give the pain a voice

this holiday season may you feel part of. not alone. and if you are in pain, what does the pain say to you? give the pain a voice so it can tell you what it needs to go away… then go ahead and give it what it needs because it’s the giving season, honey, it’s what we do!

echo

echoes of yourself

alone as you may feel you are surrounded by echoes of yourself in words others speak when they address you and clothes they choose to wear for you to see and opinions they assert in a language you know cannot be taught only shared and is meaningful for you. together at long last.

super.moon

Monday, 4 December 2017

super

Super was the moon and animate the trees; the winter winds arose and bled right through my clothes. I was dodging in and out a moment right before your eyes, yet you were tracking down to daydream. Be very kind and stay alert. This is how we may survive.

little.powers

little.home.base

when faced with fears and feeling insecure, remember this is a human experience we all have, time after time, and see if you can make contact. this need not be full contact. awkward is even better so long as it’s honest. show up honest and come from what you offer. all any situation out ever demand out of you is your own little superpower. you have one, trust me, even if you’re not exactly sure what it is. make contact from that base and you may never be displaced.

double.neg

face it. for the love of god

my whole life begins to falter
my pulse breaks away from the pressure my blood runs up a fever and i get the wax pallor the second i clench my fists against an invitation…

dear god
tonight may i make a double
negative

typewriter.ten

I was a proud twenty and five and wasn’t gonna grieve some misspoken awkwardness in a common beehive. The world then was an accident before it got taped off, a natural intoxication, a Dionysian dream. How could I turn away? I wanted to be out on the streets and not miss a thing. Only when confronted by the sadness of financial insecurity in a large American city, would I submit myself to a nine to five, pushing papers like a mule. I was young and full of pride. I skipped down the sidewalk, afternoons away from work. Whatever I witnessed I either photographed or wrote down in my journals, then took home to type up — only that which had captured my heart.