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.

Jun 30, 2011


the light this morning is beautiful.

i stumble around, undressed, enjoying the simple fact of where i am: the hard wood floor under my feet and the empty stretcher bars leaning against the wall, a huge drawing in its infancy laying on the living room floor. the only furniture we have are two huge bookcases - one in the living room and one in the bedroom - and the chest of drawers and hope chest i inherited from my mom a few years ago when she was first thinning out her possessions in preparation for her move to tennessee. other than our massive collection of books and all the art and art supplies that follow me around, it is pretty spare here. i must say i rather enjoy it. i like having less.

yesterday, i ran a round The Lake again. 3+ miles of sweat and hard breath, hopscotching around and over huge piles of goose shit. i had no idea canada geese were so filthy but they are. canine sized shits only green from all the horrible algae they slurp up. and EVERYWHERE. my god. nevertheless, a beautiful place and an amazing run. it is the perfect distance. it is just a bit longer than what my endurance likes and that's a good thing. i have to push myself to finish and i feel happy as i make my way back around to my starting place. i feel happy as i run, lost in all my daydreams and plans, turning over each thought like a stone. i will run again this afternoon. this morning is for crocheting roses and drinking lady grey tea.

i sit here with kate's postcard from scandinavia next to me. the smooth design of the postage stamps make me yearn for an adventure of my own. new languages in my ear and new fruit in my stomach, dusty museums to wander through, words i can't understand and a train ticket in my hand. ahhhh... one day soon, i hope. i am so horribly un-traveled. this must be remedied.

it is the last day of june. we have lived through, miraculously, the first 6 months of this year. we have 6 more to go. i found my notebook from last december and looked at my list of new year's resolutions. i've accomplished a good number of them but most no longer fit who i've become. rather than scratch them off the list, i'll make a new one. a new list for the second half of the year. it'll help me know where i am, where i've come from, where i need to go.

i read kate's book and see myself tucked in the corners of so many words. maybe not as green, but green nonetheless. i'm not ashamed, just surprised. how could it be that i am still a bit naive? still wondering who i am and who i should be? still trying to darken my own outline and distinguish myself from what i was taught to be.

last night i sat and read her book in public when i probably should've been making eye contact and smiling and being approachable. it might've been rather rude of me to sit there with my nose stuck in a book but how does one tear oneself away when they are reading the curve of their own story?

i bounce back and forth between it and volume 3 of anais nin's diary. my lineage flowers in front of my eyes and it is a gorgeous, angry, swirling thing. magical and fantastic, romantic, inspired, and just so damn smart!

where are you, now, 6 months in? are you a list maker too? what do you want to do?

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