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.

Jan 1, 2013



maybe it is true that i am less afraid of you than you are of me.

. . . . .

i tilt the glass between my lips and look at myself in the mirror.  i am sitting cross-legged in bed, computer on my lap, red gloves on my hands, my beloved Greyhound to my left.

this first day, this first night of this new year is achingly cold.  it began at the BART station at 7am, sleeping on a icy concrete bench, waiting for the locked gates to roll up and usher forth the first train to wisk my frozen bones home.  a bit too much whiskey maybe.  a bit too much champagne.  or maybe not enough.  never enough.  my wooden leg can definitely hold me up these days.  and as i pushed my bag beneathe my head, i thought of europe.  i fantasized about sleeping outside train stations in germany.  i thought of my mother there as a young G.I. at the age of 19.  she always wanted to return.  i have begun making my preparations.

i fell asleep easily there on that concrete slab.  the angry rumbling of the gates opening woke me an hour later.  i boarded my train and instantly fell back to sleep and missed my stop.  i woke right as we were pulling away from the station where i should've gotten off.  this made me laugh at myself and feel happy about the world, happy about my life.

. . . . .

as i walked home, you texted me. i save so many of your messages.  i wonder if you save any of mine.  you speak to the center of me on accident, it seems.  and so often.  i cannot do otherwise than hold tight the poetry that finds me.  the morning was bright and i felt safe.

with your words in my eyes, i turned my key in the lock and found an empty house.  each roommate off living a romance somewhere else or recuperating in a corner.  i hopped in the shower and scalded my body to try to rid myself of the deep cold i'd collected.   blisters on my heels and pinky toes from walking a few too many miles in the wrong pair of shoes, but i have walked my way to a new sort of freedom, a new and better life.

i have such a great, wide open hope.

welcome, welcome 2013!

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