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.

May 23, 2014


it's strange to me that there have been so many days lately where i haven't wanted to write.  it's a big shift from my normal mode.  even when i don't write here, i'm scribbling away in my diary, hermitting in that crisp, blue-lined home of mine.  but there have been days lately when i just need to sit.  there are days when i run from the workings of my own mind, when i simply need the simplest of things- a movie on Netfix and a deep pillow...  things i very rarely allow myself.

i JUST saw Lost in Translation for the first time last week.  why it's taken me so long to make time for such a beautiful film, i can't say.  or i can.  it's that i have really fucked up notions of value when it comes to spending time in front of a screen.  or not fucked up, maybe, but issues nevertheless.  my ex stepfather spent the majority of his free time in front of the television and i was always so disgusted by that.  my mother would be outside working in her garden, enjoying the feeling of her hands in the dirt and the sun on her back, and he'd be inside yelling at the tv screen.  she hated the tv always being on.  always had.  growing up, she refused to let us spend a saturday simply laying in front of the television.  she was definitely the type of mom that yelled at us to get outside and be in the sunshine.  and good for her.  i've come to appreciate that about her so much.  and so it was so strange to me that she married someone whose favorite "hobby" was watching tv.  she and her husband got to a place where they didn't even eat dinner together at the table anymore (something my mother really valued).  she'd make dinner and bring it to him in front of the television set.  she'd sit next to him and watch Law & Order, a major concession and acquiescence that was hard to stomach. in my adolescence, i swore to myself that i'd never marry a man that watched tv all the time.  i needed passion and romance and someone to stay up late talking with.  i needed someone who read books every now and then.  i needed someone who preferred the stereo to the tv set 9 times out of 10.

though we were never married, i found myself in a relationship that shared this exact component of television love that i so disdained.  i fucking hated it. at 28 years old, i had the awful, humiliating, confusing, and painful experience of meeting a man at the front door in revealing lingerie just to be walked passed after a quick kiss on the forehead and a careless "you look nice, honey" to flop down in the armchair and turn on Sports Center.

fuck that.

and, yeah, i know it's not the tv's fault that i lived with an inept asshole...  but it's easier to be mad at an object than at another human being.  especially a human being you love.  one looks for a scapegoat, a storehouse for blame. 

and so i considered television a complete waste of time and found it absolutely abhorrent and unacceptable that it is the number 1 pass time of americans.  that's disgusting.  disgusting and ridiculous.  but my judgement about television extended to anything and everything that took place on a screen.  everything from music videos to film to art.  if it happened on a screen, i saw it as a waste of my time, a waste of my life.

that's harsh.  and i knew that, in some ways, i was missing out...

it was amazing to have such a simple, direct experience the other evening.  it helped that there was a gorgeous man in the room with me, laying half naked on my bed. :)  we laid there together, drinking vodka sodas and running our fingers along the curves of each other's legs, as Sophia Coppola's beautiful, poignant film played in the dark of my bedroom.  it's been so long since i've had such a soft, safe, close experience.  it's been a really long time since i've felt at home with a man.  i've not felt this comfortable with a man in a very long time and, at times, i am unnerved by it.  i'm used to being inside my own head.  i'm used to having the only say.  i'm used, now, to not being hurt and assuring my safety through remaining single.

but something is opening up in me.  my armor is melting away.  i look at this other human being and think he's got the best face on the entire planet.  i look at this other human being and feel so thankful for his humor and wit.  i look at this other human being and think, "maybe i'm not alone in this world after all...  "

and so there are days when i don't want to write.  i want to just lay and be.  i want to curl against his form and not think about all the heavy things.  i want to lay my cheek against his back as we snuggle in bed and i want to enjoy the rare instance of a quiet mind.    it was this soft moment of laying together in bed watching Lost in Translation that made me realize i'm truly ready to try my hand at this Love thing again.  it was so simple and so quiet but there was no other place i would've rather been. 

i felt entirely at home.


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