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In the spaces, there are images and recordings playing thoughts and sounds feeling spaces in my room In the hallways red sweaters fill the crowded places and I reach out alone the drawers open to a light half lit an Asian man with his love-filled heart and racist lines And just to be safe I hide beneath my sorrow I want to go to places in the dark I want to see stars and the glimmering arch cobblestone[...]
The Myth of Psyche and Eros PSYKHE (Psyche) was the goddess of the soul and the wife of Eros (Roman Cupid) god of love. The mythology of Eros and Psyche goes as follows: Psyke (Psyche) was once a mortal princess whose captivating beauty was so astounding that men who worshipped the immortal goddess Aphrodite began treating the princess Psyche as a goddess. Consumed with envy, Aphrodite (Roman Venus) commanded Eros[...]
The work of Julie Morstad on one of my all-time favorite albums, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case. The cover art is delicate and subtly macabre, which complements the sounds of the album. https://youtu.be/kYivP3gedCo What are the projections, misunderstood fantasies, scripts and externalized emotions that inhibit your ability to connect with a real dimension of wholeness?[...]
Breaking the Narrative of the Good Girl It is no misconception that females are given trauma in life. If you're a female, I would be hard pressed to believe you haven't experienced some form of traumatic experiencing from sexual exploitation, harassment, the pressure to conform and an inability to form appropriate ego states due to narratives passed down from patriarchal pedagogies. Understanding the way[...]
Wired transference gravy thick, stuck in my lungs I swallow the blood of my sisters laced between my legs a thousand beating drums the forest trees are spread across the skyline and I am alone Alone without you in my hand But time lapses and I am within the wind traveling through the airwaves holding my breath, waiting for asphyxiation years of pine and needles pluck the pine like feathers in my skin p[...]
Reflecting on Chaos Sometimes, I feel like we forget to be grateful for the chaos in our lives. My reflection of existence appears to be a collection of delicate moments that represent a chaotic narrative that define who we are, who we want to become and the pain we choose to hold onto. Reflecting on my pain has been a journey that I don't always venture into with grace - many times, my pain is an issue that I ferven[...]
Sometimes I watch myself as if I am myself the great observer cloak hangs like the tooth of a raven long black cloak hangs off my name we're all watchers high upon the mountain the sun beats down my neck I am alive inside zero a continuum of intersectionality why does the little mouse hide? why does the scarecrow hang? Running like diamonds drenched in blood inside a locus of control that is disenfranchi[...]