the way you need to be loved

the way you need to be loved

Jul 13, 2014

slow afternoon

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playing with my camera and posing with my newest banner.  feels like shadowboxing.  strange and pleasing games of pretend.

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Jul 12, 2014

brooding

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honest to god, i look at my old art and i don't even know who created it.

i look at the work and i remember so clearly each stroke of the brush, the temper of the day, the way the light fell across the oil and lit up the green pollen that fell from the Evergreens above and endeared itself to the liquin on my canvas...  i remember how annoying it was.  J coming home from work covered in grease and kissing me on the forehead, looking approvingly at the progress i'd made since he'd last seen the canvas while our dog cowered with excitement at his feet, waiting to be scratched on the head and told "good girl!'.   i was waiting for the same phrase...

because it was me who spread that black across sheets of white.  it was me who went running down highway 128 each morning with a rotweiller at my side, cigarette in hand and a cup of coffee waiting at the finish line each morning.  it was me who blogged every day and slid my paint around and tried to read philosophy but got too caught up in dreaming about far away places instead.  i did those things.  i have the memories; no matter how hard i try to block them out.

it's been so easy to look away.

i don't want to remember the Past.  i like to think of it in huge swatches of time.  eras, rather than specifics.  i don't let myself think about how broken my heart actually is...  how sensitive i am...  how easily hurt, how easily turned off...  how easy it is for me to give up.

all it takes is one harsh word.

maybe that's unfair but that's the way it is.  i just can't stomach it anymore.  i've had too much of the yelling and the fighting and the name calling.  i just can't do it anymore.  and i'm okay if that makes me a freak.  i walk along listening to pop music with tears in my eyes and thinking of my mother's hand on my cheek.  i walk along thinking of a child i'll never bare running up and grabbing my pinky and saying "mama!"  i walk along and thing of the close family warmth that other people know and trust.  and i am separate.  i am individual.  and that's okay.

maybe after all that's happened i'm incapable of actually having the type of life other people seem to hold so dear?  i think of my dead mother and i can hear her screaming at me, "just be yourself!  do whatever makes you happy, little girl!"

and i do.  i try to.  i'm happiest when i can wrangle a plane ticket and some time off, alone with my diary, ink flowing and no clock to punch.  it's just that the lines get crossed so easily when it comes to other people.  my heart is so full of hope that it pains me to endure anything less that what we are capable of.  perhaps i am a perfectionist after all.  and, let me tell you,



it is hell.

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Jun 23, 2014

2am

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DEATHMARCH POETRY
58th street, oakland CA
June 23rd, 2014
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Jun 20, 2014

gently and gladly

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there are blessings everywhere.  even in this pain.  i am reminded of the very first injury-  it was then that i picked up my dusty crochet hook and taught myself the bastard stitch.  it was then that i began to lean on text and textile rather than oil.  it was then that i learned how to be patient-  a hard task for such an eager girl.  this past week, i had to learn it all over again.

it's not easy for me to be cooped up.  for as much as i may enjoy my solitude, it is only because my life is generally very busy.  my days careen by in a fantastic parade of images and sounds, a whirlwind of restaurant life, art life, and romantic intrigue.  my long mornings at home before work have become so precious to me and i am possessive of them.  the hours i spend sipping coffee, writing, and listening to music as i leisurely get dressed are prized.  my days off are spent primarily at home.  i am stingy with my free time as that is really the only time i have to become deeply involved in my projects.  this past week though, i actually had time to read again.  i pulled IN MEMORIAM TO IDENTITY  by Kathy Acker from my shelf, lay down on my stomach with an icepack on my lower back, and read until the narcotic bliss of the Norco i'd popped swept me away in to a crazy menagerie of chemically fueled dreams.  actually quite a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.  one must look for the pleasures within the agony in this type of situation.  :)

slowly, i'm bouncing back.  i could walk today with just a hint of a limp.  i couldn't walk at my normal quick clip but i could walk.  that's truly all that matters.

now, laying on an icepack again in bed, smiling to myself as i realize it is friday night and most other people i know are excitedly hurrying off to enjoy whatever revelry awaits in this wide city, i am content to spend the evening at home with my work.

earlier today, i shipped two crochet pieces to Darger HQ for next month's show and then spent a few hours leafing through old portfolios of my drawings, work i haven't viewed in close to three years.  i smiled to myself as their graphite edges dirtied my hands.  i smiled and thought, "geez...  maybe i am a pretty good artist after all."




all week i've returned, over and over again, to the knowledge that art is truly what my life is about and that i should never allow myself to become blind to or distant from that fact.  it's easy to get wrapped up in work and saving money and making plans for the future without stopping to think about the REAL work i do: the art.  maybe because i've spent the last 2 years working primarily on the street, it's easy for me to forget the old dreams of attending residencies and submitting work to shows, magazines, etc.  it's easy to fall out of that particular loop when one no longer pays any attention to things like deadlines.  for awhile, i didn't miss it.  in fact, i liked not being a part of it.  i liked having a break from all that worry and struggle.  it was important to me to separate myself from those ambitions because they had been so intertwined with the life i led in my last relationship.  i didn't want to think of those goals and i didn't want to look at the work i made during that time.  especially during the last few years.  the pain and isolation i felt during that time was too easily awakened.  it sat so plainly on the surface of all my drawings.  it was so obvious.  i couldn't do anything but tuck them safely away in portfolios to be stacked in the back of my closet.  i needed to make a new life.

but lately, i've been thinking of those dreams again.  i'm excited about next month's show- to have work in a gallery space again, to see how it interacts with the work of other artists, to see how it looks surrounded by white.  and looking at my old drawings today made me want to show them too.  but more than that, it made me want to draw again.

soon.

soon.

and i look forward to being totally sideswiped by it.  i look forward to seeing what images arrive first.  tonight, it is enough just to listen to the click of the keys beneath my fingers and the train in the distance.  tonight, it is enough to dream again, to hunger after these things.  tonight, it is enough to lay in bed on an icepack and crochet.  this gentleness is its own type of luxury.  quiet and unassuming and hidden from the eyes of the world, i lay below an open window and knot thread in to lace, and feel happy about the future.

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Jun 12, 2014

"on a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain are you in?"

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ohhhhh... i'd say about 7. 




feeling a bit like Frida today.  and not in a good way.  i spent the majority of yesterday laying on ice in bed, hoping to stop the pain roller-coaster before it really got moving...  but atlas.  my iffy disk is a cruel sadist.  i'll definitely need to go to the doctor later today.  or the ER.  whichever entity will see me and give me muscle relaxers.  then, i'm going  to spend the next several days laying flat on my back, stuck like a turtle, and trying to maintain a positive outlook on this shit.  i'll watch the movie Frida and be reminded that, for however big my pain is, it is nothing compared to hers.  i don't need to be wrapped in a cast or held in traction.  this time around, i was standing on one foot in my bedroom, pulling a shoe off my foot.  a fucking lightening bolt of pain ran through my body and literally brought me to my knees.  i stayed there on the floor for several minutes, shocked by the level of pain that i'd just experienced, shocked that such an innocent act had brought it on, and silently begging Fate not to put me in bed for a month.  currently, i can hardly walk but that's not really an accurate barometer of how badly i;m hurt.  i could be back to normal in just a few days so long as i go to the doctor.  i've learned now just to go.  don't be proud, take the drugs, and stay in bed.  it sucks.  i don't want to be that person.  i don't want to be seen as fragile. i'm not fucking fragile and i don't need to be handled with extreme care.  this shit rears up from time to time and it takes me out of the game for a week or two but i am not some fragile girl who needs to tip toe around.  i'm not going to ever be that girl.  i'm not going to be someone who lives in fear of tripping on a crack in the sidewalk.  today, something as simple as that could in fact take me out in a major way.  that's the truth.  i can hardly move right now.  but i'm not going to live in fear of it.  i need to get to the bottom of this and find a long-term solution.  the idea of surgery scares the shit out of me.  my father is a quadriplegic and the idea of someone cutting open my back and scooting my spinal column to the side so they can clip the end of my sciatic nerve is a horribly scary idea.  i'm not even sure i'm a candidate for it.  i need to have an MRI and find out what's really going on inside my body.  

things change in an instant, guys.  these moments always remind me of the fact that if there's something you really want to do in life, better find a way to do it.  i was pulling my fucking shoe off.  i wasn't being a daredevil to any degree.  you can be going along just fine, feeling invincible and like you've got all the time in the world to waste on bullshit...  then a tiny little thing sweeps in and changes the score entirely.  in these moments, i'm so thankful that i created opportunities for travel in my life.  i'm thankful that i have this laptop so i can write and reach out.  i'm thankful for every moment of friendship, every opportunity i've taken to dance and laugh.  


 
the above image is of me last march finishing the Blanket of DOOM when i slipped a disk and was locked in bed for a solid month. 

even these moments are good teachers.
even these moments have led to beauty.
these moments, more than others, lead me straight to art.

i'll try to remind myself of all this later when i'm crying to myself about how unfair this shit is.


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Jun 2, 2014

you

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there's some place in me,
untapped,
that i thought only i could get to

but i go searching for your picture
in the middle of the night...

i want to be wrong.



it's not enough to lay at your side.
it's not enough
to be the patient girl
who stops talking when your business line rings.
it's not enough anymore
to be your weekend fun.
 
when you spoke of god
with your cock in me
i wanted so badly
to be a believer again.

how many beautiful choruses i would sing
if you'd leaf through the tears in my heart
like a hymnal

as eagerly as you did my genitals.



i want you to know me and not look away.




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