I have always felt safest underwater. My fondest memories are childhood summers spent at home with my strong, capable, joyful father sitting in a chair counting laps. He would be happy to just sit, and count well into adulthood. I knew he was there, waiting, whenever I came up for air, lingering a moment too long. Mesmerized by the summer sun, and the light patterns dancing across the blue vinyl.
In one hundred years, no one will remember I was here. Probably less, and I’m absolutely certain I’m okay with that. I have no children to hover or haunt, no one who will share memories or reminisce. I am absolutely 100% okay with that. Many of the people I loved and love will be gone too, and that makes me happy in a maudlin, relieved kind of mood. Life has
There is a number, a precise hour, minute, second between the sun’s revolving door and the moon’s sparkly shine when the world grows quiet and lavender fields weep violet. Do not cry for me sir, no, no, no. You must never feel worried or woe. Do not spill your tears; I do not know my tempest time. Smile instead when you see me, a soft hello and gentle nod will
There are a few things I know now by trial and error, when attention comes your way embrace it. Be brave enough to embrace and enjoy five minutes of some kind of fucked up fame, to be seen through the camera lens even while it steals a piece of your vulnerable heart and sacred soul. It’s okay to try on different versions, experimenting behind platinum blond and a fuck you,
Gypsies and Pixie Dust I exist therefore I am, mistakes and imperfections one and all. I don’t want to be considered an artist. I want to be thought of as a student of art. I want to ingest the human condition, live and breathe it. I want to eradicate all traces of ego and relate. I want to roam the globe and hear the stories, while not missing out on
Waiting on Oprah I close my eyes and can almost see the perfect fairytale life I envisioned in my wildest dreams. Dear Fantasy (Oprah), “I feel that I am a very fortunate person …” I was fifteen. Fifteen, gawky, wickedly uncomfortable in my so called ‘model frame.’ Somehow fifteen was the perfect age to concoct wild fantasy adventures and the fastest way out of a stifled, small town. There was
“I am learning to let go of who and what no longer fits, and suddenly like magic I’m surrounded by good, caring people. I am, I am learning.” J Cioffa