kaos

love letter, hate mail, same thing...

Cami Kaos

09 Jun 2007 — 1 min read

Tomorrow I'm giving you a poem to read. I haven't picked it yet. I'm not writing a new one. I've decided to choose one from my vast resources of old writings. From one of the binders, folders, books, shelves or the 1 big leather briefcase.I can't possibly read them all now. There are far too many.So many of them remind me that I was once someone completely different. A forgotten girl. Mostly forgotten by me. I was so mopey and angry and weepy and overly overly dramatic. Really.I like some of it, but what really amazes me is that each and every piece contains a memory. Hundreds upon hundreds of pages and each reminds me of exactly what I was doing when I wrote it. Or who. There is a lot of that in there too.Memories of friends, streets, buses, trains, bars and lovers. Summer storms, too bright mornings, quiet moments and broken hearts. Headaches, sleepless nights, too many cigarettes, too many drinks, Pepsi (before I switched to Cherry coke) and waiting.I can recall each moment place or thing with clarity. All the way back for years and years. I think the earliest one I stumbled upon was from 1990. That's 17 years of memories. 17 years in binders, folders, books, shelves or the 1 big leather briefcase.

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This is Cami Kaos, a brand new site by Cami Kaos that's just getting started. Things will be up and running here shortly, but you can subscribe in the meantime if you'd like to stay up to date and receive emails when new content is published!

the invites...

Yesterday my mother showed up at my door with 13 handcrafted birthday invitations in one hand and 1.75 liters of vodka in the other. The two are mostly unrelated. The invites are made from paper and glitter. Stamp and ink. She didn't write in them, but provided

there is not a raccoon in my kitchen...

As I sit quietly in my living room working I tend to listen to the sounds of home. The slight buzz and hum of my heater, the birds chirping and chattering from my high windows, the rush of cars on the street outside, and the constant chirps, pings, and trills

you put your hair in the coconut...

I remember putting some crazy things in my hair as a kid. Lemon juice, kool-aid, mayonnaise, avocado, tea, and that scalding hot oil treatment. With that last one I might as well been torturing myself with tar and feathers. Then there was the one summer I strived to find the

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Coming soon

the invites...

there is not a raccoon in my kitchen...

you put your hair in the coconut...