oliviajune

[oliviajune]

fourteen.th.

she sat on the stairs amongst the pretty girls, awkward and aware of it. they all got roses except for her. nobody said anything out loud about it. she knew it wasn’t a mistake, but they all silently pretended like it was. once he noticed the situation, it was quickly fixed with a flower of her own, but the long term damage was done. she never forgot feeling forgotten. she wouldn’t give up on the holiday, but year after year she was always second runner up to something. thirteen years later, the flowers started flowing her way faster than she could brag about it. she felt safe. she felt loved. she felt adored. she felt the indescribable feeling of being first and foremost. she found a farmer and felt so, so far from forgotten. his frequent floragrams fueling her own ability to blossom herself.

he watered her daily and shined so brightly upon her, and she continued to flourish. she grew and grew and bloomed over and over, and they were both so proud of how far love got them. but as she grew, he didn't. she stood tall and bright and looked around for how she got there, and she couldn’t see her farmer anymore. she had become an award winning specimen, but the first place ribbon hung upon her, and he simply made the name plate. resentful, he stopped watering and stopped shining for her. 

the award winning flower was noticed by many and soon acquired by someone else. cut. wrapped. and set in a vase. admired for a period of time until forgotten. it had been a while, but as she watched the roses roll in, she returned to fourteen on the fourteenth. remembering what forgotten felt like

[oliviajune]

pri.son.er

She watched on as he woke up in shackles. Day after day. He was born this way and was slowly working towards finding his freedom. Defining his existence beyond the story written in his DNA. Solving for x day after day. Paying honor. Paying homage. Paying for dinner. He had received the gift to give, but as he gave it all he could he still wasn’t getting out. He was still trapped. His heart shouting its innocence, it didn’t deserve the torture. His brain raced to rationalize the treatment. It sorely couldn’t be a mistake. Guilty until proven innocent it commanded!

In the age of the internet, all searches for information needed to be returned in hundredths of a second, and there was no time to fact check before hitting send. The answers didn’t make sense. These were alternate facts, and alternate facts were now lies we call truths when the truth takes time. The detectives were dismissed, the jury was out, and only the warden was in charge. The spinplex got its way. He was guilty because he wasn’t innocent.

Heart was shocked but not surprised. Another day passed, the the sun rose and the electric fence around it switched on and the ball and chain lassoed around his aorta was tossed onto his chest. Each day he had the chance for a retrial. Bring new evidence to the room, dissect the argument against him. But he simply couldn’t pass the Bar. It was set too high and he was forced to represent himself.

She sat in the gallery and watched on in silence. Fingers crossed. She could see that key hung around his neck. Her inner voice shouted hoping to telepathically send the message. “You’ve had it all along!! You got this!! You can have everything you ever dreamed of!” But she’d be overruled, so she’d send in secret messages disguised as love letters and contraband tools only to be intercepted. He couldn’t be reached, trapped in the box they put him in, unopen to suggestions.

[oliviajune]

dr.after

she wrote this down with the intention of never sharing it with a soul. but the last month taught her that eventually everything is exposed, so it’s better to take control than hand the remote over to someone who could hit the red button at any time. 

it has been one month since the D bomb dropped. after it went off, nothing between them was ever the same. it couldn’t be. she couldn’t be. he couldn’t be. they couldn’t be. the weight of the blow broke down the walls of their home and exposed the foundation for what it was-- shoddy. missing planks, rotten, and exposing a basement full of junk. a deep and dark place where they stored the things they broke and didn’t want to spend the time fixing, stored the things that got worn and ugly, but they couldn’t let go of, a place where things went to rot. and it was filled to the brim. really, it was a biohazard by any definition of the word. you’d never expect such a grotesque pile of shit to be laid below such a picture perfect home. candlelit, furnished with impeccable taste, playing relaxing music, and filled with the aroma of great sex and delicious food. but to everyone’s horror, there it was... the deep, dark, pit of despair. 

once it was exposed, they didn’t know what to do except avoid it at all costs. they protected the perimeter with yellow caution tape and they both decided not to go there, and instead find a new home. apart. 

[oliviajune]

s.way

she felt an uneasiness at her core. an anxiety that was best described as a cocktail of hope, excitement, and uncertainty with a float of fear. fear. a word she despised, but she resolved to be more honest with herself this year, so a spade it is. seeking signs of wonder had her in full sherlock mode. every serendipity had an elevated sense of significance. she read cards, lips, and into everything. she was in a high stakes puzzle competition. not her first, but she’d entered a new level. the players were more intense. the puzzle more complex. and she felt like her hourglass was filled with less sand this time around. but she liked it. and it had purpose beyond herself. this week she did new york city, her preferred performance enhancing drug.

on her quest to assemble the pieces she’d acquired that day, she walked the long way home. taking on a few extra blocks. building blisters like badges of honor. a fly by the neighborhood divinity shop. namaste. she stood outside and stared through the window full of crystal lures. it was swarmed with people in search of something to tell them it’s going to be okay. she stood outside in the spring rain fighting the urge to take the bait. it was an angel-devil negotiation of sorts. ultimately, she decided she didn’t need someone to unveil her destiny; she’d prefer to go out and find her fortune on her own.

moments later, destiny delivered a mysterious invitation for an evening in disguise.

she trusted the source more than she wanted to admit, and blindly followed the posh Rastafarian, the professor, and the pimp into a dark room where she swayed to tribal party music under a rainbow strobe light. champagne in hand. it felt like home. and while she looked like her 2006 alter ego, she behaved better.

but it wasn’t long until the humid air wrapped a hand around their necks, and he uttered their safe word, “food,” to make an escape down memory lane for comfort food and conversation. the air and honesty was refreshing on another level.

after a a cozy mint tea in a red room that smelled of sandalwood. she ended her evening with an Malawian uber driver who referred to her as a Moldavian princess. weird in a good way.

she wondered why she didn’t live here. what was holding her back. she didn’t know if she was being selfish or selfless by staying put. how could something simultaneously feel right and like a mistake so genuinely? technically speaking, humans are not supposed to be able to hold two contrary beliefs at once.

the next day, she found herself stuck in transient place on an rainy afternoon with a few extra hours to simply think about it all. she sat there staring out the window at the drops of rain clinging to the glass, distorting the world outside. as the drops varied in size and perspective the outside world flipped upside down and right again. it was a perfect metaphor. 

she revisited her neglected identity as a writer. a questioner of life. this puzzle was certainly a story of tragedy, comedy, war, and poetry. it had her cycling back to the most essential of question of life - what is the damn point? she decided the answer was simple, the cause and alleviation of pain. though her inner optimist might argue the pursuit of love.

her heart told her she found a new piece to her creation. it felt extraneous at first, but as she carried it around, she realized it wasn’t baggage. what she’d found was an essential  building block for something more multidimensional than she could have imagined.

[oliviajune]

f.act

absence did not make the heart grow fonder.

forgetting the forgotten. 

[oliviajune]

car.mel

they hit the road on a saturday morning to sit amongst the wilderness in a chic abode for the weekend. it was just what they all needed. 36 hours away from fighter jets and keg stands. 36 hours of cooking, napping, reading, and laughter amongst 5 friends who felt like family. 

as their time dwindled, she posted up on the lounge chair on the patio to reflect. she sat for 90 minutes with her feet up in a pair of shearling slippers taking deep breaths as she watched the wind distort the reflection of the hillside in the infinity pool at her feet. two does trotted between the trees to her right and a blue bird swooped down for an afternoon snack. it was heaven apart from the black fly that wouldn’t let up. it reminded her of the emily dickenson poem... this was nice.

her soul needed more time outside the city. she could feel the congestion and stress built up as lactic acid in her shoulders slowly release. could she live like this in a permanent fashion?

the answer was no, but she certainly needed more time in places like this. a country home perhaps. definitely more space. more fresh air. more trees. 

the silence consumed her as if it was a magic spell.

[oliviajune]

c.loud

it had been raining off and on for weeks on end. uncontrollably and interrupting everything. these conditions gave her full body chills, cold feet, achy muscles, and soggy hands. she gave her best effort to stay healthy with hours of online research, doctor visits, and vitamins, but she couldn’t seem to shake these symptoms. 

her bones could feel every shift in barometric pressure, and she could seldom find any blue sky. another unusual circumstance. 

people were tired of talking about the weather, though, instead they ad libbed about their favorite tv shows, discussed moving, or just ignored it all together. but she couldn’t possibly. at which point, she’d call attention and storm away through the rain knowing eventually she’d get somewhere sunny. 

[oliviajune]

in.side.

she is tall and lanky, with collar bones that jut out like shark fins. her dark hair is razor cut into a pixie cut, intentionally unkempt with pomade. she has tattoo covered arms, hands, neck, and chest. her eyes are big, wide set, and a bright turquoise. her sharp jaw line and heavy, arched brows, perfectly frame her sweet little nose, and big full lips. she is dainty but fierce in every way. she’s nearly always in leather, tank tops, and doc martins, and she will definitely not hesitate to kick your ass. 

she wears a big silver watch, several rings, and has her nose pierced. though she says very few words, she finds many friends. she doesn’t give a fuck about anything but justice, and with that single focus, she finds her exact life purpose. 

there’s nothing that unique about her, really, except perhaps the fact she’s never seen the light of day. it is her destiny to stay inside.  

[oliviajune]

s.park

this morning was filled with dreams that included indoor fireworks, food trucks, and an uber ride that went nowhere but around the block a half-dozen times. this morning was disorienting, hot, and sleepier than usual. and this morning came with a mini dose of inspiration paired with renewed passion. she craved a bit of isolation, but feared taking the plunge. removing herself from the people and things she loved most allowed her to create. gave her space to innovate. she was finally beginning to understand that her life needed a frequent caterpillar to butterfly cycle to thrive. 

she wondered where she could go after she ate her fill and needed to cocoon. she needed a place where she could then break out and be the social butterfly she really is.

[oliviajune]

long.er

day one of more daylight. she thought she already had more hours than she knew what to do with, but they passed her faster than any pre planned moment had ever moved before. she had piles of paperwork and too many uninspired moments for seven days before the new year.

sip the tension tamer. open a window. do yoga. breathe. don't worry that it's nearly noon. 

the sun will stick around a little longer tomorrow. day by day, she'll have a little more time and a better plan.

[oliviajune]

blue e.yes.

blonde hair. blue eyes. distinguished yet common. common yet lauded. lauded yet subjugated... on a mission to change the world.

they stared in the mirror (at themselves) across the table wondering how someone so different could be so similar. as long as the the server kept filling their wine glasses with Barbera, they didn't have to worry about the details as long as they could source the written word. their four paralleled feet kept the beat as the second hand pursued laps around the hour. And they laughed, deep from the belly.

together, they dissected mister inconsistency, the intricacies of corporate politics, and the fierce infatuation with independence over dismembered fowl and a chocolate cake that defied the laws of physics. it's amazing what the exact proper temperature can do for confection. 

uber blabbering blabbered on and soon enough she released herself from consciousness, and her dreamlike state blurred the lines of reality and the mystery of the universe. 

[oliviajune]

coordin.at.es

at 27 days to 29 years gone by, she woke up at 8:37am, and stared at the ceiling. as her whiskey haze lifted, she slowly inched herself to sitting position, and by 10:15am her introspection for the day had made it to the next mile marker.

it was time to fucking grow up.

her last 6 years were about survival, and it wasn't always easy, but she did it. she reached a realm of stability, but still grasped on to her adulthood firsts like safety blankets and teddy bears. as she laid there in her king sized bed and the sun creeped through the little window in her apartment, she began to realize it was time to give these prized possessions away. she could keep the memories as badges of honor, but life was meant to progress, and sometimes that meant letting go of a little control. 

conclusion: it was time to find new coordinates.

[oliviajune]

f.ear.

she was listening to the signs of the universe. there were huge arrows pointed at change, and even though she was hesitant, she knew she had no choice. 

choice itself was a funny concept. she'd convince herself that the only way 80% of the humans on earth survive is by convincing themselves that they don't have a choice in 80% of their experiences. and all of life and relationships are contingent upon acceptance. so, she new she had to inch herself towards finding that acceptance, and as she accepted the lack of control she had over everything, she felt a wave of peace wash over her and all was going to be alright in the world. 

so long as she could master 3 things - adapt, accept, and hope.

it was only her ability to change her mind, that left her with a vague sense of control and with a perpetual stake in the concept of hope. hope that her next move would result in the undefinable thing she was looking for. hope that people would be kind to one another. hope that others would care as much as she did. hope that she wouldn't be alone. hope that he'd be okay. hope that it'd all be okay. and suffering would end. and love would triumph all. and it all meant something in the end. 

but she knew that hope and fear couldn't share a home, so somebody had to go, and we all knew it wasn't optimism. 

[oliviajune]

h.our.

the limo leaves in 75 minutes. her heart beats erratically, her suitcase is partially packed, and her love lies lightly snoozing waiting for a good-bye kiss. 

soon she'll be at 35,000 feet and be free for 14,400 minutes... but why does it feel so bittersweet?

deep. breaths. 

[oliviajune]

fami.liar

familiar faces kept visiting her in the middle of the night. their calming smiles and ease of conversation made for mostly restful sleep. but some old friends from past lives slowly released the pain in her bones, activating her hypothalamus. 

[oliviajune]

h.eat

As soon as the thermometer surged past seventy five, drinking before 5pm was socially acceptable, so were plunging necklines, short shorts, and calling in sick. But if the city of San Francisco was a fictional character, it wouldn’t be Don Draper, it’d be Goldilocks. Always too hot, too cold, and never just right. Except for this moment. This 6pm sunset on Fillmore Street was perfection. 

[oliviajune]

g.round

her first three letters found her on solid ground and a reality in the universe. she sat in a frozen yogurt shop along the window at spring twilight -- waiting for a sign that she wasn't building her life on landfill. looking for an omen amongst the rainbow sprinkles and mochi, but everything was the usual tie-dye in her cup. still bright and satisfactory. 

and she wasn't alone. all three of them sat there silently searching for a sign.

and suddenly he passed by. charles, brown hair, carrying worn file folders and dogeared books that'd escaped their bindings. charles, in his orthopedic leather shoes, navy blazer, and crooked glasses. charles, the fast talker, beatnik, with all the answers to the universe. finally. we found charles, or more like he finally found us. 

his books said she was destined to work for herself. find a studio. great communications. publishing. the internet. education. health and wellness. travel. great friendships and much success in community building. on. the. right. path. 

and their certainty for the future? they couldn't wait for summer.