Friday, October 21, 2016

In Praise

My instagram account is the most amazing intersection of women, diverse in the most profound sense of the word: women who keep shabbos in orthodoxy, women who keep shabbos in mini-skirts; women devoted to earless abused pitbulls; women devoted to their human babies and children; women who work molten metal; women who make lace; potters, singers; storytellers; historians, physicists; fat queer brujas who make art with their bodies; women who prepare stew from deer they killed themselves, and women who would not like to take the life of even a single bee in the creation of their meals; poets who write earnestly about abuse, and poets who write about the sweet smell of rain; women who build cars and women who ride motorcycles; women who sell opals, women who sell miniature cake charms, women who sell pastel macarons, women who sell their cast-off fancy stripper pasties; a woman who posts every other day a new couture purchase she has made, from her perch in a gilded boudoir; women with cats, with tattoos, with vintage hats and victory rolls; ballerinas with tortured feet and beautiful lines; women with no hair, by fate or design, and women with a great deal of it, in splendid lavender waves and braids...and on and on in an infinity of iterations...and behind each photo ever more complexity, never to be reduced to a single word or feature no matter how hard the world might try.

Saturday, October 15, 2016


It has been years since I last posted.  Years! For a long time I wasn't writing, at all really, nothing but shopping lists.  I didn't miss it a bit.  Well, maybe a little.  The thing is, I don't really know what my Voice is anymore.  I don't remember how to write, and I don't remember who I was, and I'm not sure who I am now.  This log was so important to me, I do remember now.  I thought I was putting into words my deepest heart's feelings; now I'm not so sure.  I think I might have obfuscated a great deal.

Anyway, I'm unsure.  Exceedingly.  But maybe I'll just start again.