Woke up at 6:38, stayed in bed until 7:18 to gather dreams. Went to the runaround gymnasium, did pull ups, ran around on the bullshit.

Cleaned kitchen, cold coffee sitting in mugs, morning light house, dad left for Virginia.

Dad left us with “super tortillas,” several quarts of homemade salsa, and a #2 washtub of pintos. He subsidized chores and beer purchasing to the point where we were spoiled.  On thanksgiving we were the traditional 2 hours late. My (3 year old?) cousin Inara is an up and coming performance artist, and everyone in the house spent some time running around in circles, matching her squeals. On the way home dad, Noah, Sean, and I sang along to Mickey Avalon.

The last Sunday he was here, dad said we should do something fun so we drove to Taos to sit in hot springs. Spontaneously picking up Bea on the way. Googs led us into a mud pit where the car got stuck, so after pushing it out we walked a mile to the half mile hike to the water.

Last time I went to these springs I was 15 and my high school friends had spontaneously picked me up. It was the tail end of a confusing teen-love-square. Kristen and I stood naked under a degraded archway in the river, hugging and exchanging vows, promising we would be best friends forever.

The moon was nearly full at the springs last week and we had them to ourselves until a friendly group of Czech Earthship interns joined us with tea candles and beer. At the end of the night they gave us a ride in the back of their ice cream truck.

Our hair froze on the walk to the car and some very small dogs barked at us from the only house around. A surprised woman in a spaghetti-strap and bare feet came out and said we were headed in the right direction. 

Meave came to town and we took her beers to dad’s friend’s hot tub. Sitting in the somewhat tepid water we talked about our old ideas for the band “Formerly Blond,” which is now ironic as we have both gone back to our natural dishwater-blond locks.

Formerly Blond has a fashion line, our debut will be called: “Virtue”  – all the looks are made from transparent plastic, some of the models are just naked.

Meave and I have been friends since we were 6. A group of kids in elementary school used to have a game where they ran away from me and hid. When I found them they would ignore me. Meave discovered me sitting and waiting for class after this had happened one day and rescued me. We sat in a tree and she told me that she was the queen of the faeries, that she would protect me.

It is hard to get out of a tepid hot tub. I had an advantage however because it is similar to rising from my futon each morning. My breath is often visible when I wake up. The trick is to not be afraid of cold, and to move your body. I’ve been making this joke lately about why no one wants to come to my “make out palace.” Maybe it is because the slab of ice I sleep on is uncomfortable for mortals, and also that no one is attracted to the type of goon who elects such an ascetic lifestyle.



Blue and green owl on the porch, it turned around to look at me, I pointed it out and asked Sean if we were dreaming.

Giant dog on the porch too, it was my friend. Darcy came by. I knew another dog would soon join us.

Darcy in a new room under the sink, dancing around, doing pull ups.

Near a semi truck in a gas station parking lot I found a huge wad of 100 dollar bills and ones. I picked up the hundreds first then went back for the ones.

Christian asked if I wanted to go thrifting. I said I would but had to train to become a nerd.

Went to the gym. Art Blakey is the best for cardio.

3 ME’s

I am not sure which is stronger, my luck or my work ethic. Right now I am feeling like a faker, a tricky devil in a shallow pool of sunlit water, making jokes during Skype conferences at 4am.


Program directors: “What makes you want to go to Europe?”

Me:  “I actually have some European blood… also I want to go to Fabrica.”

PD: “Pictures are bullshit, maybe Fabrica isn’t what you think it is.”

Me: “Everything’s a joke and an illusion and that’s why you should hire me.”


5am had me tossing and turning on my slab of ice, thinking that I am not yet cooked, not yet a good artist. I was surprised to learn that the cross-timezone interview was successful, that I will be going to Italy for Fabrica’s 2 week trial.
To prepare I am becoming fluent in Max/MSP/Jitter, prototyping a large scale vapor screen, and producing a new track. Still also working with Meow Wolf, applying for grad school, studying for the GRE, and working full time. The 3 me’s are busy.


Adhit was going to come visit, across the world. I was so excited. I planned to show him as good of a time as he showed me in his country.

He messaged to say that his mum was in hospital, he couldn’t come. I replied that we could meet as international babes in 2021, age 31.

Adhit messaged to say his mum had died. I started crying at work (don’t check facebook at work). As I was driving home I thought about telling my mom about Anna (Adhit’s mum) and sobbed.

Anna made interesting and emotive art. She was a pisces, and when I met her I thought: “She would be a great mother in law.” Not that I would ever get married, but some moms make that a temptation. One morning, after feeling sheepish for making Adhit moan so loudly the night before,  Anna showed me her paintings.

She was timid to show her work, but the subject came up and I asked her about it. The paintings were neatly organized and she gave thoughtful, dreamy context for each one. They all embodied a subtle but forceful psychological space. There was one in particular I remember, which had a grouping of figures like ladders and people. It was in a series of planes with this interesting non-linear dimensionality.

I went to a show. Sarah asked how I was, I told her I was very sad for my friend. Later she asked how my interview had gone, I said I was going to Italy and we drank celebratory beers in the parking lot.

Christian said he loved mine and Sarah’s friendship. I love mine and Sarah’s friendship. I love Sarah.

Angelo said: “How are you? Tell me everything” and walked inside before I said anything.

But I told you everything, didn’t I? Dear blog.


Woke up and it was raining and I was in pain. Perfect day to go running. Light grey sky and clean air. Dad sleeping on couch to American Dad like every morning. Made hot lemon water and coffee, wondered if I will ever look how I want to.
Wasted all the time!


So this morning there was an upstairs with new rooms in the house – typical dream symbol and one my dad mentions experiencing often.

A few days ago, a lion came up to me on the porch. It was probably gonna try to harm me. I told it to:”fuck off.” Dejected, it went off into the yard, pulling up tall weeds with the yellow flowers, shaking dirt off from the root formations.

The flowers then turned into a zebra and I watched as the lion twisted one of its legs,  tearing it off.

At work: “I guess the lion showed me that plants are living, that they feel pain, and that I am part of their cyclical suffering.”

At home, with Sarah: “You have mentioned several dreams about zebras being killed.”

Killing zebras is black and white. In reference to the earlier instance: Oliver knew the zebras wanted to give him their lives because he was a hunter. The lion killing the zebra on the front porch was natural.

I told Sarah about hiking with Caity/Lindsey’s grandma (in the Meow Wolf Prom dream) she said: “Which grandma?” I didn’t know, I haven’t met either, one is not currently living. Sarah asked me to describe her – short dark blond hair, new white tennis shoes, small stature. Sarah showed me a picture on her phone – it was the woman I had dreamed about. Wonder if I had seen her picture and subconsciously filed it to make dreams with. 

Me, I’m

I love swiping across cracks on my age-old phone. My signature is the motion of a pocket ripped by iphone-drops.

I am someone who has a phone. The dentist is surprised at how cracked it is and I’m like: “You are filling the whole in my jaw bone, where there is no tooth, and you are surprised my phone is cracked?”

My thinking is 40% or so of people have fake front teeth. I am one of the few who is not lying about it and I am fashion-as-fuck. There’s line out the door.

Can’t read your texts though: my screen is broken.


Dazzling visuals from ocular migraines – 3 in a week. I would rather have a migraine than go to work though.

After the gorgeous fabrications made by my visual cortex had run their course yesterday I went to pick up Sean’s dad from jail. We talked about music during the half hour wait for the towing guy to get to his office so Sean’s dad could give him the car title.

Familiar sounds filled the house as dad played Pac-The-Man and Tetris. We have been collaborating on keeping the kitchen clean and making meals. Dad has been employing Sean and bringing home many tortillas. Also making fresh salsa every day.

Dad, Sean’s dad, Noah, Sean, and I ate pomegranate seeds out of shot glasses as it got dark. I applied for a residency that takes place on a commercial ship and wrote an admissions essay for graduate school.

I got home with tomatoes (for salsa), greens, beans, beets, onions. Noah and Sean came home with tortilla chips, tomatoes (for salsa), tortillas, sugar cereal, whipped cream, ramen. Dad got home with tortilla chips, tomatoes (for salsa), Tortillas, beer.

Dad and Sean did Whip-Its. “When I lived in Seattle, I used to buy a can of whipped cream, do nitrous at the bus stop – doing whip-its is the best way to take the bus.”

Dad: “Like driving, work is dangerous and boring.”
Me:  “Today I thought about how I would rather have a migraine than be at work.”
Dad gives me a high 5.
Dad: “Today I had 5 beers at work, no one to tell me not to.”

Sean didn’t go to work because he was taking the “drunk driving test.” He failed the first time, passed the second time.

Dad puts a golden-embossed sticker that says “Family”  on our dehydrator – where we ironically place many stickers. We all eat salsa.

Shovel Snow

When my resume asked me what the hell I have been doing for the past year I told it: “Social media management and web development/strategy.” When someone asks me at a show or a party I generally tell them that I shovel snow.

I am happy to once again make the revelation that I am a Murakami protagonist. Shoveling cultural snow. It keeps piling up and someone has to deal with it.

My blogging output varies, last month I wrote 600 posts. Each day I stacked them up, compiling a document, opening multiple tabs to write in product code, and then publishing them in a flurry, leaving one at the top for people to not-read. At month’s end I analyze my work’s effectiveness across spreadsheets.

Through osmosis (and research) my knowledge of luxury fashion, and the fashion world in general has expanded, but my basic outlook remains critical and reductive – occasionally I get in trouble for being “too intellectual.”

Here are excerpts of (SEO boosting) flippancy that I have buried in the web:

“A Noir Kei Ninomiya Bag furthers the brand’s textural exploration of black. Synthetic leather is formed into flowers, referencing plant life with a material that alludes to animal death.”

“Conceptually, Issey Miyake 132 5. is focused on regeneration and re-creation. This circularity is embodied literally through the complex geometric forms that each garment can fold into.”

“Jackets are always key pieces for Rick Owens, the Clean Biker Jacket in Blood completes a moody look with a funnel neck, a dropped back, and Rick Owens’ classic internal pockets for a passport, book, or sandwich.”

“A Brunello Cucinelli sheep costume is embellished with silver detail along the neckline.”

Our website redesign has just launched, and the web manager is having me go back to delete all my old posts. “Practice futility” Bea says. Never look back.