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 26, 2012

eager and warm

tonight, on an empty dance floor, i moved my hips and danced with my beautiful friend dressed in royal blue.  our friends were there to watch and i never once felt embarrassed.  life is too damn short.  years ago a woman said to me "dance while you can because before you know it the fat lady's gonna sing".  i heed the warning and take the opportunity to lose myself in the thundering bass.  what else is there?  and in 17 days i'll be back in new york.  i will walk, dressed in my black sweaters and sentiments through the lower east side, looking for a different dance floor where i can drop my sweat and hope.  freya was just there.  she sent me texts and pictures.  she had drinks at my favorite bar.  i can't wait to be back in that fair city, in the cold and quick pace of breath and footsteps.  17 days.  i will stack as much paper as i can between now and then just to burn on drinks and bagels and hotdogs and coffee and entrance into every museum i can make time for.  my red-eyed chariot awaits and i cannot wait to see that blazing city come back into view from an airplane window.  my love.  my only.  my face pressed against the glass, hungry for all you offer.  my pen is eager to spill poems for the scents and shapes you describe.


Jamal Frederick said...

your wings are light. Your ink is black and fluid and honest. The water below is cold, tumultuous, abysmal, regretful and dark. Let the night embrace you. Let it's cold piercing chill be a nurturing warmth. A comforting solace. Walk around the streets protected in a child like enchantment. Follow the cloudy smoke filled streets and always be home. A sovereign sanctuary. Just go...and be... bathe in the perfume of homelessness, despair, broken dreams, poetry and possibility. Be the redeemer of the forgotten, the mad mouth-foaming misfortune. Write The Good Book that speaks of life, and today, and right now and remind the mindless of how they've been deaf to their Gods. Our clouds are concrete and our heavens turn and speak and kiss and sweat and find themselves lost in discovery. Who has the courage to face the howling wolves in the midnight lunacy of a dream? Heaven is for the innocent, child like dreamers, Don't be adult, don't consider, don't think...

Just Go...

angela simione said...

jamal! :D

this is such a POEM, dear friend! thank you for this and all the encouragement you give me. and i extend these wishes back to you, writer. you're image of the clouds sweating is absolutely painfully beautiful.

Radish King said...

Damn Angela your writing is getting better and better I was breathing with you inside this post dancing with you. Keep going girl keep going. Take my heart with you to New York little sister. I miss it bad.

angela simione said...

new york misses you back, sweet friend. you'll be in my heart every second i'm there and i will send the lightening rhythms of the city back to you. hopefully i'll take more pictures this time but i just get so lost in Living the experience to raise a lense to my eye.

thank you, my love.