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 12, 2012



eventually i make my way back to my roof and four walls.  eventually i end up behind my own closed door.  beyond the lock and key, a mirror leans. i sit back and stare myself down. no one will witness the crash of these secrets.  no one has seen what i see. no one is as wise as me.  the broken blue tumbling down my cheeks is nothing new here.  Meine blaue Augen sind zerbrochen. i have the only front row seat.

i pull up my black tights and cross my legs.

i need someone to cover my eyes.

did i tell you: in my most recent dream of her she returned to that emaciated state.  such thin shoulders. they were only bone. i was afraid if i touched her i would hurt her.  i held her hand when all i wanted so badly was to lay my head on her shoulder. but her shoulders were all bones.  she was my mother.

dearest _______ , you are the only friend i have that knows the language i know.

dearest _______ , i still miss you in the middle of the night even after all these years and all this hot hate.  i still feel your hair in my mouth.  i still swim in the haunt you installed in the back of my eyes. 

i slink low into my solitude.

if only there was a way you could apologize enough.

the heart that held your image is entirely dead. i labor over my own face.  i apply the black lines.  i apply the red lines.  i decide which identity to provide. i make a mirror of my own surface.  i let them all project their wants.  i reflect back the desire and let their hate lay on me like a man.  i let their hate roam across my surface like a man's tempted hand.  some see a daughter.  some see a whore.  some days that feels like exactly same thing.

most days that feels pretty good.



Roz Ito said...

so good to see you here still, plumbing the Truths...

congratulations on the new show and book cover! you always renew my belief in Art...

angela simione said...

HOLY SHIT! ROZ!!!! so good to see you, friend! when i saw your name pop up i got such a huge smile!

thank you so much! i'm always so happy and grateful when you stumble round my way. your encouragement renews MY belief in Art.

Roz Ito said...

keep that dark light burning, Blackland!

i seem to have stepped back into these electronic pages, at least for now. you can find a new blog link in my profile...