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I wish I knew who this image came from. Because I would both thank them, and then vomit on their foot. Who can relate?

 “When my nape exploded I entered another dimension: inchoate, sub-planetary, protozoan. Universes are opened and closed continually” – Rabbi Ronnie Cahana

My life the last few years has been filled with anguish, a filled and broken heart, and the constant questioning of life and death and what it’s all supposed to mean to me, to others. I’ve visited places in myself that were previously behind doors were locked with rows of deadbolts. The answers found through this process sometimes stand boldly and fiercely in front..but sometimes twist into more questions of their own..or just disappear like smoke. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, answers nestle themselves into me, like lost puzzle pieces settling into place and in that giving some relief from the feeling of vastness inside. Emptiness.

I found this piece this morning. Timely given recent and not so recent things in my life. I found it incredibly moving and beautiful. It’s a daughters documentation of her fathers journey through “locked-in” syndrome, a complete eyes down paralysis caused by a stroke. Her photographs, his poems written by eye blinks recorded by his wife and daughter. What I found most moving was his awareness and full immersion into his new world, his ability to process the state and through will and love of life reassemble his world and make his way back, ultimately being able to move again. If only partial.

Original post is here: CoolHunting

More of Kitras work and a link to help fund her fathers recovery is here: Kitra Cahana

I love the feel of great quality sharp scissors in my hand but scissors have always been challenging for me.  Most scissors are built for right hand people, and when you use them in the left hand, they don’t cut as well, they pinch your thumb in a strange way, but if you give me a set of left hand scissors it feels so awkward. Regardless, a good quality set of scissors can be a family heirloom. I know. I have a couple I inherited. I love them. Each pair.

Met these guys at the NSS show. Arts District Printing Co. I like this piece. Because it’s true and it’s not true at the same time. I feel like who I was this morning when I woke up is different than who I am as I head off to bed for the night. And all those moments in between now and then, and before and soon to be after, mix around in a soup of who I was, and who I will be. I do believe as our bodies are regenerating cells and shedding hairs that are filled with memories of what happened while it was part of our body, that there remains a core base of who we are that is untouchable by this constant evolution and change. We (hopefully..if we are doing what we are on this earth to do) are sharpening our consciousness,  learning more about our place in this world, and what humanity is, and what love is and heartbreak too, and climbing ladders and falling down holes,  but who we are..is who we are. When those boulders become just grains of sand from decades of enduring life, they are still a rock, a refined, weathered, experienced, rock. Right?

Had a dream last night about a situation that felt very much like this.

Todays dating update…

Messaged by a cross dressing male, whose profile picture is him in stiletos and fishnets, who thinks I’m beautiful, and “blown” guy comes back for more rejection…..

I adopted a retired greyhound. He’s the sweetest, best natured boy I’ve ever met. Sure he peed in my house the first week, and puked, and pooped in my car, and bleeds all over the walls when his tail breaks open, but he’s quite the awesome fellow. It’s pretty humbling to be honored with introducing him to his 2nd phase of life. The retired life. He’s learned to walk up and down stairs, to sit, to come back when he’s called. He’s learned what grass feels like, and how to ride in cars with his head out of the window, how to play with toys and walk with me. He’s seen cats and squirrels and small dogs and babies and kids and cars and ..a mirror. His racing name was Classy Lad and he had a pretty decent run winning 25 out of 97 races. His new name is Classy Jackaloper and he’s a champion to me.

My dad is busy writing stories. Some have been a tough read. Some a tough realization. Some, great. This one happens to be about me, and great. It’s about two days on our trek through the Himalayas.  So here it is. He’s still a bit tech challenged..so it’s a screen cap of a pdf of a scanned type written story, actual PDF follows. I hope you enjoy. The only thing he left out was us creeping along the side of a slate rock slew mountain nearing midnight with only one flashlight between us..me shining the light onto his present and future footsteps ahead of me. The guide way ahead of us..desperately searching for water and shelter. Anyway..it was something. But I survived, we survived, and we now have stories to tell.

Jesus Mother

I’ve had a lot of these lately. And unfortunately said some of them myself.

I need to find a calming lamp. “aw..fuck” indeed.