Miguel: Thee Healin Feelin…

I loved you in a way that was singular and irretrievable. Words fail me as I’m trying to type these words to you, I keep deleting and backspacing and going back and going back…

Flesh & Blood v. Fiction: Stepping Out of My Memory

I’ve humored and argued with my muses. Massaged them, drank with them, smacked them around, cajoled and placated them. Over the years, my inspirations and synesthesia-driven internal landscapes slid beneath life’s obligations and the weariness of wordsmithing when crippled by the pressures of reality.

VIVIsectVI: To Hell with Any Bullshit

I was EmpTe, shattered and alone. A perfect situation for a strong, charismatic presence to step in, hold all of my attention and focus, and start to mold and shape me into a completely new person.

Painite: A Bloody-Brown Darkness So Rare…

My depression episodes are so rare, they continue to sneak up on me, no matter how old I become and how rigorously guarded my mind and heart have become. They sneak up on me and the tiny mote in my mind’s eye becomes a fist-sized, bloody-brown gem of searing pain in my head. My heart. Painite. If only I could chip away at my mental oubliette’s walls and sell the shards for $60K a carat. I would be so very rich.

Skinny Puppy Love: hanDover, Werewolf Graffiti & My New Tattoo

Jennii’s vision of Nivek Ogre as a stalking, drooling, technicolor werewolf came along well before the recent 2014 Shapes for Arms tour. When we first saw Ogre and his apocalyptic doggie/wolfie/animal get-up on this tour (pictured above), we collectively shit our britches. As he stalked back and forth in his torn and bloody fur, we were seeing what she’d drawn ages ago on stage, in real twitching life. Completely blew our minds. The piece is on my left shoulder.

Words Just Seep Out Against My Will

I have journals and composition books stashed all over the place. They’re all written in, to one degree or another. I’m like a squirrel with my journals. I find a clean one, chew on it a bit with my pencil, then stuff it away somewhere for later use. And, like a squirrel, I often forget about them.

Sleep Paralysis #1

I reach forward, shrunken hands on arm-ends looking to grasp the fullness of the memory of sounds. The landscape leans back, laughter pulled and stretched, my lips wide with wanting the laughter to be coming from me.