Kween of the Museum, perched under a blanket on the Queen Anne

Today is my birthday, and I interrupt the previously scheduled "Inktober" drawing posts to share a couple of fabulously wacky and delightful portraits of me by my dear friends, the Chickens, Zac and Tara Lynne. We were all on a conference call (they called to sing me Happy Birthday), and knowing I was sitting on… Continue reading Kween of the Museum, perched under a blanket on the Queen Anne

The away team wears grey ’cause they’re Away

It’s been six months. You’re still gone. Apart has become normal even to us. Absence is absence, but we get on. We’re fine, we're Good. We speak rarely, but feel every day. Maybe that’s why the silence. Words are too articulate— they make things real. I’ve been drawing, writing, living. You too. Past is past. I’m… Continue reading The away team wears grey ’cause they’re Away

We who have each other’s backs

Here's a little thing I wrote this morning, a silly-sweet ode to my friends. To friendship, I suppose. (maybe fiendship, haha.) Comrades in arms We’re a cartoon parade a platoon volatile and jolly. A second line, a peanut gallery sporting rotten things— vim and vitriol, endless collaborations of mockery and gentle mean-spiritedness. A swirling whirl, bright splinters and barbs; elaborate scenarios that populate and… Continue reading We who have each other’s backs

This is how the data is interpreted

This feels senseless, irreparable. I know it's not. It's a direct hit, though. A different kind of heartbreak; More subtle, maybe— unexpected. More reckless, it feels. Unavoidable, now: you've crossed the Rubicon. The kaleidoscope has lost some of its color. How do I relearn living (again)? Who will help me make sense of things? Who’ll… Continue reading This is how the data is interpreted