in my sadness, i spin the record. in my sadness, i lift my shirt over my head. slowly now, slowly, slowly, as if you were in the room.
in my sadness, i look at my tits in the mirror. i walk slowly toward that silver surface and grace my pink nipples across that slick, chilly surface slowly, slowly, as if it were your chest. the cold shocks me. i was expecting your warmth despite my games of pretend. this bourbon has got the better of me.
i imagine my fingers belong to you. these are your fingers in my hair. these are your fingers smearing my lipstick. these are your fingers teasing the waistline of my panties while thom york sings "immerse yourself in love". i'll lift your shirt off and i promise i won't look at you as if you are a fantasy or a holiday. i'll look at you like what you are: i'll let you be a man.
for as much as i love fantasies, i'm tired of them. somewhere along the line, i grew up. suddenly, i prefer reality. i want the scars on your hips and the sordid details of your past and all the horrors of your upbringing. i want your mouth on mine and i'll let you keep your secrets...
let me keep mine.
let me keep some sense of pride.
let me keep a dry eye, love.
if you give me anything, give me that.
pink lipstick and photographs the one-hour photo up the road won't develop. who am i becoming? anne says i fell in to a wrinkle in time... those years i spent in such atrocious agony, those hours i spent wrestling with guilt over the simplest of wants, the simplest of desires... that wasn't me. this girl, here, now, with a fifth of shitty vodka in the freezer and a filthy mouth, topless and unapologetic, longing to disgust every single person who still might lay claim to a shared heritage because we were brought up on too many lies...
i can't look at myself without wanting to show you who i really am.
i don't care the consequence.
the mirror is a lover and the mirror is a challenge.
the mirror is you.
i have become entirely singular. i have never been more myself than i am today. i want to show you. if you're going to look away, do it now.
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.
my artist website is here.