— I will never be a well behaved woman. I would rather pass my days lying in the middle of dirt roads, staring at the full moon with a bottle of summer red in my palms. I would rather have kids when it suits me, not when society expects or throws shoulds. […]Read More The Type
They tell us all these stories
About women who became unforgettable
Because they walked away
And their absence opened up an ocean of longing
And their fault was only that they were too beautiful to be grasped
Between two arms and kept close.
They tell us stories about the women who were unattainable
Because they vanished
Inside a plane to Paris
On a road to Mandalay
In a train to Little Britain
And who carried the hearts of the men they left behind
In their suitcases.
I’ve always thought of myself as a writer first and a photographer second. But these days, I am unable to conjure the words for the many ways I think and feel.
To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed. Just as a camera is a sublimation of the gun, to photograph someone is a subliminal murder – a soft murder, appropriate to a sad, frightened time.
– Susan Sontag
I often ask people what language they dream in because I want to know the words to which their hearts respond.
The dictionary is based on the hypothesis — obviously an unproven one — that languages are made up of equivalent synonyms.
-Jorge Luis Borges
For the luxury of changing my mind, my opinions, and beliefs about the world.
For the understanding that value and worth are not dictated by the external world.
For the appreciation of a steady hand. For your integrity; when it was needed, your draconian measures.
For the bullet through the brain. For the arrow through the heart.
For the pressure. For all that you demanded of me, and demanded me to be.
For never treating me like a child, even when I was acting like one.
For making it clear to me that one can be born into obscurity; one does not have to live out one’s days there.
For letting me go. For knowing better than I did; that it was time to let go.Read More 122014
There is nothing more erotic than to be understood. “I won’t hide it: I’m so unused to being — well, understood, perhaps, — so unused to it, that in the very first minutes of our meeting I thought: this is a joke… But then… And there are things that are hard to talk about — […]Read More Letters to Vera
has always been
I have trained
in the discipline
has always been
as the unraveling of
cracked in places –
when they expand
to make room
for people who
I am not
that rage on the surface
I am the chasm
that aches to be kissed
by the sun.
Dive deep.Read More Aphotic
“The first time I kissed him…” I smiled, consumed by the warmth of the memory. “Tell me,” A inquired, having never heard me speak of romance before, “did you kiss him or did he kiss you?” And so I told him the story: how my hands met his skin in surrender, the way the water […]Read More 111914
It was a little past midnight and we had been talking for hours. The cups sit on the table – now cold and empty. “It’s a shame that I am leaving.” he says. “It is, very much so. But you won’t be forgotten.” I reassure him. “You are the only bright thing I ever found […]Read More Second Cup
“You are,” he said, his voice wavering in hesitation, “the kind of girl people read about in books.” “I think it helps to know which type of book you are referring to.” I laughed. “The kind I like.” he replied. “The maddening kind; the one that you must write about.”Read More 070514
Here I am, out in the world. I want you to know that I think of the things we talk about quite often; your dreams, plans, and hopes.
Some days I feel so lost in this city. I feel so lost in the world which hasn’t quite embraced me yet. I’ve moved so often that I think I’ve forgotten how to grow roots.
Most days I feel like a shout in the void; just more white noise.
The things I want out of life – the dreams, hopes, plans – terrify me. They are all so much bigger than myself that I must be mad. But there is this thing, this feeling inside me that moves me to just keep on branching out.
But no matter, I am trying to love the questions and everything that remains unresolved in my heart.
…the messages that go unanswered
…the glass ceiling that wont budge
…the things all the years of theory will never prepare me for
…the intervals of waiting
…the hard decisions
…the ongoing chase
I just hope I am not foolishly searching my branches for the things I can only find in my [presently non existent] roots.
I am learning a lot from you. A lot more than you’d imagine.Read More 120213
Last year, I turned to Anis Mojgani’s Year of No Mistakes for my year’s anthem. This year, this is my own: The Year of Free Falling Let me call this The Year of Free Falling. This is the year to start again. The year of second chances. The year to try. This is the year of no […]Read More The Year of Free Falling
You are like a fresh cup of warm coffee, first thing in the morning.
I am tired; weary with the burden of long-closed eyes and slumber, and the prior day’s exhaustion.
But if my day begins with you, I know no task can challenge me.Read More Coffee
I want to fly somewhere, I want to travel. I want to learn about the world. I want to surprise myself. I want to be the best person I can be. I want to define myself instead of having others define me.Read More The Possibility That Things Are Going to Change
so call this the year of no mistakes
the year of the heavy sword
but stronger hands
the year, where we are no longer stuck in the street
but found somewhere between the asphalt and the moon
inside a sheath of arrows turning itself into wind
the year where we turn our hearts towards light
with the realization and acceptance of not only how utterly magnificent
everyone of us is,
but that this magnificence is something that we cannot help but carry with us.
I want to be on the road again, travelling inland, rolling through great clouds of red dust and sleeping beneath the stars, waking with the sun, swallowing up all the culture of this dry old country every day. I’m going on the road again, and I want you with me.Read More Tomorrow