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.

Mar 29, 2015

3 days


sifting through pages, the never-ending pile of papers, the abandoned manuscript(s), the poetry collection, paragraphs cut up, rearranged and taped back together again;  a mangy, coffee stained scroll.  gorgeous.  i tuck it into the box that holds my diaries.  i close the lid.  i close my eyes against the sting of tears.  how badly i want to lay around today and read these things.  especially with my back such a stiff mess of pain.  later.  another day.  one fine day, it'll be such a gift when this box comes back home to me.  for now, a hard patience.  for now, a closed lid.  for now, vicodin and ice. i'm hopeful that tomorrow i won't need the crutch of this little opiate but today i do.  the injury wins.  i am a snail.  i do what i can 20 minutes at a time and then i reward myself with 20 minutes on ice.  i must finish the task of sorting, boxing, throwing out and making way.  yesterday, such an existential crisis about clothes.  i looked in my closet and thought, "who am i going to be now???  i'm paving the way for someone new.  will this new girl still need this sequin jacket???" ha!  i  leave clothes on the street.  they disappear quickly.  more sketches and half finished drawings find their way in to the recycle bin.  suddenly i hate all my earrings and i leave them in a big pile on the kitchen table for whomever may want them.  i pawn off my nail-polish and perfume on my roommate, sara.  i pawn off my big binder of cds on my roommate, ben.  i'm sure i'll find something to pawn off on seth too.  i leave a silk pocket square hanging on his door-knob.  what to do with these old rosaries?  what to do with this huge mirror?  what to do with the ache in my heart?  this old red trumpet that wants to blare and blast and scream.  dear friends, what am i without your hands on my shoulders?  i am going to miss everyone so much.  i close my eyes against the sting of tears.  my 20 minutes are up.


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