Monday, May 30, 2011


There is a compression of time that exists within breath and torn rags and destruction and naps. A soft cinnamon smelling filter of warmth and life mingled with aging perspective.

Thursday, May 5, 2011


How easy it is to reduce oneself to nothing.
To store in 'edit mode' the scars and folds that make us human.
To pick and choose a persona like an entree on a menu.