Sunday, April 3, 2016


I've been wearing a vintage red silk kimono all day. It's short, thigh high, and I've taken a shower and bath. Everything has me feeling all mixed up and open but sweet and vulnerable at the same time. I am an artist. I am a listener to small birds chirping and a watcher of waves on the shore. It's scary thinking about being just a person in the world, a person who has no impact, a person who will not leave her mark. But I am here staccato typing my consciousness on to this screen. I'll get caught up and worried in the strangest places and start to wonder if there is something else brighter out there for me.

I am with you because you aren't afraid to throw away my used tampon applicators and you let me order first at a restaurant.  I am here because we are earthly scholars studying the weather patterns and forgetting to rake the yard. I'd let everything overgrow if I could, but I always end up tidying in the end. I would live in a shack with a yard full of wildflowers, always wearing chiffon and home-dying my hair, but I always get to chicken and run back to conventional life.  And in all seriousness, fuck that life.

I once thought I could go on and on in the wagon wheel of life and work. But I want to live, I want to write. 

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