Custom Made

I got myself some fresh books for my birthday.


A few days ago I turned 29,

and this past year I was able to give myself two things that were a long time coming. A cover up tattoo of a tattoo I got when I was 20 & had a pretty traumatic experience with, & a life saving surgery – top surgery – which yes it is a life saving surgery. my nipples almost got completely eaten up by my skin but eventually settled & became tiny gems.

A few month after surgery i felt it was time to heal the experience i went through 9 years ago with my tattoo, and have it be a part of this whole new process of creating space for myself to exist, as i choose to become. Customizing my experience of living  in this body, in this world. giving myself a place to be able to finally breath- in, & sometimes call home.

having a safe space to acquire the knowledge i choose, is not something i take for granted, and is not something i always had access to.



Dancing Lines

i am doing this for myself and that is all. what does that even mean?? i don’t think i want it to mean that. it sounds too selfish. I’m doing it for my truth, to get to live it out so that i can have something of myself, outside of myself, that i can relate to. they say make the art you want to see in the world. it is more than that. or is it? representation of what it means to be queer. what queer means to me. i was thinking of how to describe the film I’m working on, for an exhibition showing some of the art from my film. i thought too long about how to describe it. nothing felt right. when i showed up i saw there was a description of my work i didn’t write. was it a good description of what the film is about? was it important enough for me to change it? I’m not so sure. i cant recall all of what was written now (even tho it was just one line). it felt like, mostly, a cliche narrative of any trans person as society would assume the experience to be. my film is not about transition. or matching the body to the soul. as if the soul even needs a body. but it did address the spirit as apart of this ever-changing process, which carries through in what i am doing. the spirits continuous movement. even when things are stuck. there is always movement. and i guess, without trying to sum up experiences so that i can move past them, but to understand, that even when things are messy & hard & it feels like your falling into an abyss of dirty pencil marks. you are, even there, still moving. and guess what? in movement there is life. and if there’s still life than you have the right to breath as hard as you fucking need to & make those lines dance.

Poster for my upcoming film.



It Carries You

i first feel ok, maybe unmotivated, but ok. then i feel myself pushing against a current i tell myself is not headed my way. then it hits. i lose my balance, i look around for help but there’s no one. i realize i must feel this alone. i think of someone being here, and if they could help me carry this. i understand that no one can hold the pain headed your way other then you. sometimes you don’t even carry it, the pain, it carries you.



Not Anything

not anything you think may

something you haven’t ever processed

a line of action endlessly curving

something that never had a chance

to get through the narrowest 

path ways, so it created its own

burning through what initially 

contained, a ready made, path

forgetting to lay out its direction

causing the inhibitor to fault with the wires 

trying to figure his way out.



Abstractions Repeating

it’s 12. the noise coming from the street is constant. the noise in my head syncs with the cars driving past to destinations unknown. i heard them speaking behind the door, contemplating how they can’t continue this way much longer. been sitting here contemplating death. death of spirit, happening daily, neglected. not as important as the flesh, it seems. i close the door behind me. walk down the semi lit stairwell, hearing families arguing & tv dialog. the street is mostly empty, except a dog walker every so often peeing on a tree. street lamps color the path, relating it back to me after so many hours of daylight. i’m supposed to have a destination, right? i mean why would i be writing a story, why would you be reading this if i wasn’t taking you somewhere.

coffee spills. the stereo plays “nothing lasts forever that’s the way its gonna be, theres a pretty black wave in then middle of the sea, for me”. it’s early. it’s morning. leaves are swaying to shallow winds, buildings are yelling to each other from across the street. the song ends. i clean up the mess as the neighbor drags a piece of furniture across the room above me. the next song begins.

the words coming out are slower, more pronounced. i understand where i am. i could feel my scars stretching as i twist and turn through the early hours of morning, trying to grasp to a few more hours of sleep, as my body unlocks it’s bones from its skin. a clock is ticking, a machine powered by batteries, following it’s hardware’s mechanism to construct a system that dictates time. materializing a concept of an abstract thought, to a physical, visual, form.

as an artist, or as people who create outside of themselves, things that belong to them, maybe more apart of them, less of belonging. i look for symbolism, for metaphors, to practice my deepest feelings in a way that is more of martial and less of a tangible location. you want to see your feelings? not just feel they’re abstractions, but touch them, so yo can pull them outside of yourself & examine them.

a clock stripped away of it’s said meaning is for that matter just a collection of numbers in a box running around in circles, as we watch them & call it “a passing of time”. the battery dies. we change it, until it dies again & again, repeating it’s intendent function & by that solidifying it’s form.

abstraction materializing into form, is not the proof necessary for reality to hold it’s physical existence. it is the repetition of that action, around the abstraction, that makes it real regardless of it’s physicality placed in the world.

* (song lyric mentioned in the second paragraph is from “black wave. bad vibrations” by arcade fire)