the streets are wet and black. a slow rain is coming down. i am wearing one of the first sweaters i ever made. how strange to think of where i was then, and how i spent my nights and days. even my body is a different size. george michael sings in my ear (again and again) and a faithful Greyhound rests at my side. i think this might be the first time its rained since i moved in to my white room.
what can i give you tonight? or any other night that might make up for my arrogant absences? what can i give you that might mend the tear that i can't help but deal with my sad silences? sometimes i need such a grand depth of space around me, such a deep, abiding stillness. i slink low in to my warm bath of solitude and i do not surface until i have to. i languish in it. i luxuriate. and then i go to work. i look at the calendar and think of friends i haven't called and the skin i haven't touched in so long, the hair i haven't brushed and the glasses i haven't raised to the honor of such wonderful people in so long. i hole up with my own projects and beverages. and i suppose we all do it. we all get lost in out own present tenses.
over dinner tonight with new friends i admitted that, now, a little more than 7 years after relocating to the Bay Area certain home-town friendships are finally starting to deteriorate. it is sad because we've managed to hold on for so long. we've managed to call each other on a regular enough basis and still say i love you but so much changed when i became single at the beginning of the year. a renewal of sorts. and so much changed after going to New York: a birth that i knew would occur. so many people have commented on how "alive" i seem since having gone. so many people have commented on how much happier and stronger i seem. and what they see is real. i deal out a lot of my vulnerabilities here in this electric square and i willingly supply evidence of the existence of my own excitable, quavering heart; nevertheless, i have become quite brave this year. it's an event that surprises the shit out of me. i've wanted to be brave my entire life. i've wanted to know the definition of courage for so long. it is totally different from what i assumed it would be.
i am finally myself. i am finally allowing for change and experience. i am finally allowing for pleasure, finally able to accept the pleasure of risk. for the first time in years, i am enjoying my daily life. i don't feel like crying as i walk closer and closer to my front door. i don't feel like, with each step, i am telling lie after lie. i look at the sky and think of my mother and wish she could see me now. she would be so happy for me. she would tell me how well i'm doing and how proud she is of me. she would be envious of my trip to new york and we would talk for hours about it. she would want to hear all about testing perfume at Lord & Taylor and how delicious the hotdogs are at the food carts all over manhattan. she would want to hear all about walking through the lower east side at 4 am and the dead pigeon i accidentally kicked. she would commend me for having found the courage to stake claim to my own life. she would ask me to speak to her in german just so she could hear the language of her favorite land in the entire world, a place she always wanted to return to. she had been stationed there when she was 19 years old and always longed to return. "there's such magic there", she said, and in so many ways, that is where my family begins- our strange, careening story. we've all become so different. we share such similar stories but walk such distinct roads.
november is coming and, with it, an election, a concert, and another trip to beautiful New York. i am on pins and needles waiting for the first of the month to arrive. a new adventure is breathing down my neck and i cannot wait to turn and collect its kiss.
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.