Yesterday, I spent my evening in Louisville's art district talking to strangers and saying "hello" to my tattoo artist. After a couple hours of trying to exercise my social muscles, I headed back to my jeep where I sat and smoked. (Yes, I know. I'm trying to cut that out.) Cars passed. Hipster couples walked … Continue reading Nest
I have been medicated for chronic depression since I was 18: at least one pill every single day for years. It doesn’t sound too dramatic, but it is a constant red flag that there is a monster down there somewhere, just waiting for me to let down my guard. The original medication that I was … Continue reading The Misery Snowball
I don't have much. It's pretty apparent as I walk around my new digs. Everything is unboxed. Furniture is staged. Everything is tentatively where it should be, and I mean everything. Everything seems like it is subject to change right now. Last night, I sat on my floor and stamped wax seals to Christmas letters … Continue reading Breath of Dali
Ladybeetle sits across from me in a green sweater, curls of hair draped over her shoulders and a pained expression on her face as she stares into the foaming void of her macha tea. "You post so much more than me," says she. "I have a lot of free time," I reply through the lid … Continue reading Ladybeetle
This FICTION FRIDAY is a special one, because not only can you read it, you are also invited to listen to its narration thanks to the lovely and talented SpiritVoices! If you head over there, be sure to let her know who sent you! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oyq2Wdn_cMk I inherited Chandler's Candles from my pa, who had inherited … Continue reading FICTION FRIDAY: "Candles"
"Probably due to losing my house, I have this deep ache to do something with land. It's funny that you mention a commune. I don't like I have the gumption to actually live that idealistically, but I miss my garden. I miss quiet mornings with tea, watching my grass seeds grow and my basil wave … Continue reading American Nightmare
I think its just human nature to assume we are the protagonist in our story, if you can even call it that. In a way we must be; we are responsible for everything that happens in it after all. Stories are powerful, though, and if we lose our own personal, narrative thread, our ego can … Continue reading A Coin in Space