i've moved.

one click away, don't freak out.

http://www.alyssalobit.com/blog

it's better, i promise.

SOOOOO proud of my soul sister and brother from another mother!!!

alana and nate, gettin down with the get-down!! their ideas, their designs, their amazing manifestation:


and more and moRE and MORE!!!

<3 <3 <3

the glorious dawn that awaits dances on the insides of my eyelids like the scent of apple pie

spoons for noses mean flowers taste good.

i was gonna post about chemtrails, but decided it's a better use of my energies to just bust those "clouds" with my third eye when i see them (or maybe transmute them into love clouds, which will rain down upon all of humanity, opening up fourth chakras worldwide). so, instead i will use this post to announce that i love my offbeat family, i cherish my unique friends, and i am open to more and more and more <3

(i couldn't get the spoon to stick on my nose, so instead i devoured dessert.)

tomorrow the dead dance and i'll fit right in

(photo by athena lobit, featuring julie becker and alyssa lobit)

i'll just be here, watching this, ad infinitum.

taking pictures of poems.

i enjoy surreal word mash-ups and language "distortions" because my desire is to break language of its limitations, its deceptions about the true, mutable and paradoxically constant nature of reality. a thing is limited in naming it. it is hardened into a cage of letters and meaning, and it is my goal to free the things i can by presenting them in odd letters and combinations. shakespeare knew this: the sweetness is the thing, not the letters r-o-s-e. a rose is a flower, and a woman and a kiss and pure consciousness.

when strange and new combinations of words pop into my mind, i feel like an explorer, discovering an ancient ruin, which is at once as old as life itself and new to me. it's the same sensation i've gotten when struck by a beautiful sunset, the clouds and colors arranged in a way i've never seen before, but there it was, all along, waiting to happen. there are no two sunsets that are identical and they happen every day.

the desire to communicate that which cannot be communicated is the ultimate fuckaroo. it's like taking a picture of that beautiful sunset. that photo will never be the sunset itself, it was only for my eyes to see from my exact pinpoint of perception. i've stopped taking pictures of many beautiful moments, instead opting to savor the moment. but then i find myself--sure, only sometimes--wanting to share that moment with someone else, so i write a poem to jailbreak that image from my mind, hoping to give it to someone else.

someone once said i'm cryptic, like it was a bad thing, and it made me wonder if i was. it was a while ago and i haven't been pondering it daily, but nonetheless, it gave me pause at the time. after this somewhat random but highly detailed exploration of my motives and recognition of my obvious delight in discovering new word combinations, i see it as a valiant effort to connect, which also happens to feel like a nice long brain-exhale for me. the universe is cryptic and there are no secrets... just things waiting to be discovered and described and then set free.

the veil, lifted. (and into the mirror: yes, i do.)

this is what the voices say. i just write the shit down.

maybe sometimes in our lives
we should care not at all about any thing
and that means anything
but we should love it all
love being joyful acceptance of what is
without a reaching towards what ought to be
or could be
it's just this silent hum
of molecules bumping up against each other
and laughing cuz it tickles

philosophical bender is on
i'm off to make-out with a forest and merge with a 3,000 year-old tree
i keep thinking perhaps it will share some of its secrets
and it's wondering the same thing of me

planet earth, you are a perfect playground <3

(sadly, i don't know who to give photo credit to)

we are humans being, happening'd.

new arts.

noodle doodles by me.

taming the rose. (found images; photo by athena lobit)

come what may. (found images; photo by athena lobit)

traveling light. (found images; photo by athena lobit)

out damn'd spot!

the sun rained down
on the grassy green
landing on its back
kicking at the wind
trying to right itself
as the telltale tree
watched giggling
like a ragdoll dream
all floppy and clean
dancing legless
pinned to a bright blue screen

and:

(this video goes with my cliff meets sea tweet)

a beautiful reminder.

much love to my dear friend whose father passed away recently <3

The Thing Is

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

- Ellen Bass

it's called love, people!

when curiosity and cuddling supersede survival instincts.

thanks johnny :)

-AlphaLimaYankeeSierraSierraAlpha

*addendum: or is this what happens only once basic needs are met? kitty knew she had a feast in mama baboon, so then it became play time. hmmm. still love, methinks.

the rubber band theory.

this started out as an email to my sister, but i decided to go public with it :D
awareness of possible conspiracy makes it easier to keep from engaging in water-cooler gossip, which, whether the conspiracy is true or not, is a good thing. case in point: mel gibson.
i hadn't paid much attention to the hooplah and then looked at a bit online. bottom line: whether he's being set up (he's pretty vocal about exposing the new world order) or is actually fucking nutso and abusive, why do i really need to bother about it? the chick who's been supposedly abused is handling herself (if she's really been abused -- there is plenty of surfacing speculation that ALL of it is a lie, he's being framed/edited/faked and/or somehow being manipulated because of his outspoken-ness about the new world order shiz). all of the "sources" of the proof of abuse and madness are the same ones that sell sensationalism... TMZ, In Touch, People and people. these are the mind-numbers, the gossip-mongers who get the masses to talk about petty things, other peoples' drama and mindless chatter in order to keep them subdued and distracted. this is true, even if i were to say mel gibson is an asshole abusive crazy person or his ex is a gold-digging snatch. neither of those opinions REALLY matter. why are so many people obsessed with talking about it? both the mainstreamers and the conspiracy theorists. speculating on agendas that aren't my own means i am a pawn on either side. there's gotta be something more interesting to discuss, like perhaps that rubber bands last longer when they're refrigerated.

i had to be reminded last night that i've been to borneo. what!?!

-alyssa out.

my favorite drink is water.

i like the crispness of her voice. it's like putting hot feet in a cool, bubbling mountain stream.



true story. i want the ride down the river. sometimes i forget, but hearing this awakens the truth.





a master speaks...





welcome home little feeshies.

slow down to speed up.

years ago, i hiked down the grand canyon with my family. if i didn't hike down, it wouldn't have been as beautiful, fun or amazing. that is, if i'd suddenly just found myself in the bottom of that canyon... sure it would've been cool. but 'cool' like looking at a photo of something pretty. the journey down filled out the photo into a 3D experience, laughing with my family, talking to God in my head, noticing the flowers breaking rocks to be there. and make no mistake, hiking, yes, even downhill, gets tiring. at some points i wanted to curl into a ball and roll down, my legs were so spent. did i mention we all had camping packs on our backs? stuffed with everything we'd need to camp out in the bottom of the canyon for a few days?? it was for this reason alone i didn't try the whole curling into a ball. der! that would never work with a pack on my back! anyway, we finally made it to the bottom and every single step i'd taken was reflected back at me in the beauty of a bajillion stars blanketing the night sky.

and then we had to walk back up.

now. it occurs to me that, in terms of reflecting on this experience as allegory, i could've chosen to *FLY* out of that canyon. slow down. speed up. balance in all things.

i am,
alyssa.