New Beginnings…

April 12, 2013

Hello everyone.

This is just a little update to tell you that I am likely going to be re-purposing this blog in about 2-5 months. I may or may not delete my previous posts or edit them in order to make a new start. I’m still brainstorming what becoming a more regular online contributor will look like so bear with me. If you have any ideas of what you might be interested in just leave a comment and I’ll sprinkle it into the idea stew while its all still simmering.

Thank you,


Photo by: Laura Converse

Photo by: Laura Converse

Going Home

October 12, 2012


Steve McCurry’s blog sends my heart aching for home.

Originally posted on Steve McCurry's Blog:

Home is where one starts from. 
– T.S. Eliot

Rajasthan, India

The ache for home lives in all of us…
– Maya Angelou

Omo Valley, Ethiopia

My home is my retreat and resting place …
I try to keep this corner as a haven against the tempest outside,
as I do another corner in my soul.
– Michel de Montaigne

Cave Homes in Bamiyan, Afghanistan


He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.
– Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Bamiyan Province, Afghanistan 

The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown.
It may be frail — its roof may shake — the wind may blow through it — the storm may enter — the rain may enter —
but the King of England cannot enter! — all his forces dare not cross the threshold of the…

View original 269 more words

In about 16 months…

April 21, 2012

Photo credit- Top photo: Laura Converse. Bottom photo: Wolfi

Prompt: Desk.

April 16, 2012

With no edits:

January 4, 2012

(4th January 2012- Wednesday- trying to get the juices flowing to write a paper… again.)

Sometimes to write I must just write.

I feel like that sentiment has been the massage oil on my tired thought muscles for years. Its old oil though. It doesn’t smell very good and like cigarette smoke in an old sofa I can’t get rid of it. So I let it spill once more all over my brain and out through my typing fingers. My hands are tired of rehashing the same thought onto paper for my mind. Still, they comply. Perhaps I think letting it free will somehow set in motion new creativity, new conception, fresh ideas, and possibly genuine originality. But people tell me there is no such thing as true ingenuity and history whispers that we all steal and twist to try and recycle old rather than birth new.

So here I try and I try and I try again… so inadequate. Here I grab a concept and there I unfold a quote from someone smarter or more experienced. I stand to present, pretending to understand, from some podium of enlightenment. So trite. It’s built from woodchips, not even planks, of the minds of others, glued together with sap like ego and fatty bits of disillusionment.

Turn east. Turn west. Stretch north. Stretch south. The sun beats down through the clouds. The clouds are thick. I can’t see the sunlight. Its raining. I’m a poet. Or a fool. I kneel next to my bed. Help me stand and continue. The tall wispy tree billow and fall in the grey sky. Cold, wet, and tormented by the wind. I stand and pull out my books once more. Lets try this learning, understanding and creating ordeal again. The room does not reply. I drown the silence with music. I try and put on research paper… I mean, research on paper.

So… a while ago my roommate and I went on a spoken word craze. By a while ago I mean it started a while ago and it hasn’t quite stopped. And honestly I am fine with that. I benefit so much from being able to hear the poetry of others in their voices with their dynamics and rythmn. Its powerful and beautiful and continually challenges me not to give up. Now to give up what? Anything and everything that I should be still trying. Like living. Or writing. Or dancing. Or embracing. Both Femininity and Masculinity. God speaks in and outside of our limitations.

Anyways… enough of my rambling.

Here are two links to some spoken word I love:

This first one my roommate shared with me

The second one my friend Jenna shared with me and it also explains so much more than just one topic of poetry but some heart and soul too:

Hope you enjoy.



July 27, 2011

Life kind of caught up to me between the months of Sept. and Dec 2010.

So I did this:

*All photo credit goes to my dear friend Dragon.

*Any sanity retained and any growth obtained- credit to God.


January 22, 2011

Dance with your eyes closed. Now the air feels like water.

Touch is a tricky sense.Sometimes what is there is not.

With your eyes closed sometimes what is not is there.

Sight feels dispensable when visions are made with fingertips.

Now the earth feels like movement; pulse.

Close your eyes and dance.

The looks we get…

December 30, 2010

I shaved my head.


  • I am not defined by my hair.
  • I have wanted to do this once in my life time for a while.
  • I have been listening to too much Sinead O’Connor?
  • I have recently gone through some difficult things and wanted a physical symbol of the transition I am going through now and of the growth that will come from and through it. With my head shaved as a symbol of a new start and a transition I can watch my hair grow back as I learn and grow from life in general. Hopefully by the time I have long hair again I will be a wiser and stronger woman.

I may have more profound things to write about life with no hair or perhaps just some comedic jottings but for now this is all I have to share with anyone who was curious.


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