I’d like to ask a question, to the the wyrdest one of them all…Does your reflection whisper? Whimper? Does your perception roar with a wildness? Fiercely. What are you trying to say with your image? If you are a maker of meaning and delight? Don’t you start with what you see upon first sight? So focus on looks, honestly it’s half of the battle. I’ll teach you to walk, to talk and to dress, like the queen of your dreams…

It’s the smidge of humanity that remains.

I feel, in circles.

When you see the abuse reappear after all the years, after all of the hours of torment

The breath, the wave, the grasp, the tears

The reflection — the ghost — of self that remains.

When I talk about carving space with my teeth, I’m talking about showing up as the perfection I was born with. Demanding attention with my voice, with my whole ass, is a desired outcome of performing for the lens. So the viewer, you, my muse, becomes the object of my lust, landing with fuse. Might I stay and wander in your mind a while?

I miss the passionate embrace of the present when I lived in naivety. The need to create, make something out of nothing, materialize our thoughts as gesture.

Allow nothing and no-one to deter you from your path. Only you know the absolute way — the way of healing, and opening your heart. If there is no such thing as good and bad, right and wrong, where lies the neutral?

I want to know why Anger has become my strongest teacher. Their approach is rough and messy, but strong — full of willful notions. There is a safety net dropping, if only the call finds the answers.

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