman

One that doesn’t exist

If she were water her waves would crash hard and her ripples would slash cuts in the reflections of those that look into her, even if just on the surface

Even if just for a split second

And she has no space in between her legs

When I look at where her bum meets her thigh I can’t see the other side

Maybe she’s a virgin

Rioting rebellion

Without a damn cause

Except to give people the middle finger

His smoked out hands rest at the indent of her lined shirt

it looks like loose leaf

She looks sad

she was happy once

The kind of happy that wrinkles like to exploit

And he just stares and wonders and shrugs

And her face gets reorganized and pushed and pulled 

And now her smile is a monotone malfunction man

Who likes heels and suits and little girls

Desaturation defines her

Up and away into slender smoke she goes

He ships her off to America as a prized posession 

Like Lady Liberty

Trash and treasure

A sandy spectacle

The infinitely little men walking across a cracking bridge mirror the infinitely great cloaked crooks watching from the forest

Not good enough to love, she thinks

So her route is the wind

And glances from people whose face remains unseen yet unforgiving

As if people were their shadows

Or their bodies

Or sketches of their bodies lying lifeless on hovering tree stumps

A tire floats by

She thought she could taste her daughters youth in his kiss

A dull enlightenment

He builds castles in the sky on crappy clouds that aren’t really there

And claims he’s happy, the way he is – blind, tortured soul

It always comes back around and down to you, doesn’t it?

Who you seem to be, who you want to be, who your friends are and how flash makes your dangling body look in front of Terry Richardson’s segregating lens

Offering yourself to The Look Now

I still want to punch you in the face when I look at you across the dinner table

Or lovingly bite your smitten cheek

Your belly button is the big black hole enveloping all the starstuff

You can laugh at this, but I’m serious

Feathers grow out of your back

And then suffer from growth stunts because you’re tired and distressed and angry all the time

And frustrated and broke and doing your best

You are doing your best

Are you doing your best?

Well what does that mean when you stare at me with raccoon eyes?

Racking thighs rocking and rolling moon tribes

You and your heartbreaking napkins

Funny freckles, please don’t look at me that way

Please don’t look at me

If she can’t live in the curve of his smile she would rather be a super slut

With the mirage of twin towering over her predecessors 

Onlookers need binoculars, proper oculars

a tourist attraction for the finest suit and ties, leather boot lies

until someone knocks her down and she wonders why

as if she wasn’t a vulnerable onlooker the entire time

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

An Elegy for the Beautiful

Sunray’s curled up like spiral staircases 
and your hair
Natural, morning light
I want to remember you like that
God, how you were beautiful back then

Pillows of clouds bellowing between your lips
Falling asleep to the spontaneous light of your TV
And music, I miss the way you make songs sound
And air feel
Free

We parted full trees with fingertips alone 
Mischievous innocence 
Yet took everything as slow as how your eyes are walking out of my memory
How I wish I could see you like that again

I just don't want to remember you this way
With your brain cells in dust particles and dead stars
The branches extend their arms with their dream catcher like tendencies
Tangling your thousands of elegies,
Written for your thousands of secret deaths

What is left of you?

That keeps you able to hug so tight
Holding on to butterfly wings that you birthed
Hoping for them to take you to the angels

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20110130, tumblr piece

A transformer on crutches with a lion at his foot and the number 4 as his mane

An oversized mannequin arm hanging like Seinfeld episodes

The camel’s are all gone now, so I’ve been smoking rollies. I’m so excited for duMaurier’s again, and the bent cigarette sexual impotence references on the box

Off the walls 

Toronto bricks and divisions 

I hope for spice girl heels in opp shops and saved by the bell star smiles

With dimples and suitcases

This guy reminds me of Isaac Hayes on his Black Moses record fold out but with two white babes

Watermelon skulls seeded and planted in the garden of real life and turf of Hollywood tan lines

To own a red car is simply to pay more insurance

The same qualification doesn’t apply for gingers or red walls or red nails or red dresses

Red carpet…maybe

Whatever chemical is needed in neon sign lights is what’s all in your eyes

Natural abundance

Lashes unfolding like rose petals in floral print

I like her for who the mirror tells me she is

Polka dots and fur remind me of my love, a witty label whore

With a diabolical halo and the light of an unknown source flickering in her core

My incandescent velvet girl friend

Dashing snow and smoking Newports, by preference

Long nails and wine glasses

She broke my shower once while having sex with Johnny

If we didn’t live in New York and sleep with scumbags I could imagine that scene similar to the one in American Beauty, B bathing in roses with deep and passionate coloured lipstick

Instead my imaginative reality leads me to see flashes of BUBO reminiscent fireworks and unknown galaxies setting flame to their existence 

Or just some drooling mouths and a fallen shower handle

Some pink and fragrant suddy soap, straw hats and red bandanas – all too Clay evocative

Fire hoses, pomegranates, Polaroid guitars, tailoreds and the al camino

Sleeping and setting fires, flower gardens and white boy things

But that’s not me – or who to say it is?

After all he has cupped Lil Kim’s breasts, how is he not the man for me?

B would be the man for me if she were a man

Maybe I’ll like girls soon, but only the ones with strawberry tongues and mid drift shirts

I would much rather white pants, awesome boots, socks that remind me of sock puppets and a lumberjack shirt with Marlboro’s in the front pocket, real 90s Dad appeal

Maybe him and I could live in the middle of a forest where red cubes and fairy shrines could be found on our daily mushroom picking walk

We’ll have to fly in a shiny plane if we ever want to be in cold weather

He can wear cool back packs and patterned shorts with rainbow Nikes

And I can re-live my dreams of being a hybrid of semi-cryptic Jackie and Crazy Spice

And we’ll love each other like John and Yoko

With no big elephants swanging their truculent tails around in the middle of our room

Pastel tenderness in the glow of lurid lit nights

He’ll have a great jaw muscle that when clenched gives an appropriate illusion of tough guy behavior

Dark Disney fantasies pursued in an astronomer’s atmosphere

A mysterious rainbowed woman with gentle hands who crafts collages

Electric elbows and wired thighs

Multi-colored nails and painters eyes

She throws her hair back taking all the stars with it

His eye peeping out of the cracks in his hand looks at her, the apple of his eye at least for that one moment

And dives off of her curves into spiral staircases 

Solar tattoos and golden graffiti

Exploited stop signs and Canadian flags drawn on loose-leaf used as gift wrapping paper

The lover daze in lacey bras under trench coats

Off white bed sheets, duvets and feather pillows

Cigars, Jordans and sunnies

Let’s get Lindsay Lohan wasted and never sleep in separate beds

We can wake up and watch Home Alone, Discovery Channel clips of comb jelly fish and Michael Jackson music videos

You can tattoo my entire back with your fingertips and I’ll guess that you drew a dragon

Bubbles, belt buckles and boxing gloves

How innocently you pop the white pearls of my spine

Lesbians for Lower East Side with candy rings and beach hair

Sex and the city and American flag joints, sailor printed Hello Kitty Stussy ads

A man got her to be his, at gunpoint 

And they lived happily ever after in bowling alleys and ditches 

She was the snow angel in the hallway

Downtown locked and loaded skater kids with discernible nipples under sheer shirted girlfriends 

I’ve always wanted to be the rowdy hot Penelope Cruz in satin shirt smoking a cigarette via Vicky Cristina Barcelona type

Clueless crooked penis pizza crust

I’m over being the breathe of fresh air

I want to bite and be inebriating again

Toxic tear shed and not on my behalf either Leather Jacket

Starry-eyed war, pre-rolled spliffs and Holga cameras

Brace face fuzz ball

Spontaneous truth sex talks

Wink at the lens now baby and smile for canned camera

Cannabis cuffed

Good Friday is only one flight up

Can’t you see?

 
 
3.jpg
5.jpg
 
9.jpg
13.jpg
 
16.jpg
17.jpg
 
22.jpg
 
23.jpg
 
 
1.jpg
6.jpg
7.jpg
 
8.jpg
14.jpg
11.jpg
 
12.jpg
19.jpg
21.jpg
 
24.jpg
 
27.jpg
30.jpg
29.jpg
32.jpg
35.jpg
38.jpg
 
Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20170419, tumblr piece

the past 

falling out the sky

deserted and dry


burns through money

life of Pablo style

only ashes left now


missing New York

a light in the night

thick like honey

shines like crystals


hard wood under my toes

blaring sun in my eyes

through the drapes

a lace pattern

bubbles rising


a soft but rough feeling, like cashmere

appears before me

confusing to the touch

to spin

to fuck


I sit and ponder on it all

as it eludes me

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20150206, 2AM

Here I sit, torn and trodden, on my Mom’s day bed that he and I once shared. 

When we were here, just four months ago, it would be so hot that I’d sleep alone on the couch, while he lay, selfish in slumber, amongst my childhood pillows. 


My favorite was a crocheted masterpiece with a playful kitty, 

trying to catch a bee on one side.

And on the other - a red, three-dimensional heart set against a deep blue velvet backdrop. 


These days it’s a lot colder. 

When I got to my Mom’s apartment in Williamsburg, from Los Angeles, I arrived to a neatly folded pile of his shitty boxers and socks that were too beneath him to take elsewhere for safekeeping. 


I want to burn them 

but this is a New York apartment, with no fire escape 

and though it’s the coldest February in years, I put them in a bag to throw out instead.


I catch my mind stuck on the fact that we once laid here, 

on this very twin size mattress, 

happy.


But that too was just a phase,

Like his phase of battle rapping

Or like his phase of talking in that heart-wrenching baby voice 

Or like his “cleansing” phase

Or like his coke “phase”

Or like his phase of Lizz, Elayna, Lou

And now, like his phase of me.

His phase of our days in love

“living in blue, in love with you”


I once thought that I only loved men as a measure of how much I loved myself.


I now know the feeling of being that ambiguous other; 

the feeling of being loved as a calculator, 

a ruler, a measuring tape.


We both used to be the friend, the lover, the better half, so to say.

But people are never who they say they are

And love is never what you think it is.


Unless you think it’s this cold, two-sided pillow

With a pussy on one side

And a heart on the other.


//


I never experienced love like that before - 

the way we stared at each other for hours,

as if the world was ending

or more so like there was no world.

The way we shared everything;

a home, 930 Myrtle

a twin-size bed at my moms

a white leather sectional at A.Chal’s

the world.

We shared the deepest, darkest corners of ourselves

but also the lightest

and also the surface

a lot of surface.

I wonder if he asks himself ‘what did I do to fuck this up?’ 

over and over when he lays down to sleep, like I do

I wonder if he remembers the day, like a death, that he stopped being in love with me

He says he mourns us too but I wonder if it’s the same bone shivering, hair raising, tooth grinding, stomach flipping feeling I get

If not, I wish I could give him this feeling

But no one is right exactly

We both followed our hearts and had no choice but to hurt each other deeply

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

Until I Forget

His beauty marks 

like bullets to my brain

But only for now,

Until they slip on out

And its remnants slowly seep

Into my blood and make it thicker

Makes my blood boil with anger 

and shiver with passion

Cry with laughter, laugh with tears, 

tremble with fear, shake with pleasure

We build civilizations, large and small 

just so they can get torn down and take us with them

What a strange, black hole of a snake time is

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20130328, tumblr piece

Untaken Photographs

Her eyelashes look like millions of microscopic flower petals from this angle

The creepy tin man atop Webster Hall is talking to himself again

About space and how tin foil looks like stars and twinkles like them too

Old floral dressed black women are perched across the street

Holding bags of free food and a newspaper that reads SURVIVAL PENDING

They appear to be waiting for the bus, but when it comes they never get on 

Somewhere in an apartment behind them, a woman sits in a leopard dress 

Her hair done to look like a glazed cinnabun 

She thinks it was the acid that made her take all her clothes off

She’s a little kid on Halloween 

Getting candy

From old men

From under rocks to on top of logs

She has a shrine in her closet and tells people to shut up

One could stare in her eyes for eternity 

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

Leaving Australia

Leaving Australia

It all is way too surreal, I hate writing in airports/on planes, it always feels cliché and a trashy time to reflect on something so WORDLESS. I listened to Womack and Womack and Black Keys in the car ride here, Sunni and Julian came over at 8AM and we left at 8:30. I hope when I go back I will have the strength to keep up these articulate, beautiful connections and hopefully find such unique, special individuals in NY.

Your eyes are voids. Spiraling but stern and solid. Spinning, shaking.

You are sunshine rays that have set me free.

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

Golden Plains, March 20th 2011

Ate half a tab of acid and went to the valley with Fry, Ryder and Julian and laid in the grass enjoying the scenery and each others company. Talked about twin bubbles and how tragic it must be for the last standing bubble after his other half pops and dies. And how before bubbles were actually invented cavemen could’ve easily mistaken the soapy bubbles for a very camouflage-able insect, blending into every atmosphere from brown dirt to green grass to forest treetops to blue sky to white cloud as it mysteriously float-flies up into the air and disappears forever. We loved each other so much right then, I could feel it and we all decided to have a little cry. And then we made up a talk show entitled “Crying with Fry” and we listed what music we like to listen to while we’re crying with Fry. And what pants we like to wear whilst crying with Fry. AND TONIGHT ON CRYING WITH FRY…

And we decided it was all too good, so we left and I wandered and listened and watched. And night time came and the airy ferry lights were alive with the smoke machine and all the people in all of their own worlds together in this one world. We smoked joints like they were cigarettes. Haven’t smoked a real cigarette in 5 days because of the abundance of weed and because of my bad cough. Went to Maddy and Freya and Sunni’s tent and smoked bongs and killed warrior ants. JR and I had some great one on one time, mostly making up songs I wish I could remember them. They were great.

SUN. Got up, asked the hot neighbor to roll me a joint because no one in my camp was awake and I couldn’t roll one (or could I?) and he was hot. Then went to get tea from the field and came back the whole camp was awake, smoked the j with the neighbor and chilled with crew having Pink Flamingo/Space Jam juice and morning snow cones.

Saw Besnard Lakes, they were soooo good, they got the glory boot from the entire audience meaning they were the year’s best act. There was a red head convention by the pink tree. Ryder, Dan and I went back to the valleys but the further up ones and made a song about it, naming it Make Out Point – “where you bring someone really special that you want to spend all of your days with HERE. Tell them your feelings and what you want from the relationship” Gooood times. Best Coast wasn’t that good. Joanna Newsom was kinda cool, I think.

Dom, JR, Jess, Andy, Simon Fire/Fry, Julian, Ryder/Vryan, Shannon, Lily, Mia, Robby, Sunni, Freya, Maddy Mar, Daniel Love, Pete Baxter and more <3 <3 <3 

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20110222, tumblr piece

Snorting a small mountain of cocaine

Vibrant, clueless Brittany Murphy is dead now

Just like we’ll all be soon or someday

A camera flashes and suddenly my ears ring with the sound of white

Clouds

Four blue doors, different and each individually stunning

The overwhelming options

My dreams become acquiescent of my nightmares

They both become me 

It’s so fucking real

In luscious, diving blues and glowing greens

Various hues dude

My memories look like a young zealous couple sitting in a park silently telling each other their souls

Street lamps light up the trees trailing and limping limbs

An entire midnight metropolis passing there behind them

A small light flickers in the blur of collective electricity

Will Smith or Barack Obama could be turning on that very light that she sees as a flicker

Living their line simultaneously 

Magic moments when strangers stories meet

A pearly white 1994 Jeep often speeds through this suburbia state of scruples. 

So do beautiful blue beaches built off submerged cities.

In this multiverse, there once sat a furry white cat

With hauntingly huge eyes, that never blinked

She sat atop a hill, staring at ants, wondering if they knew they were on top of the world

Wondering if humans think about the same thing ants do… probably.

Striped, starry-eyed, sparkly soul, unicorn man.

Your conscience is beautifully haunted with misty mountaintops and dreamy branches

Left and right, day and night

Tram tracks and flare jeans, wooden beads and fogged glass

A 50 foot skeleton emerges from the rips of the river with a notebook

Bones enjoys drawing, she releases all of the demons and angels from her grasp

They walk off the pages into a stream of water where a swing takes them under

And suddenly heaven and hell is there on the lap of a little boy in vast blues

Heaven and hell is there on the lips of a woman running barefoot in a dessert

Chasing the fantastic phantasmagoria

Heaven and hell is there, knocking on your door, disrupting your television program

Live from the man on the moon, who does not know whether he is a man dreaming he is a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he is a man

With fluttering fairy tale flight

The dead caterpillar, like mirrors, feels jealousy for unbound beauties staring from beyond

Scratching her wing disks, detachable.


Checking the time and pressing illuminating lights on your phone

Glowing in the midst, freezing in abyss

The cold, blank stare journeying through height’s wind chill


Flying lotus over building tops like umbrellas

You sturdy bag 

Secretions in the sky

A dear caught in the headlights

Tranced by virginal blindness

Same white noise

Molten waves erect the young girl of prior skeleton

Her eyeless grin beams down on clouds

A fairy in a lovely sequined dress dances around in ballet shoes at the crime site

Melting bodies

The sun beheads us awkwardly

Gripping grasps in double denim

Red, red wine and ocean sky line

My floor boards, mine that I faithfully crawl on 

turn into a ceiling in Mexico

Who stares at a trippy tiled floor all day

Crafty crosses, picture frames and clever clocks

Milky columns, disco balls and neon signs

Endless words like her fair flowing hair

Tippy toes and nosey nose

A shoeless women in red falls backwards into puddles that reflect the parking lots dedicated sky

Landing in a galaxy of her favorite stars

Openly orbiting 

Opaque staircases and pac-man lights

Flashy cars and burrowed babes

One day your insight will be outside and realize your toothpaste is poison

And your streets are made of water

That flows in and out of some people and drowns others

Isolation in a cold place

Nasty in nirvana

Pixilated pigeons and rays of golden curly light, pierced nipples and bristled pinkies

Mythic Mariah and Money Mo disasterously tunneled and you are now HERE!

In space with Stewey and the peanuts for Christmas

Shooting bullets of all the best things

Horse shoes, studded hearts, frisky frogs, slender beads, pine trees, penguins and bombs

Another car, another boat

Another day, another dollar

Cowboy, I want to be one strand in your horses mane

One glance in your iceberg oculars

The house you peer in

The world you stand towering above

To light your crystal candles

And show off glistening Brazilian waxes in a tree house

On our own earth

In our own universe

Whorled world, helical hell

Tear drops and lipstick

It begins with an A, its all over your face

Shimmery sunshine summertime

Nice to meet you.

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20110221, tumblr piece

He looked like Antenna Man with all of that rainbow in his hair

And his graying beard 

Purple tie-die sweater that looks like reflections in a pool

Dialing numbers to have girl talk

Chick chat

Cigarettes on her eyelashes 

She bats them and they ash, falling into her banana mouth

They burn holes in her eyes but she still smiles yellow

A forlorned frown disguised as a celebrity smirk

Dark shadows and a ravishing mess of hair

The curtains look like sunrays

And the arms of a pirate hat wearing Octopus

Blow up dolls in inflatable houses

Dr Fucks babies

She stood tall on a drum with a leopard dress and heart leggings

Maybe a floating device around her neck as an accessory 

Eccentric I guess

Looking like the Statue of Liberty

A tarp guarded her from the ignorance of the beaming light

Ivy vines crawled to her feet

Pointy and skeletal like fold out chairs

Who has cozy feet anyway?

A lamp illuminated her cat like stare

I think she might be ugly behind all of that tanned skin

I don’t know her but its something about her mouth

The next girl I know very well

She dresses ridiculously when she goes to Happy Endings or Sway or any downtown night

Dances aberrantly and calls it a career

Sometimes she wears Power Ranger earrings and rings made out of beer caps, she tattooed a slice of pizza on her right middle finger, a real New Yorker – maybe.

It all reminds me of the 90s in an awakening and painfully pleasuring way

Unsharpened pencils in unbuttoned shirt pockets

Arnold finally puts different clothes on

It kind of changes my entire world view

Whatever that might be

Candle lit lanterns on stepping stones leading to the happily glowing house

That probably has some amazing Basquiat art hanging on the walls of a relatively recurrent offender

The kind that would have reported the same man for “criminally vandalizing” the exterior walls of his second wife’s apartment twenty years ago

 A bore

A whore 

I wonder what it was like to be one of Marley’s locks

Or Tupac’s tattoos

Or a sheet of tracing paper

Or a branch in a Christmas tree

Or a noose

Crack’s in a mirror’s reflection reminds me of my dad’s drug addiction

Which reminds me of trusting titles and rusty windows

Like a staircase without handles

Or words spelled with numbers, l1k3 th15

My brain cells are starting to crowd me, like balloons in a two-seater 

The expressionist rasta’s … it severely irritates me that Hitler’s name is not red underlined in auto spelling but rasta is. Rastafari is as well. That is total bullshit

Green, yellow and red flag painted in Brooklyn with some hipster bitch spread across it like she knows who Selassie I is or that the “I” in Selassie I is actually the number 1, like number words but real

The bird is pretty fly though

On stage Jimi sets fire to his guitar 

Kneeling down in hot red pants looking like the sex god himself

I would have crashed that car too

Never the Chanel bus though, that’s my baby

Really old pencils spelling out the alphabet 

All chewed on and clean-shaven

Like Bedford Avenue residents who betray hipsterdom by shaving but still ride around on fixed gears

Under a pastel palette of sorbet skies

And all the balloons in the two-seater are set free

And my brain cells pop like fireworks, I can feel them 

They give my forehead little heat splinters 

I feel all better now

Richie, Brittany and I whisper sweet nothings nuzzled into each other’s necks

Eating vagina cupcakes in front of your humble door

Shooting secrets about the mystery man on the balcony over yonder

Yester years

I saw you yelling at a plastic woman with a polka dot bag yesterday

I called to see if you’re okay

And if your car is still up in flames, I know it’s a tragedy but can I take pictures?

Roaring lions and boney thugs

Draped in oversized gowns of sport teams

It’s hard not to feel like JayZ circa “Big Pimpin” video when on a Bermuda boat, with beautiful, bottled broads

Then the earth under your feet becomes concave

And you’re waiting in McDonald’s drive through again for new cUntry potatoes

No private planes or cheese buses or cracker platters

I like it this way

Dancing barefoot in basement bashes while rolling a joint on the latest cover of Billboard

That claims Drake is the new face of hip-hop

I’d rather just not talk about it and wear a top hat and a tie on bow instead

Eating my McFancy fries drinking some cool Cola

Studying the bisection of a gold fish 

Finding where it’s little heart is located and carefully removing it so I can press it in a book like lavender and have it forever

Reminds me of playing that stressful doctor game, or dutty wining until you land behind the stage paralyzed

Boy, you are an infectious insect

Your light spreads like the 1956 fireball from the detonation of a hydrogen bomb in the South Pacific

Aren’t you handsome

Mad dogs pikachu lips and acid tongue warm her cold teeth

Reflecting the walls windows

Mr T goes anti-alcohol, marijuana, cigarettes, PCP and a robot or something of similar appearance. Yet remains true to pro-love, family, awards, books, the letter A, plants (that aren’t weed leafs – specifically clarified), music notes and stars

The models are druggies

With little bagels that they wear around their naked ring finger as an ode to the single ladies of the world, oh shut up you want a boyfriend so fucking bad

Baggy bohemians and Polish-Irish hybrid skirt babes

One of the most gorgeous women I know with the hair of a gray cloudy beautifully destructive whirlwind walks through a field of yellow flowers

Just her and the sky holding hands

She’s the funky stripes type

I hope we grow old together in our beautiful house with colored windows and grass for floors with groovy couches and ashtrays for dispensing our Sobranie Cocktail rainbow cigarettes, the ones with gold filters

She can wear 70’s sunglasses and drive a babein’ Volkswagen van with RASTA colored interior, because she is just the kind of lady who knows, for example, what the I in Selassie’s name really is

She’s a different crew’s Sunni. What an angelically devilish love child old Sunni Hart

The little imperfection in her smile that makes her perfect

She lent me a 1000+ paged collection of Allen Ginsberg poetry today, I can’t wait to finish swimming in the stream of consciousness so that I could get to that

I thought about how happy I am to be able to have given Clay the amazingly personable Christmas present instead of the tarot cards.

The picture of the Garden of Eden on the Lovers card always reminds me of how the forbidden “apple” was probably a pomegranate and how we used to always eat those together 

It’s all kind of ironic actually, after I got my leg garden tattoo the first thing I put on it was his pomegranate lotion

Maybe he was my forbidden apple, glowing gold

Well he definitely was

I could’ve had any other fruit in the gritty garden but he was a teacher and I was his first “black” girl

Whatever

Butterfly shrine stories

I wonder if their caterpillar life plays before them in a sun-ridden hazy flash the moment they morph into a creature with wings, imagine that

Waiting all your life until your last year in which you grow wings and learn how to fly and become a completely different being

I wish I could say I loved the elderly 

Most of them have torturous tales of how their metamorphosis failed and they never grew wings

Or did and flew with the best, was on the top of the world – they could feel it and touch it and smell the air up there and then they had to come back down to reality

Or maybe they just stay up there forever 

Never coming back down

And die on a cloud happily

The lustrous life of a butterfly lands on a skeletal umbrella when the storm hits 

Yes, I was once that butterfly, dreaming I was a man

Read More
Olivia Seally Olivia Seally

20110123, Castlemaine

This weekend breathed through me.

Getting out always helps me get back inside myself.

I’ve been so immersed inside the whirlwind, monsooning, flowing depths of my conscious,

that I forget there are other beings in the world who are just as undefined 

Spent so much time being disconnected from connections themselves 

Last night when Jack was playing guitar on Julian’s balcony, while the sun was rising I watched the clouds and sky become ocean-like. 

Watching stars twinkle for the darkness and the last of the moon disappear into the new day, 

the music playing for the air 

and the sun rising a new, 

illuminating the world for us to live and create in its presence.

It all created new air to fill my lungs up with.

/ Watching the stars twinkle for the darkness and the last of the moon disappear into the new day, the music playing for the air alone and the sun rising a new, illuminating the world for us to live, love and create in its presence.

Read More