april showers...

i told jorge that i was going to sing karaoke last night. i ran through a list of my typical favorites to sing at karaoke.
i got a great text message from him just before midnight-

"time after time..."

i definitely wish someone had been there to sing Shania Twain and Dashboard Confessional with me.
that's a confession in itself.

what if i fail as a mother
because i do not know how to sew?
what if i fail as a mother
because my hands are not warm to the touch?
what if i fail as a mother
because i do not know how to braid hair?
what if i fail as a mother
because i do not know the rules of soccer?
what if i fail as a mother
because i am terrible at arithmetic?

what if i fail as a mother
because i'd love my children too much?

what if i succeed as a mother
because i'd love my children too much?

wind in my hair
harley ride at lunch time

the sun sure makes a mark on that leather jacket

i realized that i think i write about myself, but i really don't.
i'm not honest to myself.
i need to write about jealousy, about insecurity. about why i feel the way i feel. about the past and its ugly stains, the kind that you wash again and again and they don't come out.

i need to write about being a twin, and being compared. about needing to be more than, or better than.

competitiveness lies in me not as a tool but as a weakness, where i avoid that which i feel competitive with.

“Hover between hope and fear.”

- Virgil

this is a tenacious morning, sticky with wetness like the words that slid out of their mouths last night
five point five is what they noted in their grandfather clocks and iPhone calendars
but numbers don't matter in this life,
not by a long shot
togetherness is not togetherness until you are apart, and the ocean of what it meant to be close hits you. you're soaked and you're awake now, awake after all of the tendrils of tenderness have wilted away, and you're harsh now. the colors have changed now, grey, slate grey.

the blue awaits.

"I dream. Sometimes I think that's the only right thing to do."
— Haruki Murakami

she chased the light as it zig zagged across cheeks and police cars

the nights do not intimidate her,
it is your unhappiness that makes her recoil

I have a friend who made a joke once about the difference between men and women. I think he might have seen this in a movie once.

If a woman and a man are sitting on a couch, and the woman says "I'm thirsty," the man will get up and get her a class of water.

The woman might look confused and asked, "Why did you get me a glass of water?"
The man might say, "Um... because you said you were thirsty."
The woman might respond, "But honey, I didn't want you to get me a glass of water. I just wanted you to tell me that you, too, have known what it's like to thirst."


Men want to solve problems.
And that's great.
Women sometimes just need validation, or to voice a feeling they have and receive an acknowledgment.

Coming from different planets, it doesn't work all the time. It can't.

But you're still the yin to my yang, and my vulnerability is my own. I shouldn't rely on you to erase it.

i guess in the end it's not that there is a fire, it's how well you walk through the fire

"One of the answers is Ginga - an almost indefinable, mystical quality of movement and attitude possessed only by Brazilians and evident in everything they do. The way they walk, talk, dance and approach everything in their lives."

eric's wife said, speaking in Portuguese, that i have Ginga.
maybe i should move to brazil.

"waking up the morning in my own body"
- tm


dammit, i can't help but quote talented people.

touching strangers

this is weird, but i almost cried when i looked at these photographs. just because it's so powerful to touch. touch is so powerful.

Renaldi's "Touching"

her neck is most important, you decide
and this, with the meeting of the veins,
you play on violins

my writing is all the same.

my thoughts provide armour against sleep
but what, but your arms, could be armour for the sleeping?
and what turtle shells we crawl through
could feel the same as armour while we are asleep?

a friend asked me what i saw in shanghai. do you see shanghai in harsh tones?

i don't think so. i think i see the vibrancy in life. i remember the contradictory elements of the city- the gleaming, glittering, almost embarrassingly flashy skyscrapers.

And in shocking yet quiet juxtaposition, i remember the streets of clotheslines and trashbins, bicycles and mopeds, street vendors, noise and chaos. Though I will never claim to know China, or any country for that matter, this is the China I know.








He told me that for some reason, my photographs mostly make him sad. They feel lonely.
I told him he was perceptive, because I think I have a very prominent theme
throughout my art
That's why I latched onto the Midair concept
my screenname became rose in midair
someone asked why
and I think it's because I always feel between things
I'm floating in between sadness and joy, between coming and going,
but it's an observant place, it's rarely a negative thing

This is a place where i can see the inherent loneliness in man, his detachment, maybe-despite being surrounded by constant stimuli. This is the realness of our independence and humanity, isn't it?

when chance meets effort

do we outgrow love, like other things?

the more i see as the years go by, the more i am convinced that life is there as a veil, as a diversion. i see Life breaking and chipping away at my friends' creativity, their souls.

creativity and imagination are somewhat associated with youthful hunger, with exploration, with opportunity. do those things decrease as we get older and more set on a singular path? i don't know. i think outlets and channels for curiosity may change.

i'm not sure if i am just a bit crazier than most. some behaviors and events in my personal life might dictate that i am.

but is it better to be passionate, or live an even-keel, consistent life?

i don't know that, either.

i know i've tasted comfort, the kind of comfort that cocoons you, that separates you from your feelings so that you are numb with feeling but full of freedom and comfort.

passion can become shackles if you allow it to be.

we have this inherent desire to CONTROL things. but things we are passionate about cannot necessarily be controlled.

this post is a circular reference.

"Where, why and for whom we are vulnerable are some of the most perpetual questions.
They are also some of my favorites.

It's important to learn things about yourself."

- tm

no, her name was kim

i evolve when tendrils of history come to find me. the edges of its feet find me, toe me around, but i will not stand for it. i will parada it in its face, if it had a face, where the toes actually belong.

i sound like flamenco against glass when you find me again,
and i will not move,
i'm like Frank Sinatra's song,
but actually immovable and unstoppable
simultaneously,
at the same time.