these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.

thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.

my artist website is here.

Apr 7, 2010

work in progress

the days and weeks of this new year are moving faster and faster. spring arrives and so the new year isn't quite so new. usually, i'd be a bit sad about this. about time moving this way. about how quickly change occurs... or the stagnation of one day blending with the day before and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. but not this year. this year's current and quickness have been a pleasure: a burn. the opposite of 'shiver'. quick quick and buzz buzz and as the day goes dark, i do mourn a bit that it went so quick, but i become excited for morning. i become exhilarated by the prospect of waking up and crawling toward my drawings, again and again crawling, like a reverent servant, like a child to its mama, something lasting that way.

the sun is up and the morning traffic has slowed. i drink coffee. my pen flies. all morning all morning and my courage wells up a little. my desire to share and roll around in the same space the same place the same warmth as another. a hug. a breath.
an excerpt. of me.



the day swings.
slices my face.

my breath gone.
i'll die one day i know it.

cancerd, like mama,

and hollow.

swing swing,

it slices my face.

i strain.
i swell.

i breathe.
the day,



hidden increments, like hair
lost in the carpet.
lashes tangled and breaking.
the crust.
the crumbs
catching on my lips.
my mouth, a ring of salt.
dislodged sleep.
the muttering. the thin whisper.

i am embarrassed.

i am afraid to walk alone on the street.

i might mutter more places than in front of my own safe mirror.

that face i've got.
that iffy friend, staring staring.

and the words she uses. words like a mallet. mouth like a tool drawer. all that clanging. teeth slamming, words on broken hinges. she holds them flatly on her tongue. she is always ready to spit.


knock knock and i hide in the other room. i hate the sound. i hate the way people come knocking on the door. i hate it that i'm expected to open the door. that's what that knocking is. expectation.


i have an ugly face in photographs. very ugly like a monster. i am ashamed of photographs that have my face in them. i feel sorry for the rest of the photograph for having to carry the weight of my ugly ugly face. the crushing weight of the thing. the thing. twisted. shadows that must apologize.

apologize or die.

the apology: i am not ugly outside the rectangle. outside the rectangle, i do not have to apologize to the landscape for containing me. there are vultures on the ground. there are baby teeth in the drawer. there is my brother next to the old, deep frog hole, 6 feet tall and speaking: "just like an alcoholic, only with people who are bad for you."

there is a despair.

there is a despair.

don't you know anything!



no. i don't know anything.

and i am embarrassed.


you are in this room.
it is a safe room.
the lights are off.
or the lights are on.
whatever you like.
whatever you are most comfortable with.
whatever you prefer.

there is no noise
except that of the comforting fan at the foot of the bed.
or maybe there is no bed.
maybe the bed makes you sick.
maybe the bed makes you sore.
maybe you prefer the deep chair.
whatever you like best.

close your eyes.

there is nothing right about it.
there is nothing wrong about it.
there is no structure.
it is okay the dream has collapsed.
it is okay the diamond shards have lodged themselves in your eyes.
the shards are yours. you can make them hurt if you like.
you can make them beautiful.
you may decide to hurt. it is okay.
you can call these things by a name.
you can choose to name it.
you are in a safe room.
the lights are off.
the lights are on.
whatever you prefer.
the bed or the chair.
shame will not find you.
there are diamonds.
who are you thinking of?

my father

what about him?

i love him.

is he the person you love most?


where is he?


where did he go?

i don't know.

where are you?

i'm not sure.

do you miss him?


what does that mean to you?

i don't know who i am anymore.

without your father?



lay me out something nice to wear, mama. lay me out your hair.
give me your pearls. i'll stick them in my ears.
give me your tall shoes
so i can be tall like you.

ever since i was a little girl.
ever since i was a little girl.


you have done everything you've been told to do. in motion. but you haven't done everything. you've left the best part out. the piece i want the most. you've done everything you've been told but you haven't enjoyed it. you are still yourself somewhere in there. you haven't enjoyed it and this is why i turn away. this is why you are not loved by me. you have not been my true squire. you are to be "protege". you are to be "daughter". you are to be my MINE. and this is the cloud that drops the angry word. i own the cloud. i will send out swarms to you. the gnats will fuck your face. you won't be able to breathe without sucking them in. down down and horribly, grossly, in to your lungs. you. that body. my MINE. you have only satisfied my orders with movement. with body. with hair. but that thumping thing still utters a desire outside of my MINE. and that squirming grey thing still sends juice in a direction unchosen by my MINE. this is why you are hated. this is what names you BAD DAUGHTER. you have not surrendered the last piece. you have not given me my MINE.


the day swings..



Alesa Warcan said...

Pfff… ok. Ouch.

Those frozen suns you throw against my scaly plate-armoured hide may not make it through, but the sounds of snapping crystals resonate within, within resonate with heartstrings that are already overtaut and overwrought.
And All I can say is thank you.
Thank you.

angela simione said...

alesa- ((BIG HUG))

thank you

more than i can say.