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.

Oct 5, 2012


we stay up late. we discuss our theories.  we discuss the theories of all the big dogs and i count my blessings.  then, i count how many shots i've poured.  i count how many books i've read this year (far fewer than the last) and i count how many times i can get a raised eyebrow out of a man.

my roommates head to bed and i hang new pictures on the wall.  pollen filters in through my open window and i listen to the neighbors fighting.  i put on a slow song of romantic redemption.  i take off my shoes.  i take off my socks.  i pull the braid out of my hair.

earlier, we discussed the power of images.  we discussed the power of persona and watched Lady Gaga videos.  i played my favorite and said: "she understands visual pleasure. she knows the exact moment when taboo begins."

that picture up top:  that image is me and it is not me.  i am that girl sometimes.  and sometimes that is the truest self i can express.  sometimes i am a girl of fishnets and wild hair and all i want is for someone to notice that i need a nice, good slap.  but there are reasons for this and those reasons matter. those reasons are not contained in the photographs i present.  there is the allusion.  there is the heartache.  it is spelled out in vivid pink.  it is scrawled all over me.  but i don't want to have to go on and on about it.  sometimes i just want a reckoning and i don't want to have to argue for it.  just do what needs to be done.

that picture up top:  it is me and it is not me.  sometimes i am not that girl at all.  sometimes i am too angry for romance, too absorbed in my own slow rage.  i am too interested in my own steam and decorum to consider the desires of another.  leave me alone.  i like my lonely road just fine.  i need no hand to hold.  god died for me the second my mother did. and let me tell you, i've never felt so fucking free.  i twirl my hair and paint my nails and stare you in the face.  i don't owe anyone anything and i plan to keep it that way.

that picture up top:  it is me and it is not me.  

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