Si miro al cielo me siento tan cerca de ti, pero no porque estés en el, si no porque el cielo es infinito y tal vez por casualidad lo estés mirando al mismo tiempo que yo, y por alguna razón puedo imaginar que lo haces, y que de alguna manera nuestras miradas se unen en el.

-Rocio F.G


It Started With A Waffle: Sweet Potato Nachos

“When it comes to the Super Bowl, I’m a big fan of sitting by the couch and nibbling on a table full of delicious snacks. What are my favorite snacks you ask? Nachos. Sweet potato nachos to be more specific. Layer them with all of your favorite toppings and stack ‘em however you’d like!”


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“I have died many times. 

Now, I know what you are thinking;
dramatic girl with too much time on her hands,
wears too much grey but never black like her coffee
likes to make her life seem like more than it is,
likes to call for attention in ways that 
every other girl has before her
still in the hopes 
that someone will see the stoplight out,
the darkness at her intersection and stop
instead of speeding up, trying not to get hit
by all of the supposed monsters lurking-
I promise, that is not what this story is.

I have died many times
and here is how I know,
every night for the past several weeks 
I have been waking up from a deep sleep
never at the same time so I cannot pinpoint 
a detail for you, sometimes it is 2:01 a.m. other times 
it is four o’clock in the morning and once
it was a single minute before 7 
and I caught my alarm in the moments 
before it went blaring

though I have always had a fixation on time
it does not matter in this instance,
time is irrelevant because in my dreams
minutes feel like years,
I am waking up from whole lifetimes lived 
with my heart beating louder in my ears
than a thousand horses hooves on a battlefield,
and I can almost tell you what that sounds like
as it fades from another dream-
I died in a stampede on Wednesday. 

It is always different, always unexpected
burning in a house that feels like home
but looks so unfamiliar to what my waking self knows,
sinking to the bottom of a river 
that feels like an old baptism, 
stabbed, starved, left behind in the middle 
of a pastoral pick up where the nomadic society 
was moving spontaneously and I could not 
fend for myself in the sea of grass,
drifting off to sleep as an old woman
and waking up in my skin again. 

and I would call it a fixation on death,
many of you will,
but they feel like memories.
like a part of myself trying to reach out to convey 
something that I don’t yet understand,
I keep reaching for an answer and I can only hope 
that all of these lives, all of these deaths, all of these 
maybe-memories-maybe-dreams mean:
live your life to the fullest 
and don’t forget the things that make you human.”

- amateur past life deductions || O.L.