dear jayne,

i know what your thinking. and no, tula is not our child and i don't want to make out with you.

i just know how much you obsess over vagina day, so i wanted to make you something.

laugh it up. happy valentines day, i love you.

red contempt.

Love in lovers lost. Like hand in hand in solitude. The land is fraught with plague and haste. Rotting away in hate and disgust. Brown muck and black tar, slowly eating away at the layers that sting beneath the heart. I am what im not and Im not what I am. I am lost. Love in lovers lost. Forever. Feeding off the sticky waste that eats away at my vital arteries, killing me from the inside out, bleeding me from the outside in. this is what you do to me. my seeds do sow the grass from thy land. Thy land of the red. The red contempt.

Hand-made gestures of the unforgettable past. Debilitate my future with every thread attached.

in preparation. but i'm always preparing.

something i thought a lot about today: thesis, performance, climax.

ann hamilton.

it's been nearly a year.

short paths and stunted grass. im screaming to leave. the desire burns more than it ever has before. my accumulation of text books and course gray is done in may. and im ready like a mad dog gone silly. i've been daydreaming, or maybe creating, a lot lately. i see myself in new york: bundled up in layers of clothing, living in a uniquely cramped apartment, walking in and out of bus doors, and quick food stands. staying up until the quiet hours of the morning, listening to davis, making/sewing/mending art/textiles/wounds. this is life and i've been waiting.