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 12, 2013

untitled OR go fuck yourself and i'll go fuck myself too.

.


is it all just a series of days?
is it all just a collection of moments, disparate and broken as fuck, packed in to one week or one month or one year?  am i entirely without congruity?  am i entirely without plan?  i rack up sentences, one after the other...  pages are filled.  every now and then, i look back.  every now and then, my own life concerns me.  i mean in a deeper way then the usual self-absorption and apathy.  i rack up the stitches, one after the other, and a sweater is made.  or a blanket.  and it feels somehow like a world has been created.  but only for an evening.  only for as long as it takes for me to return to apathy and the fear that maybe it really is just a series of events, a series of exchanges, disparate and broken as fuck.

8 comments:

Anne Cunningham said...

this made my unmade day

Jamal Frederick said...

You always seem to speak what I'm feeling. It an existential back and forth I go through. That...There's something artistic or romantic or spiritual about feeling a certain sense of destiny or purpose in yourself and/or your work. And, there's a moment, a brief wink of positivity and faith after you've completed something or tried to have a change of heart where you feel there may be a purpose in this, your place here, some connection, that everything isn't just some aimless funeral procession of singular events. Man, this post resonates so much with me. It's a materialist stand point in a way. Once you're in your head you can quickly get to that point where you're like "this is all just bullshit" idk...but with you mein liebe schwester, even if a writing or piece of art or conversation lived and died in that exact moment, the honesty and beauty in it would have severed the greatest purpose, a reprieve and rest from all this bullshit...

Radish King said...

Did you receive mail from me? Hmmm? Thinking of you today. Wishing we could sit down over a cup of coffee and talk for hours. I love you.R

angela simione said...

ms cunningham, thank you so much! it is my honor entirely! :D

angela simione said...

jamal, thank you so much mein lieber Bruder. i'm so grateful you read here and that we share so many of the same ideas, frustrations, and pursuits. there are so many times when i lean back, look at my life and wonder what the fuck i'm doing. maybe it's part of the cycle? maybe my masochist self needs the heartache? seems silly though to be a grown up and still need some sort of punishment in order to make the necessary changes... or is it just human?

i've been trying to get in touch with my own fallibility.

angela simione said...

rebecca! i sent you an email!!! MUAH! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

angela simione said...

ps. i would love to sit and drink coffee with you and just talk for hours and hours. spring will be here soon and i have a crush on airplane rides. ;) i love you too, sweet friend.

Radish King said...

Angela, I can't access my Outlook. I no longer have a computer (at home.) My gmail addy is still good though.xo