Alone I stand at the edge of an eternity in the water of ice melted by the everlasting love that is humanity. It’s filth and warmth combined with a power so immense it envelops the whole of the universe we live in. I am here, alone, like I always have been. My heart, evolved from the simple organ it was when it first pumped it’s first drops of my sweet hot thick red blood. It is an animal all it’s own, confined by nothing but flesh and bones, so why doesn’t it escape? Why does it choose to just sit in my hallow heated chest surrounded by hallow heated bones? So this infinite rhythm inside me is keeping me alive, why am I alive? No reason, the infinite just chose me and 7 billion other people to live on this clump of stardust that is slowly spinning out if control. A planet filled with beings all harboring the same beat that pumps the same infinite rhythm that haunts the eardrums of the heartless. Their silent chasms craving a beat, a single solitary sound to remind them they’re alive. Maybe that’s our curse, to be constantly reminded of our existance, our hearts constantly racking our bodies with memories and awareness. And it if you’re wondering, yes, it does hurt. So here I stand, at the edge of our silky existence, alone, as always.

There once was a girl who bled for two months and didn’t die,

She left the ones she loved and didn’t cry,

She couldn’t hold her tongue and couldn’t lie,

She hated life and didn’t know why,

But how on earth did sweet Emily survive,

Well you see little miss Emily dear,

Hated life therefore had nothing to fear,

For her the end was always and never near,

The deafening silence was all she could hear,

Then one day she couldn’t take any more,

She screamed as two bloody wings from her back did tore,

But before she could spread her wings and fly,

She turned her tomented pretty face to the sky,

and then bled out and died. 

I know its hard

I know its rough

life is difficult

it gets tough

but you gotta grab life by the throat and make it sing

you cant blame all your problems on a lack of dopamine

now put the razor down young one

there’s happiness yet to come

so step out of the tub

I know it feels like your smile’s glued into a frown

but sometimes you gotta punch yourself in the face

and turn it upside down

I know it gets hard

I know it gets tough

you feel like book on a shelf

gathering dust

but sometimes you have to tell life to go fuck itself

and don’t worry your little head

just close your eyes and go to bed

everything will be ok

and when you wake up the next day

hold your head up lovely dear

you never know who might be near

to lay their eyes on your face

and fall in love with you

despite your heart of steel

and eyes of torn lace

its been hard and life’s been a lie

but Im telling you now

its okay to feel and its okay to taste

the apple in someone else’s eye.


I chopped off my hair! And I love it. I never realized how stimulating the sensory experience of short hair is. The feeling of the wind past your scalp, people running their fingers through your hair (and not getting caught in it), and the lightness of my head. Plus, I get to have a bit of a death rock hawk, which is my favorite style of mohawk. 


My evening is filled with smoke, ash, graphite, and grapes. 

I’m relaxing on my balcony as I draw my latest commission necklace.  I love to smoke hookah while working on pyrography.  I love the connection of smoke from the pipe to my own burning work.  

I also love how distressed my hookah looks.  She’s sturdy and the smoke pulls cleanly, but she clearly has been battered around.  I see parts of the intended beauty of the original design, but mostly I watch as the bubbles churn inside.

It does make me feel a little lonely, though.  Hookah should be passed among companions.  I wish I had a friend here who would just sit with me and smoke as we both worked on pieces of art.  We’d get excited watching our works progress together, but most of the time we’d just listen to the music, pass the hose, and keep letting our creative juices flow. 

For me, this man is one of the biggest manifestations of Love in my life.  He’s my husband, my lover, my constant support.  I caught him watching me photograph my art and snapped this photo.  I still get breathless and giddy when he flirts with me.  I’m grateful for the love he pours into me.  I’m also grateful that he accepts the love I receive from other people without any trace of jealousy or doubt.  He celebrates me, and I him.  Plus, he’s a hottie. I’m a lucky lady.