low-fi images of doodley pals and blurbs trapped in bound books & loose leaves that want a home, too (and so here they rest)
chronologically organized with most recent to bloom at top of page

 doodle diary
2019

each moment of each day is spent carefully attending to the distance between death and i, and all of his little friends that he carries with him. it is dangerous not to be at least a step ahead of them. some (most) days, though, they sit right with me. and sometimes they are the ones a step ahead and i walk behind like a puppet pulled by strings they've been attaching to me ever since they got close enough to.

today they are in every position imaginable, and any movement forward would be without the usual sole purpose of escaping them due to their omnipresence, and so moving at all would carry no meaning. accepting them as my atmosphere wouldn't free me of them, only free me of a life whose direction is driven by avoiding them. sometimes i hope they will hold me in their air overnight, a long enough time that by morning i am one of them, i am with them, i become them, in peace and without pain. the kind of wish that by wishing makes it less likely to happen.

we have yet to make friends with each other. the closer i am to them (a necessary movement for friendship), the more malleable the Unbearable Weight becomes, the more it seeps into empty nooks, the harder it becomes to remove and fully clear of the soot that carries it, the more surface area it has access to. it seems that this soot is their medium, and they hope to make it mine too. this, whatever it is, is not profound or insightful. it's just here.

we have confronted each other far too many times to know that peace cannot possibly be made. for now, it is just something to live with, something to try to keep distance from, in silent hope that one day they realize i am not their home and leave for somewhere else.
 doodle diary
2019

compulsory things that absolutely must happen no matter the lack of development
 doodle diary
2019

in collaboration with 3 and a half year old Edith, who told me this is my "mom and her dog"
 doodle diary
2019

i want goodness to be the guide. i want us to know what goodness is. i want a different world to live in. i want a different system. i want a different place. i want a quiet place. i want a place of nothing. i want the excess to be burned. i want our passions to go away.

each little lens is a world, there are almost 8 billion, not counting the uncountable creatures that go unaccounted for, an endless amount of worlds, all of them happening at the same time, all the time, right now, in the same place, right here, and the one that i hold is unfortunately failing, floating in a little web of weirdness, strange and stumped at how to find that tiny pocket of nothing for a while, even for a moment, just one, one that i can hopefully explode, the kind of moment where everything vanishes and i am distilled in the fibers of forever, ohhhh wouldn't that just be quite nice, oh yes it certainly would, oh it will come to me again eventually.
 doodle diary
2019

on friendship, on intimacy, on the sweetness of sharing, the too close for comfort, the feeling of loss when stepping only an inch away, on learning to take time, on gaining more personal gravity to not become the moon, on maintaining planetary boundaries, on the maintenance of boundaries, the holding onto love, the oh god, oh dear, this could possibly fail, too, just like the with the other ones, the inevitability of loss, the never having had in the first place, the illusion of having, the illusion of holding, the illusion of being held, of merging, the bliss in the illusion, the process of disillusionment, the hoping to find ground, on staying grounded, on grounding oneself, on being oneself with another's Oneself.
 doodle diary
2019

ah! o! the things we carry with us and how they'll eventually topple us over! the weight of dirty laundry! how it fools us into comfort with its softness! oh o o ah oh ohhhhh!
 doodle diary
2019

they are created and used to one's liking, just as i was. sometimes there is no use at all for them, and yet they continue to appear in increasingly strange ways...just like we do.
 doodle diary
2019

through the muck, turn the soil
 doodle diary
2019

little play
 doodle diary
2019

i want the world to hold each other ~~~~~~~ i want to be held by the world in a way that is real ~~~~~~~ i want fires to be made with the intention of giving and sustaining warmth ~~~~~~~ i want love to be held with intention

~~~~~~~

i want to intentionally hold love in the world, i want to intentionally be held in love by the world, i want to the world to hold itself intentionally in its presence and love at all moments

~~~~~~~
 doodle diary
2019

just walking around the fire, saying hello to my friends

in collaboration with robert frank
 doodle diary
2019

we met at pinnacle hill and cried together at sunset, or maybe it was just allergies
 doodle diary
a friend named curly
2018

story sketch / late november isolation

"there was a friend named curly
who would wake up really early
to knit together string
by herself as she would sing,

'i really love sitting,
and spending my time knitting
hats and scarves and tops,
and sweaters and mittens and socks...

...but because i always sit,
and knit and knit and knit,
by myself and all alone,
it seems that i have no one
to wear the things i make,
because all i do while i'm awake,
is sit and sit and sit,
and knit and knit and knit.'

...so curly had no more room,
and sat there in a gloom.

...'but WAIT!' she said with glee,
'i have an idea for me:

i do not need a friend,
i have my very own head!
and arms and legs and feet,
all places that need more heat.'

and slowly, one by one,
curly tried to put on,
her sweater and scarves and knits,
all until they couldn't fit.

and curly sat back on her floor,
and knitted until there wasn't room again anymore."
 doodle diary cardstock, watercolor
birthday book
2018
cardstock, watercolor
2.5x2.5in

"on the day that you were born
there was a star that could have sworn
it saw a glimpse from far away
a flash of light too quick to stay.
it came and went, and with a sigh,
the star said, 'gee, wish I could have said hi.'
since then, on that day, every year,
the star's light wiggles into your ear,
or maybe your pinky, or maybe your knee,
it speaks to you in ways we can't see.
maybe this year you heard it too -
the star returning the hello to you."

you are both light and star
 doodle diary

2018

new orleans
 doodle diary

2018

the darkest black is a medium blue; shadows are just colors, too
 doodle diary

2018

all you have is this torn off piece of paper and a set of hands to make marks on it


"your hug came two days later in a dream; your body was ambiguous, still tall and i could feel the coarse denim - or was it canvas? - that covered it. there wasn't really a face or visually identifiable features but i knew it was you.
i thought about how that's the way we remember people: not through visual or objective features, but by the way their presence feels.
i thought about how dreams are made of our memories and make memories.
i thought about that dream and the memory of a feeling of a familiar presence.
i thought about how i made up a fake rule that i shouldn't be missing familiarity or thinking of anything other than what i'm doing, especially when doing something new.
i thought about that ambiguous shape of a person in our minds that we say a person is to us changes when we're far away from it.
i thought about the mesas and the mountains and how the sky we see them through from far away makes them a hazy purple, the red rock seen through blue. you can't touch them from that distance and when you're within the landscape the blue isn't there and the perception of it's size and sublime beauty is certainly strange and compelling but different.
i thought about how it's the same with people - to see them through the hazy purple of memory allows us to know their presence in a way you wouldn't know if you were always sleeping in the walls of their canyon.

i thought about the sun and how we would navigate the landscape without it.
i thought about how thankful i am for my senses. how thankful i am to feel. how thankful i am to be alive.
i thought about how that weirdly can make me want to die: what do we do with it? is feeling enough?
i thought about enough and what that even means.
i thought about thinking: here i am, thinking. i asked myself why i do it.
i thought about wanting to be a placid moment in the land. to be the quiet i felt in that nook between utah and colorado where the rock's looking like robin's eggs and how the soil was harmed just by stepping with the soles of my feet. (i can apologize now but it'd only be to make myself feel better).
i thought about that quiet and how much room i can make for it in my body - the more i let it breathe the more it grows.
i thought about the marks we make as humans - on paper, on rock, on people. impressions on body and dirt.
i thought about why we do it, what it does to what we're marking, what this paper thinks of the chemicals in this ink. if it's hurt from being shredded and pulped, dried, bound, and ripped again. if it misses home. can it still feel the roots and what they touched? the soil it came from?

i thought about the soil i come from.

6.24.2018
 doodle diary

2018

tiny travels, big earth
 doodle diary

2018

a field of grass is a tiny bug city forest
 doodle diary

2018

words from the poetic piano ramblings of a rochester musician transcribed into visual vomit
 doodle diary

2018

words from the poetic piano ramblings of a rochester musician transcribed into visual vomit
 doodle diary

2018

an unsent electronic letter to somebody, though to whom i'm not sure, maybe it was to me? or you? probably you, or maybe it wasn't you. it could have been me, or easily them, but definitely not them, though who's to say?

april 18, 2018

i'm writing to be understood, by not only someone else but also by myself.
i am doing very well recently; my experience for the past few months is that i am fully engaged with what's present. i feel enthusiasm toward the activities i'm involved in, my creative energy has been abundant and flowing without interrupting blockages, i am breathing, i am moving in my body, dancing often, singing, exploring new mediums of expression, meeting and connecting socially to people that reside in the same level of freedom. these are positive things, yes?
these are the things that are active in my life. i am experiencing them in this perpetual state of drift, of ease, like i'm sitting on a small flat disc that's sliding on frictionless ice, but lighter than that. moments of suffering are only small, brief glimpses that are usually brought by an accidental physical pain, or by sympathy for another's pain. but it always passes just as misty as it came.
i have had absolutely no desire for intimacy with another. i would say that is specific to sexual intimacy, but i have not had an intimate moment of friendship either. and maybe it's not that i don't have the desire, but that i don't have the desire to make room for it. if i did, what would be pushed? i have become self sufficient, and consequently very alone.
i feel like a very small feather. i am terrified recently at how light i am. it's incredibly pleasant, yes, i am always enjoying, myself, yes, i feel very good, healthy, yes, i do, effortlessly afloat.  but something feels very odd about this state.
my first point of confusion is: what is this? where did it come from? is this it? is this where i need to be? why is pain not necessary or possible here? where am i?
my second inquiry is: am i sane? am i okay? what's wrong?
and my sanity...i've been laboring over this recently, too. am i really okay? what does that mean, 'okay'?
i am more and more strange by the second, the world becomes more and more a playground of my mind, my creative boundaries push this, and with every expression (artistically, musically, poetically, textually, verbally, bodily, what-have-you) i am able to reflect on how i am processing the world. or, rather, my reality of the world.
i have been living by the understanding that there is "no right or wrong" since i first was told that idea when i was an adolescent. right or wrong what? well, anything, really. but especially no right or wrong way of being.
and so when i begin to feel strange, odd, off, misplaced, i cope by understanding that no matter how 'off' i become, it is because i've allowed myself to be as i am without restriction of what i 'should' be as told by external expectation. that to be 'strange' is everyone's authentic state of being; we are all very strange, and we are all specific to our context and circumstances and conditions, and this idea of the accepted normal is really what is quite strange. and so to teeter from the normal toward the strange is really in the direction of what is authentic or real. right?
but i have been having the disillusioning feeling that i can, in fact, be too strange, and what that strange is precisely sickness. an illness. an insanity.

 doodle diary

2018

rooted
 doodle diary

2018

and sprouting
 doodle diary

2018

keep breathing
 doodle diary

2018

kiss the sun when you can, diminish the border between skin and air
 doodle diary

2018

just your average everyday systematic brainwashing procedure
 doodle diary

2018

how-to: winter
 doodle diary

2017

sleep all day, nourish the subconscious
 doodle diary

2017

willing whims to wane within the wearing of a weaved work
 doodle diary

2017

little garden friends
 doodle diary

2017

there they are, all of them
 doodle diary

2016

the dirt and my bones, the last branch i grazed, the paper ink sits on: we are all hand-holding
 doodle diary

2015

where's he come from? what's he doing? hello?
 doodle diary

2015

weeee, wee, we- are swimming!
 doodle diary

2015

dear friend