yesterday in the rain, a run-in with a stranger. an unhinged woman far older than i decided to verbally threaten me. i raised my voice in turn. she hustled off, lost in whatever fanaticism her mind resides in. i should've just shined her on and said "ookey dokey", made her feel like an asshole. or worse, stupid. but the fact a stranger decided it was okay to threaten me caused this amazing surge of violent anger to course through me instantly. instantly. i had been writing about my mom's death in my notebook when this poor soul decided to interrupt my poetics with her utter bullshit. and the fact that nothing came of it is completely beside the point. so i raised my voice at a stranger? and a jerky one at that. big deal. it's the surge of anger that has caught me off guard. i have never felt this particular breed of anger before. i actually envisioned myself grabbing this woman by her hair, yanking her head back, and screaming in her face I DON'T CARE ABOUT A FUCKING THING, YOU DUMB CUNT! MY MOTHER'S FUCKING DEAD! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE! which is not exactly the case but very close to it... i care about relatively little these days. i have been uncommonly stoic the passed few weeks ever since my mom made an appearance in one of my dreams. i ran to her and held her bony frame to me. i held on to her so tightly and she said "Angela, it's okay. I'm still here." and this huge fearful anger rose up inside of me. i didn't say anything but thought "they told me you were dead. they told me you were dead and i believed them. i am so mind-fucked, mama." and then the horror of waking and my first thought being, "no, mama, you aren't still here." ever since that dream i have been in a state of cold anger but not even a ripple of it has shown itself on the surface of my life until now. i have managed to keep it entirely still.
i care about art, words, friendship... nail polish and lipstick and that's really it. i don't care about success, failure, the rules, whatever. have it. take it. i don't give a shit. the state of shock that has insulated me up until now, allowing me to proceed gracefully through the day, giving no hint to the painful actuality of my inner world is melting away. a new form begins to show below this waxy shell. a new girl. i stay up late to listen to music and paint my fingernails silver. i stay up late scribbling and scribbling and scribbling and then wake up early to do it all over again. i don't want to waste any time. i go to class. i pay close attention. i work hard. it has never been so important to me to use every second to its full potential. i can't even tell you how i'm doing. i don't know. i'm not good. i'm not bad. i am in the middle of a race.
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.
my artist website is here.