iamsoafraidofdying
iamsoafraid it will be OK
do something
dosomething
dosomething
it will be OK
it will beOK
dosomething
I am soafraidofdying
I am soafraid
I am I am iam iami?
249-252
29 November 2013
25 November 2013
I KNEW IT, I WAS FREE, I WAS THERE.
five minutes of dreams and i'm resting my head in your lap on the couch. the one that i burned with a hairdryer when it was first new, sorry. you're reading me that scary story about the witch with twigs for hair and a cave for a home who sold marmalade. or maybe you're explaining shakespeare to me. i knew it, i was free, i was there.
i liked the way you impulsively painted the bathroom with periwinkle stripes. the way you crush your christmas candy cane and eat its crumbs with a spoon out of a bowl. the way you seem to consistently finish the last piece of other people's puzzles, despite angering them, you find it funny, and so do i. not to mention the passion with which you built my history project, quilt me beautiful warmth, and paint my life with such scenery.
and i especially love the contrast between you telling me if anyone ever hurt me, to punch them, yet you watch almost every television show with tissues in hand to wipe clean your crying eyes. there is such beauty in your range of emotions, and how they are subtle and sound when i need someone strong, yet the most mundane things can create such feeling in you. there is such beauty in your ability to let the world fully take hold of you, and how you can find yourself in any story.
there is such beauty in how you're so delicate, but so tough, and i love you.
i liked the way you impulsively painted the bathroom with periwinkle stripes. the way you crush your christmas candy cane and eat its crumbs with a spoon out of a bowl. the way you seem to consistently finish the last piece of other people's puzzles, despite angering them, you find it funny, and so do i. not to mention the passion with which you built my history project, quilt me beautiful warmth, and paint my life with such scenery.
and i especially love the contrast between you telling me if anyone ever hurt me, to punch them, yet you watch almost every television show with tissues in hand to wipe clean your crying eyes. there is such beauty in your range of emotions, and how they are subtle and sound when i need someone strong, yet the most mundane things can create such feeling in you. there is such beauty in your ability to let the world fully take hold of you, and how you can find yourself in any story.
there is such beauty in how you're so delicate, but so tough, and i love you.
24 November 2013
besides i love you
we are in poland, it is your birthday. you are drunk, and so am i. it is terribly cold, and everything is terribly polish. i forgot my gloves at the hostel. we walk together to a bar somewhere. all of us. but i walk nearest to you. my hands are frozen. i probably say this aloud. i put my hand in your coat pocket where your hand was. so i hold it. and i say i feel better this way. and we walk holding hands in your pocket. and later you'll be crying about being old and i'll kiss your face.
i'll say everything's going to be ok.
we are in poland, it is your birthday. you are drunk, and so am i. it is terribly cold, and everything is terribly polish. i forgot my gloves at the hostel. we walk together to a bar somewhere. all of us. but i walk nearest to you. my hands are frozen. i probably say this aloud. i put my hand in your coat pocket where your hand was. so i hold it. and i say i feel better this way. and we walk holding hands in your pocket. and later you'll be crying about being old and i'll kiss your face.
i'll say everything's going to be ok.
18 November 2013
FEELINGS FROM THIS NOVEMBER
the harshness of the final fight because it really does not get easier. i've held onto empty bottles of european products for the mere sake of something tangible. i really did live this, and it really was. (but my conscious self, it cannot believe it anymore.) all of these meaningless spanish and swedish beauty products are just nonsense taking up space under my bathroom sink, but i can't bring myself to throw them out. it all feels like a dream that i can't remember any details of. "and now you can't even recall any of the names, faces, or lines, it's more the feeling of it all." i'll read the fine swedish print on the bottle. i read this for six fucking months. these combinations of characters that i didn't even take notice of after some time, which i'm now clinging to as if it is a vital organ.
EVERY DAMN GOOD THING IN THIS WORLD IS SOMETHING WHICH ISN'T TANGIBLE.
and that's what makes it so difficult
to feel,
see,
to understand,
so hard to love,
appreciate,
and to scream about
anything of importance
these important things, well, they cannot be contained in glass jars, neither pressed into an overflowing suitcase, neither plastered to a wall, neither preserved in paint, nor written in a journal. they have to be felt, seen, understood. loved, appreciated, and screamed about in the moment they occur. because now they are over. smells of smiles so faded, dumb photographs on my wall, drunken signatures sprinkled across a world map, forgotten voices and dispositions of people i love. there's nothing left besides paralysis from empty feelings and empty bottles.
EVERY DAMN GOOD THING IN THIS WORLD IS SOMETHING WHICH ISN'T TANGIBLE.
and that's what makes it so difficult
to feel,
see,
to understand,
so hard to love,
appreciate,
and to scream about
anything of importance
these important things, well, they cannot be contained in glass jars, neither pressed into an overflowing suitcase, neither plastered to a wall, neither preserved in paint, nor written in a journal. they have to be felt, seen, understood. loved, appreciated, and screamed about in the moment they occur. because now they are over. smells of smiles so faded, dumb photographs on my wall, drunken signatures sprinkled across a world map, forgotten voices and dispositions of people i love. there's nothing left besides paralysis from empty feelings and empty bottles.
31 October 2013
COME ON HOME
i
move like a tourist
blind and optimistic
so homesick
and ok so this has happened before
but this time it is about an expired adventure
(it is not a person who left me feeling empty this time)
(nope)
(i have done this to myself)
(i have willingly walked away)
(again)
(from the only place and the only people who have ever felt like home)
move like a tourist
blind and optimistic
so homesick
and ok so this has happened before
but this time it is about an expired adventure
(it is not a person who left me feeling empty this time)
(nope)
(i have done this to myself)
(i have willingly walked away)
(again)
(from the only place and the only people who have ever felt like home)
i'm so numb
30 October 2013
A WHITE LINE PAINTED ON THE SAND AND ON THE OCEAN
everything is illuminated
this is love, she thought, isn't it? when you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything? more, even, than you love his presence?
the more you love someone, he came to think, the harder it is to tell them. it surprised him that strangers didn't stop each other on the street to say 'i love you'
when i was a girl, my life was must that was always getting louder. everything moved me. a dog following a stranger. that made me feel so much. a calendar that showed the wrong month. i could have cried over it. i did. where the smoke from a chimney ended. how an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table.
i spent my life learning to feel lies
every day i felt less.
is that growing old? or is it something worse?
you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
from space, astronauts can see people making love as a tiny speck of light. not light, exactly, but a glow that could be mistaken for light--a coital radiance that takes generations to pour like honey through the darkness to the astronaut's eyes.
in about one and a half centuries--after the lovers who made the glow will have long been laid permanently on their backs--metropolises will be seen from space. they will glow all year. smaller cities will also be seen, but with great difficulty. shtetls will be virtually impossible to spot. individual couples, invisible.
... we're here, the glow will say, in one and a half centuries. WE'RE HERE, AND WE'RE ALIVE
this is love, she thought, isn't it? when you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything? more, even, than you love his presence?
the more you love someone, he came to think, the harder it is to tell them. it surprised him that strangers didn't stop each other on the street to say 'i love you'
when i was a girl, my life was must that was always getting louder. everything moved me. a dog following a stranger. that made me feel so much. a calendar that showed the wrong month. i could have cried over it. i did. where the smoke from a chimney ended. how an overturned bottle rested at the edge of a table.
i spent my life learning to feel lies
every day i felt less.
is that growing old? or is it something worse?
you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
from space, astronauts can see people making love as a tiny speck of light. not light, exactly, but a glow that could be mistaken for light--a coital radiance that takes generations to pour like honey through the darkness to the astronaut's eyes.
in about one and a half centuries--after the lovers who made the glow will have long been laid permanently on their backs--metropolises will be seen from space. they will glow all year. smaller cities will also be seen, but with great difficulty. shtetls will be virtually impossible to spot. individual couples, invisible.
... we're here, the glow will say, in one and a half centuries. WE'RE HERE, AND WE'RE ALIVE
29 October 2013
A GOOD DAY
"Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn't combat topics like, "My daughter got into Yale"
with, "Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs"
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles.
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay int his abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don't work for salary, I didn't graduate from college,
but I don't speak for others anymore,
and I don't regret anything I can't genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn't salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn Bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, "it was a good day."
-Kait Rockowski
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn't combat topics like, "My daughter got into Yale"
with, "Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs"
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles.
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay int his abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don't work for salary, I didn't graduate from college,
but I don't speak for others anymore,
and I don't regret anything I can't genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn't salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn Bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, "it was a good day."
-Kait Rockowski
10 October 2013
TAKE THIS TO BE ABOUT CAPSIZING
take this to be about capsizing
thanks to a call from a hotel bathroom
and the very final resistance
to verify my existence
i will vilify this
fucking
distance
so you can crush my revisionist insistence
on our unfortunate persistence
okay cute
and well - i think it must be sometime after christmas,
and well - you are throwing up in a fucking sink
living numbly over coffee
from half ten to four in the afternoon
sometimes my eyes go like my father. distant
sometimes i hold my tongue like my mother. not enough
i am done speaking and writing for awhile.
feelings exposed makes me feel like an awful human and it is too exhausting to live that way.
thanks to a call from a hotel bathroom
and the very final resistance
to verify my existence
i will vilify this
fucking
distance
so you can crush my revisionist insistence
on our unfortunate persistence
okay cute
and well - i think it must be sometime after christmas,
and well - you are throwing up in a fucking sink
living numbly over coffee
from half ten to four in the afternoon
sometimes my eyes go like my father. distant
sometimes i hold my tongue like my mother. not enough
i am done speaking and writing for awhile.
feelings exposed makes me feel like an awful human and it is too exhausting to live that way.
07 October 2013
29 September 2013
GLASS EYE
i am still trying to focus on falling back into life here. reverse culture shock is thousands more difficult than the initial change. strange that it is so trying to find a place i belong in my own home. this isn't as hard as the first return last spring, but it certainly hasn't been easy. living with the idea that i really don't know when or if i'll return again is undeniable and makes everything hard to be worth it at all. i just keep telling myself, "only one year and a half, and you'll never have to come back," but it's not doing much so far. it's not as easy as it seems to just get up and go-quite the contrary to how i've been living my life the past year. but after college, then what? in an ideal world, i'd take a year off just to learn spanish in spain, be with my best friends, and eat tortilla and drink sangria and expand a bit. you know. but is that so realistic? i don't know. would it be worth it? certainly so.
now i'm just immersed in studying, which currently happens to be neuroscience. which i'm also currently avoiding. the thing about school is, more often than not, i can't seem to find the purpose in what i'm doing. i'm not actively learning anything worthwhile. all of this is shit. i learned more in six months of partying in a foreign country about life and myself than i probably ever will in that short of a time span again. especially at university. none of this matters to me at all and it's part of the reason i'm quite unhappy here.
but i am happy. there are just things. you know. like the distance that grows between people. how there's not a real way out of here, at least not for another year. saying bye and not knowing when i'll be able to say hello again. forgetting people's faces, voices.
the one year anniversary mark has really hit me hard. this wasn't something i anticipated but it's certainly true. i still can't believe it's been more than a year. i am so scared i'm forgetting everything. i have nothing else to say. i suppose my head will always be in stockholm eating dinner around a table with four spaniards who argue like it's poetry. shopping in drottninggatan. hearing årstaberg and nästa on the metro. partying with thirty people from so many different places. sledding down the björnkulla hills in the nighttime. naked saunas. hookah in my bedroom and the xx. walking back at five in the morning with everyone, in knee deep snow, sun just rising, possibly still drunk. i'm forgetting everything. but i guess mostly sharing all of these experiences with such beautiful people. i still can't get over it. and knowing i was living the best six months of my life thus far just one year ago is overwhelming; it's so far away and it's never, ever, ever, ever coming back no matter how much i want it.
so for now, i have a new pup. i speak spanish with him because he listens and he doesn't laugh at me. but he also doesn't know if i'm making a mistake so he isn't much of a help in that aspect. also, i suppose the most exciting thing on my camera (since the past month) is this photo of the veins in my mouth. actually cool
weekends are full of converse shoes (and conversation), bottles of wine, running through yard sprinklers, chinese delivery, table dancing, sofa sinking
so to come in this month: the national, neutral milk hotel, midterms, and halloween. i have no time, my days are scheduled by the minute, but i still find time to run (i've been running a lot and i feel really well!) and to be with jesse in the evenings. when he's gone next semester i suppose it will be yet another shock entirely. and i suppose that's almost everything. reed before the wind lives on, while mighty oaks do fall
24 September 2013
//
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i cant blame you for losing your mind for a little while (so did i)
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i won't be vacant anymore
i won't be waiting anymore
i cant blame you for losing your mind for a little while (so did i)
11 September 2013
READ
1. everything is illuminated x
2. book of longing leonard cohen
3. unabridged journals sylvia plath
4. animal farm x
5. tale of two cities x
6. through the looking glass x
7.brave new world x
8. anne of green gables x
9. secret garden x
10. leviathan; paul auster
11. the book of illusions; paul auster
12. the brooklyn follies; paul auster
13. city of glass; paul auster
14. the invention of solitude; paul auster
15.
16.
2. book of longing leonard cohen
3. unabridged journals sylvia plath
4. animal farm x
5. tale of two cities x
6. through the looking glass x
7.brave new world x
8. anne of green gables x
9. secret garden x
10. leviathan; paul auster
11. the book of illusions; paul auster
12. the brooklyn follies; paul auster
13. city of glass; paul auster
14. the invention of solitude; paul auster
15.
16.
10 September 2013
I SAW LOVE DISFIGURE ME
some say love is a burning thing
that it makes a fiery ring
but i know love as a fading thing
just as
fickl e
as a feather in a stream
honey, i saw love. you see, it came to me
it put its face u p to my face so i could see
yeah,
then i saw love disfigure me
into something i am not recognizing.
see, the cage, it called. i said, "come on in."
i
will
not
open
myself
up this
way again
but my heart is wild, and my bones are steam and i could kill you with my bare hands if i was free.
that it makes a fiery ring
but i know love as a fading thing
just as
fickl e
as a feather in a stream
honey, i saw love. you see, it came to me
it put its face u p to my face so i could see
yeah,
then i saw love disfigure me
into something i am not recognizing.
see, the cage, it called. i said, "come on in."
i
will
not
open
myself
up this
way again
but my heart is wild, and my bones are steam and i could kill you with my bare hands if i was free.
04 September 2013
THE LAND OF LIGHTNING BUGS AND NIGHTMARES
I have spent just nearly over two weeks back in Missouri now. And so, just like that, back to the monotony that comes with a trying schedule, back to the hassle of the average American citizen's social and habitual aspects, and back to the bubble that I live in here. Leaving wonderful cityscapes with life at every hour for a dismal college town in the midwestern United States is never the romantic idea of a welcome home you might imagine, or ones you've seen depicted in romcoms.... mostly it means I spend much of my time alone in a place I don't want to be stuck in.
I spend my time capturing photos of light patterns. Speaking to myself in broken Spanish. Lying around my house without clothes, because, thus far, am living alone. Studying neuroscience, articulation and phonology, language development, and audiology. Attending happy hours. The occasional drink, the occasional netflix marathon, sleepovers, you know, the normal life.
I'm back to the land of many lightning bugs, a vast number of stars above, views of fields, and a bed full of nightmares. Last night I dreamt that I was alone, flying next to a train. It was cut in half, and I could see the inside. It was decorated such as a house in the 1920's, and I saw a portrait of an older woman, a mustard yellow wall, wooden door. (I now know that I dream in color.) There was a ballroom, and a kitchen, where the oven caught on fire. I flew above the burning train. Rested upon a dirty island; there was a cave filling with sand and water, and people were getting trapped inside. I saw their heads trying to reach the surface but they failed again and again. I've never dreamt like this. So vividly or so disturbingly.
I find myself distracted by all the English surrounding me. I no longer have moments of excitement when I hear my own language spoken in public. Instead, I hear things I don't want to hear, listening in on details about people's lives I would rather go on not knowing at all. I begin to stop listening to people all together. I don't hear the words anymore, I hear the rhythm. I don't know if I do it because I'm bored or because I am absolutely used to zoning out when I've lost interest (though it's not as easy now, when no one is speaking Spanish anymore. Because this takes every ounce of effort I have to understand something, it is much easier to forget to listen....) I just hear the sounds. The patterns that form in language. I even do it when I'm talking to myself sometimes. I'm just talking to hear a voice, and the intonation.
I'm not sure if time here goes faster or slower. I don't count the days anymore. I have no timeline and I don't know how much longer I'll be here. For the first time in over one year, I have no prospects of traveling. Katelyn and I are hoping to go to Chicago in November or December; we found a bus ticket for $6. For Spring Break, I have aspirations to visit Andrea in L.A., and in May, Tina and I are planning a trip to New York City. But all of these are just ideas and hopes. But I suppose eventually they will turn into, "get. me. the. fuck. out of here's."I'm missing a lot of people and a lot of things. I've left a lot of myself behind, once again. My friends here are just as well, but life here is hard when neither my heart nor my head are in the present.
I spend my time capturing photos of light patterns. Speaking to myself in broken Spanish. Lying around my house without clothes, because, thus far, am living alone. Studying neuroscience, articulation and phonology, language development, and audiology. Attending happy hours. The occasional drink, the occasional netflix marathon, sleepovers, you know, the normal life.
I'm back to the land of many lightning bugs, a vast number of stars above, views of fields, and a bed full of nightmares. Last night I dreamt that I was alone, flying next to a train. It was cut in half, and I could see the inside. It was decorated such as a house in the 1920's, and I saw a portrait of an older woman, a mustard yellow wall, wooden door. (I now know that I dream in color.) There was a ballroom, and a kitchen, where the oven caught on fire. I flew above the burning train. Rested upon a dirty island; there was a cave filling with sand and water, and people were getting trapped inside. I saw their heads trying to reach the surface but they failed again and again. I've never dreamt like this. So vividly or so disturbingly.
I find myself distracted by all the English surrounding me. I no longer have moments of excitement when I hear my own language spoken in public. Instead, I hear things I don't want to hear, listening in on details about people's lives I would rather go on not knowing at all. I begin to stop listening to people all together. I don't hear the words anymore, I hear the rhythm. I don't know if I do it because I'm bored or because I am absolutely used to zoning out when I've lost interest (though it's not as easy now, when no one is speaking Spanish anymore. Because this takes every ounce of effort I have to understand something, it is much easier to forget to listen....) I just hear the sounds. The patterns that form in language. I even do it when I'm talking to myself sometimes. I'm just talking to hear a voice, and the intonation.
I'm not sure if time here goes faster or slower. I don't count the days anymore. I have no timeline and I don't know how much longer I'll be here. For the first time in over one year, I have no prospects of traveling. Katelyn and I are hoping to go to Chicago in November or December; we found a bus ticket for $6. For Spring Break, I have aspirations to visit Andrea in L.A., and in May, Tina and I are planning a trip to New York City. But all of these are just ideas and hopes. But I suppose eventually they will turn into, "get. me. the. fuck. out of here's."I'm missing a lot of people and a lot of things. I've left a lot of myself behind, once again. My friends here are just as well, but life here is hard when neither my heart nor my head are in the present.
01 September 2013
COMMITMENTS TO CURTAIN LIGHT
hi! if you met me and i met you and we were meeting in some mildly cute and romantic public setting (well, i imagine some quaint bar with blue lights, delicate-to fancy-to tacky decorations, and wooden furniture)
okay, so i ask you, because i'm wondering what you like. "what would you say are your interests?"
"well. i spend a lot of my time studying. i don't think it's an interest per say, but i do like learning. learning makes me feel older, yet i stay the same age, i suppose. i think about the things i've learned since one year ago, and it's at least, something i feel, that is ten years worth of knowledge and experience! i love to learn. i love to talk with people because it is another way to learn. anyone, everyone, and the most important ones are people who are different from myself."
"i like to wake up early, stretch. (must stretch and scream. it's the only way.) make my bed, light candles, make coffee, have a shower, mix peanut butter in my oatmeal. check the weather, dress accordingly. check my schedule, pack accordingly."
"i walk everywhere. i don't like to drive because it makes me anxious. i think it's because other people make me anxious when they're driving. you never know when they're gonna fuck up. i walk to campus. drink my coffee. take note of the clouds, the heat, bird noises, people noises, music noises."
"reading. i like to read. writing, but not really writing just thinking and jotting down those thinks. never following story or plot lines, they become overwhelming and are such a commitment once they're started. i like to photograph things. lately it has been the reflection of light onto surfaces....my bed and blankets, my leg, a wooden floor, a navy wall, through the curtains. and the way the surface creates an image of the light depending on what it passes through to reach it."
okay, so i ask you, because i'm wondering what you like. "what would you say are your interests?"
"well. i spend a lot of my time studying. i don't think it's an interest per say, but i do like learning. learning makes me feel older, yet i stay the same age, i suppose. i think about the things i've learned since one year ago, and it's at least, something i feel, that is ten years worth of knowledge and experience! i love to learn. i love to talk with people because it is another way to learn. anyone, everyone, and the most important ones are people who are different from myself."
"i like to wake up early, stretch. (must stretch and scream. it's the only way.) make my bed, light candles, make coffee, have a shower, mix peanut butter in my oatmeal. check the weather, dress accordingly. check my schedule, pack accordingly."
"i walk everywhere. i don't like to drive because it makes me anxious. i think it's because other people make me anxious when they're driving. you never know when they're gonna fuck up. i walk to campus. drink my coffee. take note of the clouds, the heat, bird noises, people noises, music noises."
"reading. i like to read. writing, but not really writing just thinking and jotting down those thinks. never following story or plot lines, they become overwhelming and are such a commitment once they're started. i like to photograph things. lately it has been the reflection of light onto surfaces....my bed and blankets, my leg, a wooden floor, a navy wall, through the curtains. and the way the surface creates an image of the light depending on what it passes through to reach it."
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