Sunday, October 30, 2011


Here's the link to the 2nd video project but first public video my best friend Shiloh and I produced, directed and created... Please watch it. And keep posted we will in the next few weeks be posting the first video...which was inspired by a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club song.

back again to the days of tremors

it breaks my heart to watch you suffer...not because of the twitches and the stuttering and the effects of this awful disease, but because of the emotional ravaging that comes. the post tremor fears and the deep held thoughts that seep out in you partial state. your strength and tenacity shine through as well as your humor. in the midst of an episode i say something stupid to make you laugh you come back with "i'd laugh if you would say something funny" which in turn leads to that much needed release. i hate and cherish these moments with you, hating the fact that you are experiencing them yet cherishing the beauty and grace in which you move through them.

disease and trauma, laughter and love these are the elements in which we construct each day. walking in valleys ripely filled with landmines and hand grenades ready to explode the call is to walk the path in trust of the ones who have gone before. i am constantly afraid of tripping the wires that lead to death where as you stride confidant in the way being made and the subtle adjustments to have as we go. my heart is filled with love for those i love in joy and suffering i ask for their restoration and life. 
once again i was standing in a room as harmonies and rhythmic sonnets swirled around my head like ether. there was fake blood on the floor, werewolves priests and mummies on's halloween weekend after all.  i felt like an alien come for observation, seeking to connect and understand that which is most intimate and absolutely foreign. the ruckus teenagers bounced and moshed and i wondered if i was like that years ago. totally into the music to the point where it's magic carried me beyond awareness of those i was around.  the speed at which guitarists strummed blew my mind and placed me in a odd surreal state...observation became my mo. my internal critic was in full assault so i stood my ground and let prayer and drum beats take me where i had to go...afloat in the mystery and beauty and symphonic waves kept me moving away from the deadly under tow.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

around the bend

in my future down a hidden hallway you sit. i don't know that face yet as i will know it then. then every curve and crease will be as known to me as my own hands. the details of your being etched forever on my mind and heart. today there are layers of others recent and past being packed away to make room. while i am the bearer of their tattooed impressions yours my dear will be the lasting one, the final cover for that glorious piece of art called love. your specter haunts and flows like mercury in the hand, moving away and coming back again. never quite visible, just sitting on the edge of my eye line. there are days when i do not believe i will ever open the door behind which you are hid, rather i will be left to the maybes and the heartbreaks and the compromising situations that never are right. so i ask for sleeping visions and bulwarks to hold and fortify my waiting. bring a glimpse of seer's insight in my unconscious seeing.

Sunday, October 23, 2011


this and that
here and there
Hope comes to me in slivers of image
craftily she rebuilds what has been broken
taking shattered dreams and creating a mosaic of epic portions.

often i do not see her swiftly moving hands 
then i am stopped in my tracks and have a vision of what is being created
the whole is beyond my ability to see but the bits of here and there 
form into artistry.

Love comes with her sweet caresses and her tender words
softly she whispers truths into the scars built from years of battling
with a light but firm touch she sheers off my dragon scales
and releases the human in me

these long held wounds are bound with fast acting potions
and songs that speak into being restoration of that which it seemed irrevocably destroyed
lazarus once again steps out of the tomb long since thought to be dead

as my work weary body longs for bed 
that landmine called my brain is suddenly cleared
no more wild and claustrophobic maze but a meditative labyrinth filled with contemplative peace

Saturday, October 22, 2011


this week we have been reading a book on forgiveness, giving and receiving for my ethics class. it's a great and beautiful book by miroslav volf. it has been one of those books coupled with a few other experience and interactions that have been shifting my perspective. as part of that shift i am actively trying to cultivate practices and habit that are rooted in developing some key character traits that i have wanted to have. yet this post is not about that per's about being offered and receiving unexpected gifts.

for example in class on thursday we had a quiz, for which because of being stuck in traffic i was left with three minutes to compose the essay. to which one, that one being me goes oh shit...well i guess i blew that one. yet that didn't happen because in part of this book we are reading. as an example of grace and gifting half of the quizzes were free passes, and since i was the last one to class that day the only quiz left was the free pass. what an incredible grace to be given a 100% when i had be stuck in traffic getting there and also had failed my previous quiz. and tonight i got an email saying that i am being given another special and unexpected and unmerited gift. unlike the quiz i feel the weight of unworthiness in this gift...this one feels totally and absolutely undeserved.

as i look over the experiences and opportunities i have been given this year i am completely amazed. it's like a wellspring of blessing and "holy shit" moments have flooded into my life. those secret desires of my hidden heart are being offered as gifts that are so normal it's weird. today was one of those days where the reality of my current life and path hit full force...driving around silverlake trying to sell some clothes and get food and show shiloh more of why i love this part of town, i kept having these "oh my...holy crap" smacks in the face. this beautiful crazy wild thing...which includes the more and more frequent driving home at the late hours of the evening wee hours of the my life and the most like the life i have wanted ever since i could remember.  this doesn't negate the badness or darkness but it is nice to see the light and the beauty and the gift of it all.

Friday, October 21, 2011

friends and lovers....

in another incarnation of your self you would have been a revival preacher.
tents and bible thumping and supernatural healing the whole pageantry of it all.
instead you are the shakespearean fool, who feels he's only yelling into the wind
you see truth through the slats of death and creativity
the pagan priest of heartache and sorrow who longs for joy and happiness,
even as you spit on it's vivid specters.
you play with words and ideas and images like i play with paint and paper.
carving them up to create something new, to express the in expressible.
these are gifts of wonder and delight, a healing balm of gilead
the giving and receiving well are core human pleasure and you are part of that magical economy.

she blows like the head winds wild and free
an anchored boat in the choppy sea.
the storms she has weathered with grace and beauty seem almost impossible for me to conceive.
even with a irish red temper she finds light and purpose and joy in the shadow.
laughter comes easily and the tenacity of pressing forward.
nothing seems impossible with her by your side.
she is the sea nymph and queen rolled into one sparking and vibrant watery lady

fragile angel with a strong spirit who delights in life
sweet and beautiful she still sees only the awkward child of her odd youth
with cigarette and music she shelters and buffers her self against the assaults of daily life
drum sets and guitars and microphones call to her rousing from a deep sleep
yet she doesn't know how talented and able she is to play in the world around her.
all the beautiful friends are giants to her jack...she lost the truth of that story a life time ago
slow she is waking to see that ingenuity and guts are the markers of success in these watery ventures.

the two mothers, one partnered one single
each seeking to mend broken knees and broken hearts
and all that comes with bringing life to another being
we speak in moments and slivers of time between work and bed
they must steal what is no given a moment to rest and be and clear the head
i stand ever in awe of them the unsung work and journey
of my two beautiful and strong friends

innocent as a dove and fierce as a snake she is a fairy creature
faith and love and beauty are markers of her touch
they are through the divine what she is defined by most
creativity pours out her pores like water, it is the air she can't help but breath
the jadedness has yet to fade her luster and light
she bounces like a monkey and loves with a whole hearted abandon

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

book lover

i am a book whore
i stumble over my self to fill this addition
bookstores, especially the used variety, are my own secret predilection
if entering into one of the purveyors peddling  words
i will be lost for days upon hours
the hit of dust and paper is so heady and over powering
why would one ever want to leave
there are friends to be had adventure to be up taken

perusing my shelves i wonder if i'll ever kick my habit again.
i am a book whore


Eyes filled with tears and sorrow, kisses and fingers offering the solace in pain. A familiar song echoing the heartache and joy of human connection. Theses are memories I hold from a hot and ancient summer eve. In that moment I would have given anything to heal the hurt and offer a space large enough for you to breath. Giving what I could, I held you hand tightly, kissed those huge tears as they rolled down you cheeks. It's funny the song never pulls at my mind like a film scene did tonight...for the hundred times I've heard it since that day I do not connect the song with those moments with you, rather the emotions I felt were captured in a celluloid still and cut at the wound I thought had been healed. Heavy was the weight of my loss and the absence of what I thought in those seconds we would become. It's a funny thing how art moves and resurfaces memories; for this one a song pierces the core for that one a film and this one a novel. Each is the vessel and conduit through which the heart has been explored and held.

Monday, October 17, 2011


bumbling i fumble for words, i like you so much that i fail to express that in verbal discourse.
it's all awkwardness and courtesies, and stupid repetitions.
why can't i convey in spoken language the depth of my being in response to the depth of yours.
this liking is all very innocent...just the i want to talk, drink wine, and listen to vinyl variety.
yet with you in front of me i loose all levels of cognitive ability.
i wish that i could say it more clearly in words and clear language...will you be my friend?

hotel bed

We, you and I, were to broken souls searching for a better half, a savior. For a few moments in time on a hotel bed we each thought we had found the solution. In my heart I knew better than that, the truth that an other's love is only a part and never the whole. I got lost in caring and in turn you got board with the reality of it all. Like a chip of a glacier, whatever it was between the two of us melted away. Foolishly I try to hold it together in my incomplete hands willing what is dead back to life. There are days when I want to roll back time like an ocean tide to start over again with the purity of renewed sand. I run circles of "if onlys" back and forth in my mind trying to find a way for it not to have landed on this out come. A romantic choose your own adventure, if you can just pick the right storyline and dialogue then we could be offered a better alternative ending. Yet I was always shit with those books forever falling to my death or getting bitten by the cobra. Ich liebe dich and knowing that often that isn't enough to keep a relationship going. Those moments were all that our relational cocktail was allotted, no more refills for it was last call. Salvation needs to come from another too much baggage too many holes to be filled.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

memory and transformation

Last night I had this profound flash back while listening to music and trying to study. Recently at my first trip to Amoeba Records (I know I have lived here way to long for this to be my first foray into this music mecca) I found two out of print records by Michael Been's band The Call. I remember mentioning to my Dad a few months ago about The Call and Michael because we were talking about BRMC. He said that the names were sounding similar but he couldn't recall off hand the band. Given my Dad's connections and history there is a possible that he and Michael crossed paths. What you also need to know for this story is that my Dad worked in multimedia production for most of life and that he paired music with the video or photographic slideshows he created. Growing up in the back of my childhood memories sit songs that he used for that I don't remember hearing outside of my Dad's studio. So back to last night, I'm sitting at my desk reading articles on my computer when a song of the Call's comes on startled me into paying attention to the music. It was "What's Happened to You". I couldn't visualize how I knew the song only that every fiber in my being knew it and knew that it was linked to my Dad. As my mind has mulled it over and over again as to why and how this is connected I realized that it might be the song he used for a Easter service at some large church in Portland, OR where I was raise, that featured video of my mom dancing. It seems like something that she would have created an incredible liturgical dance to...having the lovely cadence and rhythm that seems like Godspell or gospel chorus toned down a bit. An eighties version of Mumford and Sons' "Awake My Soul" that beautiful call to remember the transformation of life and restoration of the soul.

It's so funny I read those words and am hit in the face by my damned hopeful heart...all evening I have been wrestling again with doubt and faith, questioning my life and feeling so crushed by the weight of desire and fear. Yet even in that my words and thoughts are brought back to things that affect me, art that impacts little mustard seed of hope and heart of care that wants so badly for all those I love and care about to experience the freedom, love, joy and faith that I find so impossible to hold for longer than ephemeral spaces. That which I want to systematically run from and find in the arms of a lover and the creation of quality art. These battles I have which I believe others are capable of escaping...yet I am not? Maybe that's the memory, the point in my connection to the Call song...that while I can't see clearly I am still being changed, molded and shaped into something more. The scared and chaotic girl paralyzed and rot with insecurity is becoming a strong and bold woman who finds her space and lives wildly into that unfettered by the demonic voices of depression and failure.

Friday, October 14, 2011

a battle or a dance

like a see-saw my heart jumps back and forth over faith and desire. often they seem unable to sit together in the same space and then something comes shooting across the line like a spitfire. all ruckus and dust reminding me that what is impossible is often made possible. two elements which seem to be in conflict yet actually meet and fuse together like a unique pairing of metals in the welders fire. gifts of unexpected grace and opportunity are scattered across the dusty road of my life and yet if one doesn't appear or i have to stop for a breath the tension rises and i feel my self waiting for the sky to fall. what little faith i have in trusting that this clay vessel of a life is meant for goodness. that whatever is in charge of the whole of creation, God as God is, desires all for the glory. that which is and always was and always will be, intimately entangled in our bug-like lives. if so then desire and faith two sides to my warring heart not in battle but rather dancing together trying to figure out how to lead. a choreography day by day following the movements of my love and need.

Saturday, October 08, 2011

dark clouded days

over days and weeks in and out of seasons i ride the perpetual wave of depression. there are days that are flooded with grey clouds and confusion and others where the rays of sun make everything seem golden. it's a terrible ride that i want so badly to get off of most days. for much of my life situations were so clouded that i never realized how bad the depression i suffer from is, then i moved last year to southern california and my vision changed. the world has shifted and i was living in a place of light and possibility. being in a different environment open my eyes to the true reality of my malfunctioning brain and emotions.

i am so frustrated by my in ability to change this or get off this ride. more than anything i wish to find a balance to see more beauty in my self and my life than the darkness. i see light and beauty in all those around me yet because of the misfiring of my own damned brain, i cannot seem to see clearly in my own.