People call me Lizzie Bee

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People call me Lizzie Bee. Southern California is where i call home and I have a family that I wouldn't trade for anything. Taken By A Good Man. Life is too short to not enjoy the beauty, comedy, sadness, love and righteousness that it holds. So here I share the things that mean something to me, in hopes they will mean something to you as well. Like OrangeSUnshine Blog on FACEBOOK for streaming updates: facebook.com/OrangeSUnshineBlog

Friday, April 29, 2011

A diplomat is someone who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you will look forward to the trip.


War does not determine who is right - only who is left.


Rawrs

Laughing is when a smile has an orgasm.


Thursday, April 28, 2011

moving past the feeling into the night


"u r something my friend
now i probably understand how much your friends must be missing you in SD"
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Chillin


East Coast West Coast Down South Midwest


hello ma'am would you be interested in some sexual positions and emotional investments

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Wow, This takes me back a few years.


"I just discovered the meaning of life"

Friday, April 15, 2011


my head says 
"who cares?"

but then my heart whispers 
"You do, stupid...."

I pretty much try to stay in a constant state of confusion just because of the expression it leaves on my face. 

What was so alluring has now faded


image via starspirit.

Spken Word Poem

It doesn’t matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesnt matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who’s faith tells him God’s hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every breath was either hard labour or hard time, or that I’m either always too hot or too cold. Doesn’t matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas, and he’s 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don’t have to ask what he’s got.The bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they’re trying to make him feel at home because he’s going to be here awhile.
I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I’m thinking any minute now he’s going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I’m scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he’s been watching me and maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he’s bionic or some shit. So I look away like just I made eye contact with a gang member who’s got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he’s going to give me my life back the moment I’ve got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, “Cigarette?”
But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He’s got everything from a shotgun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context. Like, “See, this is from a shooting range”, and “See, this is from a weird girl”. I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can’t handle more he hits me with another story. He says, “See, this is from my father” “See, this is from my brother” “See, this is from that weird girl” “See, this is from my mother”. Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn’t apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, “The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for.” And he says, “The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you.” He says, “Ice cream can’t make everything okay.”
And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he’s going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. “Are you scared?” Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he says, “Fuck yeah.” I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he’s got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil’s sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, “Please don’t tell my dad.”
He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don’t have the heart to tell him, I tell him, “Not lately.” and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn’t know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I’ve never seen in someone who knows they’re dying. And I’m trying so hard not to remind him I’ll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he’ll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I’ve been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he’s the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, “It’s gravity that’s been getting us down.”
The truth is: there’s not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there’s too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there’s a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can’t find answers is because the search party didn’t invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don’t always get a reply.
But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I’m going to remember you kid. I’m going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I’ll say, “See, there’s bravery in this world. There’s 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that.” So hold your breath, the same way you’d hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you’ve got nothing to sell?
People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you’ve got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a ‘hard work, hang in, hold on’ mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I’ve had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we’d be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God’s hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try.
I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, “This is for you.” I half expected him to say, “See, this is the first one I grew.”

Thursday, April 14, 2011

I Get Bored

of bull shit so easily.. just saying.

Recently...

Images by me. Lizzie Bee.


Artist Chris McMahon buys cheesy landscape paintings from yard sales, then paints in monsters :).

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness."


-Hunter S. Thompson

:)

word

Although I was expecting this, Its still attempting to envelop me.

Life changes so much in the blink of an eye

my my my

drives me coo coo, coo coo ca choo. 

i'll just sit and watch my paintings grow.


  I ain't scared of no walrus anyway.


You have changed my life. I thank you for every experience we shared together. And I thank you for helping me to become the person i have grown to be today. This Frabjous Day.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

obscure, irreverent, & mysterious
Barack Obama was seated next to a little girl on an airplane trip back to Washington. He turned to her and said, “Let’s talk. I’ve heard that flights go quicker if you strike up a conversation with your fellow passenger.”
The little girl, who had just opened her book, closed it slowly and said to The Obama, “What would you like to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Obama. “How about What Changes I Should Make To America?” and he smiles.
“OK,” she says. “That could be an interesting topic. But let me ask you a question first. A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same stuff - grass. Yet a deer excretes little pellets, while a cow turns out a flat patty, and a horse produces clumps of dried grass. Why do you suppose that is?”
Obama, visibly surprised by the little girl’s intelligence, thinks about it for a second and finally says, “Hmmm, I have no idea.”
To which the little girl replies, “Do you really feel qualified to change America when you don’t know shit?”

Jung-Yeo Min










So Imma Rant Like I've Got Something To Say


Just Act Surprised.

And I Don't Have To Love Or Think Too Much


I slipped
Didn't mean
Didn't mean to do it that way
But I blew in on a whim, gone tomorrow
shit, I'm gone today

"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on."      

  -Henry Ellis
                                                                 

I Guess We'll Just Have To Adjust

If the children don't grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We're just a million little gods causin' rain storms
turnin' every good thing to rust. 

b i g December 30, 2009

we'll correct collegiate mistakes.
a shower of formal ideals.
completely soused.
the hearts on our sleeves,
as they drowned we could hear them screaming,
"oh, what a tragic way to see our final days." 



I attempt to talk up the town:
"the answers are in the arches of the 20th century towers
and in comfortable cars in motion."
and yet it still remains, this incessant refrain:
"you're just like the rest. your restlessness makes you lazy." 



keeping busy is just wasting time
and i've wasted what little he gave me.
(all around) i know the conscious choice was crystal clear,
to clean the slate of former years:
when i sang softly in your ear and tied these arms around you.

Deep Water


The thought manifests as the word;
The word manifests as the deed;
The deed develops into habit;
And habit hardens into character.
So watch the thought and its ways with care,
And let it spring from love Born out of concern for all beings.

The Gift of Memories

The whole secret of existence is to have no fear.
Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one.
Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.

WE ARE NOT fast learners. In fact, we don't learn at all. Not anything of substance, at least. All we learn is fear; and fear is overwhelmed by need; and need finds its ally in hope. We do not learn to stop trying. We fall down and some kind soul picks us up and dries away our tears and pats us and powders us and sends us on our way again. We put out timid feelers, ready instantly to retract at the slightest rebuff, but we keep on putting them out. A shy and hopeful smile greets every prospect, though if it is not returned, we may pretend that we were just smiling to ourselves. We are ashamed at our need and try to hide it, but everybody knows. They know because they are like us. Everybody's been there, or is there, or is going there soon. Everybody. In matters of the heart, there is no respect of persons.

'Tis a lesson you should heed,
Try, try again.
If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again. - Thomas H. Palmer (1782 - 1861) 


image via julianbialows.com
If we don't change, we don't grow. If we don't grow, we aren't really living.
-Gail Sheehy