i am now accepting intern applications

we met over three years ago
(pause for escalated CHEER )
i: dreamer of thunder
you: jaguar love dance party
we might be an unlikely match
but im prepared to blow you
away
heres some relationship advice:
people are strange sometimes

I think of you like
clean beach bonfires, great
body of secrets
infatuation makes me (literally) sick
take a chance, stop
wishing for
a
third encore
we have a sold out show every night

its easy
for some pretty girl to show up
wearing flats and tights
or heels and good hair, whatever it is
that you like
but don't forget, that
pretty girl is just
bad art
eventually shes just wasted space
a flyer to the opening
i use to write
telephone numbers
movie times
addresses
and poetry

my first rain

its my first rain in santiago and im thinking about all my firsts here. my first empanada, my first piscola, first foods, first time saying hello and asking directions in spanish when i get off the plane and im freaking out and the adreneline and fear and sleep loss and missing you are all pumping through me, mixing into something like bravery, something new for me. ive never felt this brave. and other firsts, sleeping in a hostel alone, reading a map, taking the subway, and small things that were once so easy are difficult feats i attack, hungrily, in another language, nonetheless. my first apartment here, my first friends, my first night out, my first clothing purchase, my first full conversation with someone i dont know. and then more painful, more delicate firsts, the ones you dont tell everyone when they ask how you are, because when people ask that theres only a few things they want to hear. that question is such a set up. like the first time you sob, the first time you genuinely feel the loss of your family as you watch a mother smooth back her daughters hair on the subway, a father hold his childs hands, sisters sharing an ice cream in the plaza, the first time you get angry, jealous, bitter at people for having friends, lives, lovers, the first time you lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror, who are you, youre thinking, who are you, the first time, well not the first time, you question every single move you have made, every choice chosen or not, and wonder how you got here, how youll get out alive, if you are ready for all this, the first time you doubt yourself, really doubt that youre good enough, that you deserve all this, the first time you doubt the people you love, will they really wait for you, and not wait for you, but do they really love you like they say, will they really follow through. the first time you felt redemption, you trusted someone new because you had to, because whether you like it or not, you need people, you have to find new people to need, to rely on, because sometimes you cant do it alone. the first time i realize this it is earth shattering. i cant do this all by myself.
all these firsts, all this newness i was so afraid of is slipping under the rug, under my belt, im filing it all away, to remember in the future when all these firsts seem so far away. but right now i am still in them, my first rain, the most clothes ive worn here in santiago since my arrival a whole month ago, my first whole day spent writing, spent working, my first day where i feel like i have a schedule, a purpose, my first day where i actually think i am going to make it. i talk to my mom on the phone this morning and i dont even get choked up, not even as im writing this, id kill for a cigarette but i dont feel like crying. she says i really hope you can stick it out, and i cut her off, im going to be fine mom. i can do this. and my voice doesnt even shake, for the first time i believe myself when i say it out loud.
today i can breathe better, there arent pangs in my chest, my breath doesnt rattle on the way up. my eyes are clear instead of puffy despite hardly sleeping last night, sometimes my thoughts get the best of me. my brain goes on and on, stories form and lines of poetry make themselves behind my eyes and im finally listening to myself when this happens and getting out of bed and writing it down...because that shit, those words that keep me awake, that i say i will remember when i wake up and never do, are some of the best things ive ever thought, ever written, and so theres a first, im following instinct, im doing things that are hard, that dont make any sense, at the time, im listening to myself, to the core of myself. im finding out a lot about who that girl really is.
its terrifying to do it without you. horrifying. but i can talk about you now without gasping, without shutting down, i can talk about you now, i couldnt even form your name for days. i never would chose to be without you, i wake up and you are the first thing i think about, no matter where my dreams took me, i wake up, and its eye flutter, breathe, light, smell, reaching across the bed, you, you, you and then the rest of it tumbles around, hints of where i am and what time it is. but you, you, you are the first thought, with all these firsts i am realizing how hard it is to be without my best friend. and so these firsts, however painful, are proving to toughen me up. my head is filling with different things in the morning. for example, this morning i woke up a story, this morning i woke up with words, a line, and then you floated in some minutes after that first cat streach across the blankets. you will always be with me, jigsawed into my skin and deep, deep in my heart.
im telling my mom on the phone last night, i knew it would be hard, i just didnt think it would be this hard and this morning, when i wake up warm, and cared for and clear headed and i smell the air coming in from my open window, for a few small small seconds between thinking of you and that hazy where i am morning moment, it smells like california, like ocean beach, like first rain in golden gate park, like rain on your deck, like my apartment on irving, like rain in jackets, like my dogs wet fur, like home. and i am happy, happy walking down these beautiful cobblestone streets, recognizing people and smiling, first glances and first times. the other night the girls and i talk about our first kisses, and afton says, yeah but there are always first kisses, first kisses in new cities, first kisses on monday, first kisses after not seeing someone for a long time. and we are all silent for a few minutes, thinking, and i think about this city and falling in love, and how it felt for me, how it feels for me, how like falling in love, this city is confusing and overwhelming and hurried and scary and beautiful and the moments you begin to feel safe, to feel that love reciprocated are unforgettable, are firsts you remember forever.

uneven pavement

today i call my dad and can barely get through the secretary answering without crying. she asks who it is and i say gabrielle and even my name sounds different outside of my head. i feel like i havent spoke in days. i dont trust my voice, my thoughts, my hands. i can hardly hold a cup, two hands to hold the bottle to my lips as i lay sideways, watch episodes of sex and the city over and over and over until i fall into some sweaty lucid sleep, im still dreaming of san francisco, waking up dissapointed. i keep falling asleep hoping ill wake up somewhere else. ive never felt this way before.
and im addicted to the internet, the connection, the emotion i cant let go of, i dont forget about you as easily as you forget about me. i finally get myself to unpack today, close my eyes and do it as fast as i can, shove my suitcase on the top shelf of the closet and slam the door, kick my shoes around the room, rip the curtains off the wall, im pissed off more than sad, lonely and angry more than anything, ive started talking to myself, talking to inantimate objects as though they are people. i dont see any way out of this. no real way. i dont see anything here for me. its all bleak and upsetting and if my body´s any indication, this place is literally making me sick.
you think im being dramatic, that im not trying hard enough. and fuck, maybe youre right. maybe im being weak and dependent but ive never been those before so cut me a fucking break, give me a little space to be that. i dont know what else to do right now. all the streets are uneven, patches of dirt poke through and even though its april and people are expecting the weather to turn i still keep saying its hot, like a surprise and thank goodness, because all i brought is summer clothes, all my shoes are fucked up and i keep stubbing my toes and breaking nails and im just falling apart all over the place, this city doesnt agree with me.
at the newspaper everyone loves me and praises me and thinks im soooo funny and i smile for them and try to tell them stories about argentina and what i write for them is only half of what really happened, is only half of what i felt there, of what i feel now, that other half is secret, just for me, is locked up somewhere becuase im too afraid to look at it right now. too afraid that if i think about you anymore i will absolutely explode. so i keep smiling and when i leave i try to listen to music as i walk home but everything, no, really, everything reminds me of you and so i risk the noise of the city for fear of throwning up on the corner of what the fuck am i doing here and pull yourself together.

miercoles

today is not as bad...but i feel horible. something is not right. night sweats, night mares, night isnt even night with all the lights and sounds...its just a deeper version of day.

but i talk to josie last night and her voice makes me feel better and we find silly things to laugh about and she doesnt feel a million miles away like she is...like all of you are.

but i am one day closer to you...and that helps a bit.

storm trooper

today i hate the smog, i hate the heat, i hate that my apartment is always noisy, yet somehow, under that drone of alameda, is the most silent white noise, that i could sit in for hours, like the quiet solo act of looking at split ends, or scrutinizing ones face. today is long and painfuly slow and stifling. i cannot. fucking. breathe. here.

i try to sleep but it wont come, last night i toss and turn for hours until the moon becomes the sun over santa lucia and i force myself to take a shower. its pointless, im sweaty the minute i get out, my makeup ruined the minute i finished. i am losing water, i cant retain moisture. everything hurts today. my head, my legs, my heart, even my hair on the back of my neck hurts, your necklace, too heavy on my chest. i even try calling people. i call friends and theyre not home, force myself to walk to his house and call up to his window and hes not there, i am one person in this middle of this fucking storm. that is what this city is today. a storm and no where feels safe.

id kill to go home. but i dont even know where that is anymore. the space i left in san francisco is closing behind me, i can feel it, i can see the edges browning and becoming freyed. i used to think that where ever you were was home, but i cant feel you out there, i cant touch you, i cant see it anymore. its too far away.

maybe none of this is what i wanted. maybe the girl i thought i was isnt real. maybe i never really wanted this big dream, to live on my own, to travel, to teach, to speak another language. maybe i dont want to live so big. at least not today, today id be happy riding my bicycle around town, eat fruit off a tree. sleeping in grass, i need to feel a little bit more simple today. everything is swirling around me and i hate this city today. and its not about you or them or work or writing or sex or missing someone or food or weather. its just about me and something in the pit of my stomach that today says, you should lay low, youre not cut out for this, you are in waaaay over your head, and i want to punch it in the fucking face.

nothing is make or break (its that heady place in between)

today is incredible. the fog is thick when i wake up and smells like san francisco...i am seriously sick for five seconds, trying to remember that word in spanish my friend used to miss something from your guts. i miss you that bad. but i move past it, the sounds of people rising and desperate want for a shower. i eat breakfast, pan y housemade plum jam y huevos y fruta. que rico. y cafe, cafe, how i missed you good cafe. a girl from switzerland goes with me to la sebastiana, pablo nerudas sea house, we walk up a windy hill, get on a fast fast bus, i fear we might fall over the edge of tiny cliffs, he takes a lombard maze at fifty miles an hour. nerudas house is incredible, i cant believe im in his writing room, his bedroom, bathroom, where he took baths and could see boats coming in and out of the port. the view is just amazing. i feel so very inspired today. and yet, so insanely small in the scheme of things. how does one get like neruda? obtain greatness in his capacity? a life size picture of walt whitman in his study, once when someone asked if that was his father, neruda replied, yes, in poetry. i love that.
the houses are part of the mountains, no the houses are the mountains, stacked literally on top of each other, you cant tell the head from the toe, where one balcony began and anothers ended. the girl from switzerland is quiet and shy, growing up in the swiss alps, ive never met so many people before, from so many places and so i feel brave and confidant today. we walk down to museo cielo abierto, houses painted richly, every color, lots of bright greens and pinks, we take photos buy books, get my name made on a pin by a street artist, all before hopping a bus to viña. today is one of my favorites.
laying on the beach in viña del mar. the cities are so vastly different, and while its beautiful here, i am eager to get back to valpo and even more eager to go back to santiago.
i dont see the comparison between valpo and san francisco that so many people keep making, except the hills, and even then, its soooo differnet. this guy at the hostel, an ex junkie that used to live on jones and ofarrell has found himself here, of all places. what a wonderful world we are living in we had exclaimed, over breakfast. but i cant make any real connections...and then we reach the street along the port and it hits me hard. the smell, the sounds, the air, i close my eyes and it IS embarcadero, its pirates cove, and looking back behind me at the city, colorful and towering, if not trembling on its perch, there it is, san francisco. and in that moment, if not at la sebastiana by nerudas desk, i fall in LOVE with valparaiso. i am home.
it hits me for a sweet moment later, i am on a beach in south america, feeling comfortable, capable, sure of myself. how many nights did i dream of this? think it would never happen? cry out of frustration? how i thought... i was so good at thinking i didnt deserve dreams to come true.

times

thursday i wake up sideways on the bed, i had fallen asleep after talking to my sister, legs crawling up the wall, aimlessly. santiago is smoggy today and the clouds are patchy through the slits in my curtains over santa lucia. the night before i had been drinking cristal with basco, some of his friends, painters, artists of sorts. we sat in his apartment and smoked cigarettes for hours and when he walked me home past the strip clubs its still warm outside and we look at each other and giggle like children, bumping into each other along the street. i wake up groggy, dreams of ben and the beach and the wild ramblings of last nights mixed conversation...one sentence by benjamin franklin sticks out : art is long but life is short. for some reason this makes me feel good as i get dressed, ill show you art...i am living this life.
i try to pack little for the beach, five swimsuits and suntan oil, my notebooks and a book on chilenismos and my camera. i charge my camera and think about walking the hills of valpo. i might have to throw these chanel flats out soon...theyve seen their last day...like two months ago. i buy my ticket for the bus at the wrong station, miss my bus, have jumbled spanish with a cute young bus driver who has no idea what im talking about and finally allows me to get on the bus, i dont see what the big problem is, chileans are never on time.
the drive is incredible....at one point i fall asleep and we crest over a hill and come into a valley that looks just like napa...i think im hallucinating but im not, its real...its just not home. but its uncanny...fields and fields of olive trees and vinyards and then dry dusty slums and then palm trees and green green hills break way to brightly colored houses stacked on top of each other like blocks. i dont love valpo...not just yet.
driving into town and some guys arm hangs out the window, covered in tattoos, looking closer it spells
benjamin
in the most beautiful script. i almost weep.