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Category: conversations that happen in my head
My Interview on Tropism!
Check out the full interview at 150FranklinGallery.com. Show opens October 6th (5 p.m.) at the 150 Franklin Street Gallery in Harrisonburg, VA with an artist talk at 6:30! See you there!
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White Space
What is white space that is not a canvas; offering agency and every possibility to whomever confronts it? It’s quiet and patient; generous; never pompous and clearly not greedy. It lets you shine against it.
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New Work in Persephone’s Daughters
The aim of this lit magazine is to empower women, but it also aims to be completely inclusive in regards to applicants/contributors. We love you. We’re not here to tell you to stay strong, because you’re already doing exactly that.
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Things My Mother Has Not Done For Me
I see y'all whose do list is longer than your don'ts maybe feeling guilty; maybe feeling sentimental amnesia. I see you all. And every time I look in a mirror I see my mama whether I like it or not. (I do for the record--cheeks, doe eyes, and all).
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It’s Better Out Than In
Talking to myself--especially when it becomes a lot of talk all of a sudden, always tells me there is something I'm trying to work out of my brain and especially out of my body. It's interesting that I haven't been able to run lately, one of my choice ways of working stuff out of my mind and body.
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Stranger in a Strange Land
I'm only recently accepting the extent to which my physical body has been intrinsic to how I self-identify. The realization has come on the heels of a bunch more that are the result of the heart failure (cardiomyopathy if you like big words) diagnosis in September. My body has changed significantly in the way I use it for self-identification purposes. [...]
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World Book Day
In no particular order and hardly close to exhaustive, here goes:
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Someone Was Shot Here, Probably (NaPoWriMo 7/30)
In a burned out city that whispered from its ashes willful forgetting would only salt that richness; turn the fertilizing of it to Death.
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Ballad of Bridges (NaPoWriMo 6/30)
Ballad of Bridges Each one was familiar yet its peril new and desperate over water not deep enough to account for believing more in visions of mangle and gore only visions, after all, amalgamating into fear. The subconscious is always painting its face in Imagination and Doubt. So if I've crossed bridges before in the sullenness of day's brooding; wearing the [...]
