Saturday, May 19, 2012

souvenir, souvenir

view of Annecy

the gang of Dijon

Madrid glass house

market in Marrakech

I miss it so

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Now I am become

"... they don't listen properly to cries of pain when they come. They can't, of course. They're a peerage of tin ears. With such faulty equipment, with those ears, how can anyone possibly trace the pain, by sound and quality alone, back to its source?"
From Seymour: An Introduction by J.D. Salinger

I only hope to express or create impressions of what resounds inwardly, to become a true seer, to let out a howl of pain that would float on in the universe for at least a moment.
In the meantime, though, I can only create a bunch of shit.

"But where does by far the bulk, the whole ambulance load, of pain really come from? Where must it come from? Isn't the true poet or painter a seer? Isn't he, actually, the only seer we have on earth?"

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

living with boys

I've come to terms with being a girl as most girls have, will, must. It has made me love myself, hate myself, love myself again, and hate everyone around me. It's complex and violent and messy as hell and really beautiful and brilliant when it's raw.

Saez's controversial album's controversial cover
The existence of RookieMag is amazing for so many different reasons; one article in particular made me revisit memories of living in France a couple of years ago, and my first encounters with the more severe and aggressive forms of male courtship and attention. These anxieties are real, man.