love letter to my copy of order of the phoenix

baby,

i love you so much. you've been with me through it all. i first purchased you at a walmart the morning you were released in 2003. i had to wait until about 11am because i was only a wee 9 year old at my grandma's house, where the nearest place (walmart) to purchase you was 40 minutes away. i got into the series in 2nd grade, after goblet of fire came out, so i never got to purchase a potter book on the day it was released. i hardly slept a wink while i awaited your arrival. in mere hours i ran into the chilled walmart in altoona, my goose bumped legs carrying me toward the books section.

even though i knew millions of other people purchased you from midnight onward, i felt SO special sitting in the backseat of our subaru, opening the fresh binding and grinning like i was about to discover the secret of the universe (i was). i saw "dudley demented" and felt pretty intimidated. i suddenly realized how big of a book you were. but then the gryffindor in me reminded myself that my fourth grade teacher had told me i couldn't read goblet of fire because it was too big. so therefore, i vowed to myself that i'd get to the end of you. 

i remember having to ask my mom what "bespectacled" meant. and what "enough - effing - owls" meant. "they said effing?" my mom asked incredulously. "well...yeah..." i thought i knew what that meant, but i wanted proof. 

i remember when reading you how harry's humor struck me for the first time as seriously funny. i would have laughed out loud at "we're not stupid, you know" "well, that's news to me" if i wouldn't have been such an awkward child. 

before i left for tour i found pictures in the basement of me at a family reunion at age 10 or 11, rereading you. my family was gathered inside the pitcairn park building but i was sitting outside with my huge thomas edison shirt, with you propped up on the picnic table in front of me, bigger than my head. i didn't care how it looked, i just wanted you alone, baby, and nothing more.

my dad dated the first page of you, and i remember feeling violated for your sake. i didn't want anyone touching my precious. "they say the third time you read a book is when you truly start to understand it," my dad told me. but i knew better. i knew i'd read you only once and understand every little thing about you. i judged you from your cover, and i couldn't have been more correct about your brilliance.

over the years i've brought you to the high school cafeteria and read from your pages instead of eating, stuffed you in my purse and brought you everywhere, and defended you from the hating muggles. once i even screamed and cried to get my way out of a bad situation, all the while focusing on your open pages for support. you've helped me more than you know.

you've accumulated various pen marks (i honestly don't know) and eyeliner stains when the sad parts came. you are waterlogged from when i cried and when my brother spilled water on you. you are taped up in some places and the back cover of you has flower and grass stains from when you tipped over the wooden porch railing and smashed onto my grandma's newly planted plain purple-and-red flowers. i thought i was so cool, underlining specific passages or words in pen as if they'd have a deeper meaning in the future. one time i was so tired reading you at the dining room table i fell asleep on the tablecloth, and another time i used you as a pillow on accident and woke up with your words imprinted on my face.

i was so excited and proud when i finished you. i ran to my sister's bedroom door - mine, now - and knocked, jumping up and down with my news. "i finished!" i squealed. "what happens?" she asked, and so i began to read to her.

every so often, i go back and read the first four books published before you. i did this recently, before looking at your size and getting overwhelmed and unwilling to bring you to college and carry you around since you were so damn heavy. but now i'm home, baby, i've come home and i'm sorry for neglecting you.

if possible, you mean more to me now than you did then. i will never forget the 'THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!' and how i could relate to your depiction of harry more and more as i got older. thank you for everything.

i will now open your pages and once again fall under the spell of 9 year old tianna, with no doubt that the world is magical.

can we still be married?

love, 

your part time lover and full time friend,

tianna

july

i have an odd way of thinking about the people i used to like.
i would say exes, but i didn't actually date all of them.
it's like i want them to talk to me, but at the same time,
i fear growing too close and liking them too much again.
it's scary.

before college, i never used to believe people
when they said things like "you're about to enter a
stress free zone, leave your worries outside"
it seemed impossible

but then i was in that circle of freshmen
and i knew i could get there, if only
with a couple extra shoves.
as long as i don't end up like
the girl in that video, i'm fine.

it's not just songs

there's something charming about the way
you talk to me.
through drugged brain cells and sleepy fingers,
your words don't skip a beat,
they keep in time with my heart.
all these months later,
again,
you're not something i'll give up
easily.

i don't know if it's possible to write
an appreciative poem
without it being labeled love.
but i do appreciate you, in the highest sense.
you saw me when i was chameleonized,
as hungry as the exotic hotel carpet,
threatening to swallow me whole.

you are your smooth hands,
the ones that remind me of how well you're living.
they say that's the best revenge,
but i hope that's not how it is for us.
i want it even,
a flat, smooth line,
from your house to mine,
linking us, knotted
and a glass half filled -
no, empty -
with regret.

when i think of justice

when i think of justice, her face shines through the clouds:
clear, opaque, grinning.
the sky loses pixellation,
the sun sheds its seasonal fur.

she is so heart stoppingly handsome i feel tears
wriggling from my ankles
all the way up my shins,
meeting with their wet tear friends
to form one gigantic waterfall
that will punch the back of my eyelids until the waters have spilled over,
a victory explosion.

it's not, "how did i score someone like her?"
but-but-
how did my decisions (poor and healthy)
lead me to demanding her arms,
knowing they're shared property?
did the fork stabbing me left or right know
she'd be waiting?

i will plant my lips upon hers
in any country, any town, any street
the amount of fucks we give will be equal
to the number of bricks beneath our feet
(times zero)

my most unattainable dream.

nevertheless, it's this image i will push to the forefront

of my purple head, my woozy brain, my tired mind,

and shove the silence of ignored messages,

(love the sinner, hate the sin)

the pain, the boycotts

to the wayback

where they belong

pixellated, but not in the sky,

maybe in the alleyway

with the trash can

where oscar can take care of them.

This is several days old but I'm posting it anyway. (tour blog!)

We’re either somewhere in Ohio or West Virginia. I’m sleeeeepy. It’s 1:58 pm and we have a show at 6. It’s in the Pocahontas County Opera House in Marlinton, West Virginia. Weird. I’m not expecting anyone to be there or to make any money. But I guess I didn’t expect that yesterday either, and there were 20 people and I made $8. Woooo.

We left Thunder Road this morning with Steph and Justin in Steph’s car since she won’t be at the show tomorrow. Matt, Lauren, Grace, and I stopped at Hibachi a little bit ago and I got some rice noodles with tofu. And soy sauce. Yummmmm. I feel a pee storm coming on though cause I had like 4 cups of water.  It was really really good though. I’m glad we didn’t have to have our food cooked in front of us. The only time that happened all my friends ordered meat and I had to watch it get cooked. It was disgusting.

Anyway, it’s WEIRD how happy I am on tour. I’m scared that this feeling will disappear once it’s over. I’m with people that understand me and don’t judge me for talking a certain way or doing anything silly. It doesn’t matter that I’m only 18 and the youngest of my tour mates is 24. We all fit and laugh together and coexist and that’s all that it really takes to make me happy. Sure, there’ve been a couple instances of disappointment, like when friends told me they’d come to certain concerts and then didn’t show. However, that’s infinitesimal compared to the overall glee that touring has given me.

I bought a shit ton of food yesterday in Indianapolis. Katie and I went to Walgreen’s and I got tortilla chips, salsa, strawberry fig newtons, applesauce, spoons, and lemonade. Probably too much for tour, but whateva. We’ll be in Pittsburgh tomorrow. I’m pretty excited to see Bobby, Erika, Caity, and Lisa. Also, apparently my dad’s going to be there. So we’ll see how that goes. We’re playing under the pavilion in Schenley Plaza, so that’s super awesome because there hasn’t been a show there since 2009. They’ve moved them across the street right in front of the library, which is kinda lame cause it’s just a sidewalk.

We’re staying in a Super 8 tonight. I’m pretty excited for wifi. The place we’re playing at apparently has no cell phone service for 30 miles in any direction. KEWLLLL. So I’m expecting no wifi too. Times are hard. LOLZ.

touring and music. ohai.

Lately I’ve been thinking about a third I Speak Tree album. I know that the name “I Speak Tree” is pretty cool cause it doesn’t imply that I’m a wizard rock band or a Muggle band, but instead I can go back and forth between both and writing songs about myself or nerdy things (not that myself =/= nerdy). 

I’m not really sure what a new album would be called, but I was also thinking about releasing it under a different name. This is mostly because I don’t really like “I Speak Tree” and I have a hard time explaining it to anyone who asks “why?” I don’t really write environmental songs, I’m just a treehugger who writes nerdy songs. So there’s kind of a disconnect there. Unless I go all out and write a nature themed CD, it seems like kind of an odd band name. 

However, naming my band/musical adventure “Tianna Mignogna” makes me giggle. For one, people have trouble pronouncing both my first and last names, and also I think my last name is pretty unattractive no matter how you pronounce it. Grace suggested I make a stage name for myself but I feel like the small amount of people who listen to my music would be turned off or confused by that. I just ain’t sure. Thoughts?

Also, I definitely have enough songs for another CD. I could squish them all together and call it a CD, but that seems kind of lame as opposed to a concept album which I’ve never done (besides “Fangz 2 Raven”). I really want to try to do that. I was thinking a Marauders era CD, but then I have so many Muggle songs that I already have and that will inevitably get written in the future. So maybe I can just keep my Muggle and wizard rock music separate, on separate CDs. This probably seems really obvious to most musicians, but, well… I’m not most musicians. I’m just a teenage girl who likes to whine via her guitar. 

I’ve also come to a refreshing realization that it really doesn’t bother me whether people are psyched about my upcoming CDs or not, as long as I’m excited for them and I have fun making them. Otherwise, there’s no point in them existing, right? I’m really excited to now have the ability to record music on my own, with the mastering of the fabulous Steph Anderson.

Maybe I’ll record more music this summer for a new CD and then finish it up over Thanksgiving break or winter break or sometime in the future. Either way, you can be sure to hear some more stuff from me!

where are my keys?

babe, this is for you,
the one who would tie my shoes
if i asked her to.

while i bend over
lacing and relacing new,
staring into you.

and you saw right through,
dark eyes lingering on me,
pretending to lie.


i imagine us
50 years in the future.
rainbows, butterflies.

no stink bugs, ever
only vegan krispy kreme.
we'd be out fighting

misogynistic
criminals, wearing pleather
restrain me, faux fur.

real life rolls its eyes -
it just won't end up like that,
too good to be true.

i've eavesdropped downstairs
too many times to count, now.
sister and cousin,

"we're meant to be, guys,
we both like heavy metal."
...if that's all it takes...

i'm used to failure,
used to long, tearful phone calls,
screaming, broken mugs,

it's not that i don't
expect much, just that you know
how to act, just how.

i'm not worried.

we'll be lying there.
you'll brush your fingers
through my very core.

and i'll thaw out, and remember
maybe there's not greener grass up north.
it's probably the same shade, only icy.
but it's okay,
i'm happy here with you,
floating over both types of grass,
with a lack of structure,
form,
or rhythm,
and i do not care at all.