TMi

  My corner of the world continues to be hit by nameable storms that coalesce within weeks of each other. They roll up the coastline from Central America one after another. Polo, Simon, Trudy, Vance… aspects of El Niño keep appearing during a time when dry winds are supposed to blow from the deserts. The sunny Southern Californias aren’t exactly known for humid wet atmospheric chaos, but here we are in an flipped weather cycle. And it has been rather wild for a mild place. The obscenity of being in 105f degrees in the month of October got me thinking nature was trying to finish all its pan de muerto baking before Day of the Dead. The building I live in easily turns into the Easy Bake Oven I never wanted as a child. So the heat jumps. We dry and fry to dust. Then we are “relieved” by the potential of flooding, sink holes, landslides, ‘clean’ water and power outages– what elsewhere is known as 'a bit of rain.' And I, being the Highly Sensitive Person that I am, can feel the storm...

I was doing some paper collaging recently and in the moment wondered why it felt so appropriate to have a workspace strewn with paper cuttings. Then I remembered my mom would have a pile of papers at the table. She went through them, carefully select something that was meaningful, and tear or cut it out and place it in another pile of papers to be later traded in for discounts on goods or services. As many others in the US, my mom clipped coupons out of newspapers, flyers, magazines, wherever. This was another activity that became added to the list of things that one did as a good house wife on a tight budget. My mom did this exercise. As if it could save the family… Something. If one put in the time to hunt through advertising for the right scrap of paper and turned it in at the right store, within the right time frame, one could exchange a coupon for something of much greater value. Like magic. Apart from coupon clipping, my mom also made these reinforced, cut out paper dolls for me....

  W elpy-welp. I’ve officially arrived at the ass end of the snake year. The boulevard outside my door was soaked in pooling sewer filth from the 27th of December to about January 20th. The snake has incontinence in it’s old age. Or it is terrified of the coming hooves of the next year. I remember once being at a picnic with my family on some bright New England day. I don't know who spotted it, but we– us kids got excited about finding a snake nearby. I believe I was the quickest one and was able to catch the garter snake with my hands. I did not keep hold of it for very long. It was terrified of being snatched up out of the grass by a child and it wet me in defense. And it 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓀 . I remember the talk turn immediately to best practices for nullifying strong animal odors, skunk smells especially. Tomato juice seemed to be top of the list. We did not have that available– and perhaps orange juice was used instead? I have trouble remembering if it was me who actually caught a wild...

Photo by Marek Piwnicki It's been a rough summer in so many ways. Just go on over and look at all the wild news, and even the wilder social media. As a HSP trying to stay informed while filtering out and blocking the onslaught of... all the things, I am a touch fried. With an effort, I rallied focus enough to cough up some lines today: we ran among the others– all children he was laughing my expression fixed in righteous anger tickled him when i could catch up, i'd swat him, tell him to stop– he would not– he does not– as if my actions could possibly take anything away from him– he went on and on shouting RAPE! at me– in mockery of all vulnerable people, of our mother– shaming himself who would claim to be a man (of god)– it was only a game out on the schoolyard   no adult attended to his shouts or my outrage a joke, a joke–nothing was meant by it to this day, i choke

Spending a couple of weeks in historic Lexington VA was supposed to be like an art residency. I went with the idea that   I would help paint a mural in a university gallery, and perhaps focus on making some art of my own. None of this happened.   In a tiny town where there is nothing much to do, my person chose to prioritize healing. My body had been quietly collapsing into itself the whole during my sickness so while I had this time, I wrestled with my joints and bones; fought the muscles, tendons, and that blasted thing called fascia. My back hurt often, but I know I am even stronger for the effort. I do stand up straighter. (My kyphosis laughs as I type that.) I could not focus enough to really create anything. My mind was also busy doing its own messy, inexplicable healing just for being in the rural east again- almost like being home. Some crying happened.   I saw a lot of deer and met some lovely human people. I reunited with my brother Mike....

  I am not sure what to write about this month anymore. I considered writing about making art no one wants, or dermatillomania- or more about trying to openly obsess over fictional characters- or quite real humans.... Then I find out my father has taken ill and had to go to the hospital to get sorted out. I'm confused by the whole matter more than scared or worried. I don't have enough information to be worried. And I don't want to get angry for not having enough information either. When other people have enough information and the wherewithal to tell me, they will do so. If they don't, then I can get angry, perhaps. Because it's not like there is anything I can do to help. I'm on the other side of the continent. Unless my dad wants to do some medical tourism, I don't know how I could be of service.  I don't know what the best thing for me to do is. At all.  Ever. I'm not ending this year on a down note. Not really. It's just a very blue note. Th...

About twenty percent of people on the planet have Reynaud's Disease/Syndrome/Phenomenon . The numbers vary depending on what source you cite, but no matter where you look, it is clear that this is not a common ailment. It is, however, something I suffer from . Some people have called it being allergic to the cold. To me, it is more like having a stutter in your arteries. The blood vessels are called on to do something quite ordinary and natural, but they get freaked out and overwhelmed by it and then don't operate properly. When it kicks in, I feel like I become the ambient air temperature. I feel like I wear the flesh of a dead person. It can be harder for me to speak because of the decreased feeling in my face. I noticed this happening when I was a teen. I saw that I was the only one in PhysEd who could not warm up while running track in cooler temperatures. I found out that not everyone's hands turned bright red and hurt afterward. Not everyone's toe...

Photograph: Shawn Punch . Hair and makeup: Madge Earle .

  Who got theyself out to Nuebo Yorq last month? Was it meee?! It was unusually rough in the time leading up to this trip to New York though. There was certainly some energy against us at the beginning. I felt absolutely miserable about going. For no identifiable reason. Hugo was overly anxious about his show, and just before our departure, sure enough, our bad feelings about everything manifested. But once we were on the ground and jumping into the work that thing- that force wanned into the background, it's teeth blunted. Hopefully, it got what it all that it wanted... A small sacrifice to the What-Evers for something much better? There are already signs of better things to come. Hugo was offered another shot at showing in Miami. That means in a few short weeks we will be back on the east coast looking out indifferently at more palm trees. Oh, and installing a mural framed video projection. There might also be some, you know, huge art fairs happening too. Staying ...

Yeah, yeah the independence day parade got me all excited. I was not planning to take pictures whatsoever, but then I found myself fumbling for my camera as the trumpets started blaring. Who would be able to concentrate on anything else will all that racket any way? I bounded out the door like a five year old. To try and capture the larger scope of the event is generally stupid, so I worked more with the zoom function to see what smaller moments I could catch. Lucky for me, I didn't need a tripod when I had a metal gate to steady my little camera. Stuck behind that gate, I chose to work with that limited perspective. It yields interesting results when you don't muscle your way in to get that 'perfect' shot. I tried being quick about taking shots but the camera was not as fast as the action. And I would have lost time finding the right settings. This was another limitation I had to work with. All in all, I feel happy with the results. It was good to take ...

τὸν τεθνηκóτα μὴ κακολογεῖν What? It's a new year? Twice over now? No. You can't fool me with that talk. There's nothing new about this year. It is decidedly a continuation of the last one- which was, in fact, a new year; though I won't trouble you with an explanation of how time does not move the way you think it does. And this post here, well, I guess it should finally go out. Ready or not. It's been sitting in edit mode, being edited sporadically for many, many months.  Last summer it was strange to be a tourist in Boston as I had never been in my younger days; when I lived closer to the city and it would have made more sense. I learned about the Bunker Hill misnomer mixup (go look it up) and walked the Freedom Trail. I felt the contentment of the dead in the much visited cemeteries. I saw at least two anorexic women in a posh neighborhood. But hey- why begin an actual written post after all these months of silence by jumping into random commen...