For the first time in a long time, i miss blogging outside of Tumblr. There are certain types of content that work better here. And certain types of content work better on static posts rather than a dash.
Need to get back to art blogging, book smelling, recipes, and film reviews.
Writing is power and therapy.
i am my own hero
Art is the best lover i’ve ever had. We’re on this bumpy road together and everything else pales in comparison.
Working all day to support yourself and further your goals is self care. But taking a five minute break to stick your head between your knees and breathe or take an hour to kill zombies is also self care.
Need someone who can keep up with me. Powerhouse babes are hard to find.
So so so important to be your own best friend and your own lover. Take yourself on dates. Shower yourself with love and attention.
Nourish your body and your mind. Do silly shit for fun’s sake. <3
Someone you can talk to in the middle of the night when you feel like jumping off a bridge, that can make you smile.
People who understand and cherish your sense of humor.
Friends that like to go new places. The more road trips the better!
Good health and access to healthcare.
Ability to create as therapy.
Enjoying the simple pleasures and moments of intense gratitude.
A home to go back to, rent free, should you fuck up.
Going long stretches of time without creating feels something worse than constipation. Pressure buildup, depression, organs making way, skin stretching, splotchy, off kilter. As if someone sewed your asshole up. Can’t create. Shit.
LOL anal vents.
Silently panicking because sometimes you just don’t know if or when things will work out
This year has been rougher than i realized, until i let myself sit and reflect on it tonight. I hadn’t really taken any selfies, feeling the lowest i’ve been in a long while. Uncertain and uninspired, battling against things out of my control. (These photos are from 2012).
A battle with my body, the patriarchy, lost my two best friends, supporting my mom long distance after her stroke, struggling to keep my identity as an artist while not painting.
I promise to take more selfies next year. To share more of myself. To experiment and throw caution out the window. Travel to new places. Move again. Meet my kindred internet spirits in person. Get back to writing and reading. Let you guys read some of my poems and short stories.
Because who gives a shit. I’m gonna redefine my idea of what it is to be an artist. I’ll tackle all the mediums. Gimme words, gifs, video, fabric, flesh, light, i’ll make you gasp and cum. Metaphorically and literally. Thrive in imperfection. 2k14 let’s go.
I’ve never had grandparents in my life. My immediate family is the black sheep of a black sheep family. My parents’ moms were never around. My dad’s dad passed away while he was young. And my mom’s dad didn’t want to be in her life because she isn’t 100% jewish. (Which happens when you sleep with someone non-jewish, what a ding bat.) It wasn’t proper to have a child out of wedlock.
My whole life i never knew what he looked like until now, being shown his obituary photo. I don’t know what to say besides life is weird and the concept of race/ ethnicity is a very complicated one.