I have been rearranging the furniture in my apartment [over and over, for days] to vacate cerebral chambers.
if i move the bookshelf here
and stack the briefcase there,
no wait- if i move the table here
and then the briefcase of photographs there
-or should i move the clutter of memories here?
first let me toss out the clothing of my body's past,
go donate it,
and then! AND THEN
I can clear out the hallways for my synapses,
and my work table will go here
and the space will be empty enough, but not too empty-
i still need stimulation when i enter my home
but not too much stimulation,
so okay- now that that's gone
i can begin working on my art again.
for months i was angry
for months i couldn't listen to familiar music
for months i avoided places you might be
for weeks i hid
for weeks i purged your remnants
but i stopped feeding my anger
i found new music
i saw you walking across the street the other day
i allow myself only honesty, and i set boundaries
i have only things that are functional, beautiful, or extremely meaningful
What I crave is safety and freedom to express myself, my emotions, and my stray thoughts, shaky and firm.
I want to live and exist in only my purest form. I don't mean that I'm some sort of electro-shocked evangelist on TV.
I mean that I want to be fully aware of my awareness
of my truth.
Simply: I want Truth.
A MINI TRIP AND THE BATHROOMS ALONG THE WAY
Frazzled as hell. Sucked dry of emotion.
I was so worn out that my dreams were just an enormous black hole
ridding my subconscious of unnecessary anger and hurt.
David Lynch-ian stills from my 6 year old niece's room.
Thoughts from the past couple months:
I WANT TO KNOW SOMEONE WELL BEFORE I SURRENDER. in the past i could float around intimately with others, but now i'm more concerned with how my actions affect their wellbeing.
art of the mundane
I walked into the restroom at the museum
and waited amongst the other women for my turn.
In my stall, I gagged
smell of everyone's cunt.
Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad smell,
when you're asking for it.
But when you're not,
and it blows your way,
it's a pungent
But maybe it's a good way to die.
"CHOKED ON MANY UNIDENTIFIED CUNTS"
Never mind that. I'm over the sickness.
I took the map out of the box because I know that I will never speak to you again.
Years ago I challenged myself to do something that scared me at least once a day.
Of course, like this 52 week challenge, I forgot.
So now, I'm back on it.
I'm saying yes to things that scare me.
I'm doing things that are difficult for me.
So we'll see how that goes.
It feels great to finally feel like I'm coming back into myself.
I wanted you to help me put the map on my wall, but now, every time I think about it I start to feel sick to my stomach. So it's still in the box waiting to see if you'll ever speak to me again.
I want to know your fears.
I want to see what you do in the middle of the night.
It doesn't all have to be pretty.
I've skipped so many weeks, but hey- Life happens.
This is week...... number something!
If you don't already know,
I began this project to document 52 weeks of life,
but also, to insert myself into my work.
Documenting life inside my home (and sometimes outside)
has become a practice in trying to build confidence in front of the camera
and is becoming a way for me to archive memories
as well as share something raw.
I give you A Truth, if you will.
I woke up at 4am this morning because I was bored in my sleep.
I don't know if it's some form of mania or if this kind of thing just happens to everyone every once in a while.
These images are from the last week, inside of my home.
I found these behind an antique store... and I took them!
But every time I see them I ask myself, "Why do I have these?"