writing a poem
every. single day.
READ IT: poemadaydoctoraway.tumblr.com
02 March 2017
12 January 2017
06 December 2016
09 November 2016
shock, horror, anger
no words for the atrocity we have committed against our country.
all I have left is poems. read the zine on my website.
02 November 2016
spent my saturday in the bleached desert wasteland outside mecca, ca shooting my latest project: a hybrid of poetry & film called bones. more information about the project on my website.
the persistent sun left me quite sunburned, so I'm slathering myself in black tea & coco butter. I love the sparse strangeness of the california desert, the way it rolls out into the blue sky like sugar cookie dough.
now we enter post-production.
05 October 2016
on skies + colours
Journal:
"Reading Daybook: The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt & thinking about all the skies I have seen, all the different types of air.
Thinking about how the air looked in different places & how you might lay that out.
The warm wet yellows of New Orleans.
The steeliness of Paris, grey almost like iron.
The cold blue/grey of London
The brownishness of Brooklyn.
& Los Angeles is bright--like primary colours, with a kind of occasional yellowish twinge.
Why I think I never went much into visual art is because I could never get the translation right between my head & the execution of it by my hand. I can think of the yellows, but I cannot make them."
"Reading Daybook: The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt & thinking about all the skies I have seen, all the different types of air.
Thinking about how the air looked in different places & how you might lay that out.
The warm wet yellows of New Orleans.
The steeliness of Paris, grey almost like iron.
The cold blue/grey of London
The brownishness of Brooklyn.
& Los Angeles is bright--like primary colours, with a kind of occasional yellowish twinge.
Why I think I never went much into visual art is because I could never get the translation right between my head & the execution of it by my hand. I can think of the yellows, but I cannot make them."
21 September 2016
letter on running
journal
"fall starts in two days.
another fall, more time passes. & me in exactly the same place.
I'm tired of standing still.
but it's as if my arms & legs have atrophied. they can't move. maybe they never could.
I'm starting to think that the only movement I've ever done has been running away.
I ran away from Oregon. I ran away from New York. I ran away from every place & responsibility in between. I've only run.
now I'm getting that feeling again. that tingling under my skin. I want to run. to abandon everything.
staying still feels like staying stuck & that feels like dying.
but maybe you can never really get anywhere if you keep running. maybe that feeling I've had--that my life doesn't add up to anything--is because nothing can build if you're always starting over."
"fall starts in two days.
another fall, more time passes. & me in exactly the same place.
I'm tired of standing still.
but it's as if my arms & legs have atrophied. they can't move. maybe they never could.
I'm starting to think that the only movement I've ever done has been running away.
I ran away from Oregon. I ran away from New York. I ran away from every place & responsibility in between. I've only run.
now I'm getting that feeling again. that tingling under my skin. I want to run. to abandon everything.
staying still feels like staying stuck & that feels like dying.
but maybe you can never really get anywhere if you keep running. maybe that feeling I've had--that my life doesn't add up to anything--is because nothing can build if you're always starting over."
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