Beddian

Beddian Birthday occurs when the age a person is turning, is the same number as the last two digits of their birth year.

you get one in a lifetime.

that’s about all we can say about 60.

i was thinking about birthdays, and decades and parties and cake

at 10 there was a birthday party at our house. my friend from school, and my two neighbor girlfriends were included. one has to remember how unwelcoming my home was. the party was tense. my sisters were part of the gathering and i didn’t want them there. i was 10 and wanted my double digit gal friend space. i had a pixie haircut and my mom had made us these culotte jumpers. the jumpers were cute but not when your sisters were wearing them too.

at 20 i threw a party for myself inviting co-workers. we were ending a season of work together so it was also like a going away party. i secured food that was my favorite from where i grew up as a novelty, and noone really wanted to eat it.  i remember feeling rather disappointed by it all. like people in attendance were just being polite

at 30 i was 8 months pregnant and steeped in unhappiness in my marriage. my first child was just 3 and i was realizing that he and i were no longer going to be just the two of us – there was a lot of celebration with his extended family, which felt terribly awkward. after that birth i spiraled into post-partum depression, but had NO idea what that was. only in hindsight was i able to put all those pieces together. my mother went all out and made a homemade rib dinner birthday feast. my brother was there – our bdays are a day apart and i remember having a really good time at that birthday. my mom’s kitchen counter was so full of dishes that she lit the candles of our favorite birthday cake on the kitchen floor. that was a good memory.  i can’t even remember if my husband was there.

at 40, my second husband threw me a surprise party inviting people who he thought were my friends. they were not. awkward as get. he lacked finesse in the details. it was hosted at a gals house whom i had recently had a difference of opinion with. shortly there after the friendship ended. turns out hoopla like that. surprises were about him. not about the recipient.

at 50, i was brand new to a community. i was an empty nester. i had just bought a home, a feat i never thought possible, and in the end, not a good fit for me as you know. i got caught up in the making the impossible happen. at that time i was business focused, and later was shunned from a good portion of that town for having my own ideas and hair on my legs. sigh. i bought my own cakes and champagne and hosted my own random gig. the strangest collection of people attended. and noone ate cake. whats that about? someone asked me what 50 felt like and i described it as a springboard into the unknown. something i could feel underneath my feet.  most of my 50’s sucked.

60 finds me the most isolated i’ve ever been. my emotional and physical health challenged. it’s not that i have some terminal illness – thank goodness, it’s the myriad of failings that my body continues to throw my way. it’s my mind when it gets to that overwhelm place and my day is lost, it’s a panic i have that is indescribable. it’s the depth in which my heart is broken. over and over. seemingly the memories of things thwarted just haunt me – if there is a place of letting go – i have not found it yet. lately, the phrase where were you? has shifted to where are you?? but really where the fuck were you goes back to my youth. who’s got your back. who’s got you?? who gets you?  my connections to others virtual, thanks to things pandemic. oddly, i share that with you. we now have virtual connections in common in a very real way.  but how connected are they. really. i tell my children — there are the things we don’t say to each other.  this verbal silence causes harm. this saddens me. speak your shit. people disappear and i dislike it. i’ve distanced and detached for self preservation way too long now. a boundary.  a management of emotional bandwidth with no regret. i am better for it. this is truth for me. I’ve not left others in my wake. i’ve not ghosted or abandoned. i’ve just learned to say no.

I’ll make a special dinner for my beddian birthday. one that complies with my current eating program. i’ll find joy in …well, the only food joy currently is an avocado.

i’ll have a big piece cake in a delayed gratification way ….later. maybe. can one feel indifference about birthday cake?

last night i was snuggled in a blanket reading. for a building of 200 elders i find it rather amazing how very very quiet it is. a deafening quiet at times. so so very quiet. and i love it. i had quiet  years ago when i bought my house and i didn’t know what to do with it. i love and feel grateful for the privacy, and the peace of quiet. i also live in a city, so when the city awakens …there is noise. lots of noise. I also love that. quiet to me is very different from silence.

in my lifetime I steeped into three different communities. one as a new mother, the other as a single mom, and the other as an empty nester. where i live now i am the artist. a long overdue, perfect for current times way to be. each layer I felt i left some footprint, some layer of impact, something i can be proud of. when i wondered what i would be when i grew up i never thought how i would contribute to the world but i did. in my own way i was part of things bigger than myself. today i let my art be the connector. during the pandemic i joined a few new virtual groups. with consistency i ingratiate perfect strangers to me, and to my work. i continue to see that i have a volume of work that has distinction. unique to me. i am an artist. but i really need the affirming. I need the feeling that comes with the statement, “i love your work” I value the following.

how this applies to my nude work remains to be seen. i am just not making much nude work at the moment.

i mentioned this photo a bit ago and that i liked it. so, let me this be my beddian portrait.

 

Goddess

I’ve been wondering about GODDESS.

not woo woo goddess

not mystical goddess

or religious goddess.

at least literally.

i mean figuratively.

i mean the adored goddess

the old, fat, wise one.

and HER shape.

bear with me. pondering post ahead.

A goddess is a female deity. Goddesses have been linked with virtues such as beauty, love, sexuality, motherhood and fertility. They have also been associated with ideas such as war, creation, and death. In some faiths, a sacred female figure holds a central place in religious prayer and worship. ( wikipedia )

when you and i met

12 years ago.

TWELVE YEARS AGO!

i had just lost a bit of weight.

i can’t remember if i ever divulged how much weight i lost

when i began photographing  myself here at anonymously nude

i had just lost 100 pounds.

yay me!!

i irst posted to show courage, and to understand what another sees.

the camera and my minds eye told two different stories

i found self love before self love was a hashtag

i LIKED what i was then.

in 2015, eight years later, a surge of unexplained weight gain occurred.

enough gain to scare me.

35 lbs in 30 days.

i blew up.

it felt like i blew up

the gain was like get to the dr scare me.

“you must be menopausal ” the endocrinologist said.

SIGH

fast forward to now. 2020

all that weight. all those ONE HUNDRED POUNDS

is back.

UGH. it didn’t happen over night, the 2015 surge started it all …

recent dr work confirms – I don’t have cancer, or a brain tumor

YAY.

but two years into figuring IT out

i can’t lose weight.

i’ve lost my knees, and my feet hurt

and my thighs are thick.

and my self love is

HARD.

really hard to find the love

reasons why, like health reasons are still being explored.

BACK to goddess.

I began wondering about community

because to have that level of adoration one has to earn it.

bear with me.

i was back in town – the town i grew up in

on a break from school,

this guy from my grade school life

pumped my gas.

we talked for a really really long time

and he was a such delight.

like a guy i just wanted to hug.

and seeing him again and the feeling of our great conversation lingered

my growing up was detached from the community i lived in

he alone in those moments,  made me feel like i belonged somehow.

and then he died. death by choking on his vomit death.

horrified. mortified. not even equipped to …

i didn’t have the f-ing guts to attend the funeral.

because if i did that would have meant that i was part of the community somehow.

i’ve never spoken about this.

i have been thinking about how i was raised.

my one sibling and i agree

we were not parented.

we made it up as we went along.

literally.

who influenced me???

definitely the mothers of my friends, the librarians – is that weird? i loved those ladies. I felt so welcome and loved at the library, the nuns? uh no? ( actually … i’d have to think hard about that one. what characters those nuns were. perhaps there is more influence than i give credit . different conversation) 

MY POINT is in order to establish SELF AS GODDESS

one has to have a community who adores THEE.

perhaps that’s why i am here on the interweb.

is this why i’ve kept myself here?

This gets me to the history of where you didn’t belong

the million moves

the hyper focus of survival

the mortification of things failed

the make it up as you go along.

the WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU in the matter of.

ALL of this wondering was spired by a recent set of photos that

i see goddess in

SOMEHOW.

SHE is in there.

Finally,

why does said goddess have to be manifested in a physical form.

could my art, my thoughts and actions, could my knowledge be enough value?

somehow NOT rising to said goddess status feels way more authentic.

way more me.

way more earthly.

i mean, really who do i think i am anyway??

perhaps somewhere in the history of this blog there was that level of goddess adoration.

so much so, i felt assured and confident in that attention and in that following.

things change.

its so quiet here.

I drafted this post in early july.

one might think it’s yesterdays news but it is not

the goddess theme is finding me

in odd, mysterious and wonderful ways.

so far,  it has nothing to do with a nude alter ego

imagine that.

below, and behold

fat and wise

me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part Lines

i will sometimes part my hair for pig tails when it’s been 6 days. i wash my hair on the 7th day. its a bit like pony tail hair only different. i love the crispness of the back part, and i love that at the base of my neck there is still a semblance of my real hair color. the before i silvered color. i love the varied colors all plaited into braids. so many different shades of … i once had the most delicious dark dark almost black brown hair with streaks of auburn. i love my hair long now and wish that i had let it grow long sooner. i have a collection of the worst hair styles on the planet. one in particular left me feeling embarrassed, like what was i thinking?? even still, for all the positives. i feel like a dork in pig tail/braids.

the part line also represents boundary lines to me.

emotional boundaries.

made a list yesterday of anonymously nude fans crossing the line during this last year.

it’s already been a strange year.

i wanted to be clear in my mind why they got blocked or why the line was made, or why things fall apart/fleet or disappear as they almost always do.

i also made a list of those who have been fans for a long while.

that list was much longer. and that list warmed my heart.

i am glad the lines get more and more defined for me.

i am glad for no.

or for delete.

or for the block feature.

those ends need a good healthy trim.

SIGH.


 

OFF

tomorrow is thursday.

a week ago, on thursday i thought it was wednesday

i then proceeded to think friday was thursday.

i was on the wrong day for two entire days

oblivious.

when i found out it was friday.

imagine how mortified i felt.

imagine the befuddlement

for the life of me i can’t figure out how i did it.

HOW on earth???

and noone said anything.

if you recall i’ve done this one other time before

and felt equally puzzled by it.

WTF.

i can only blame pandemic times.

my good news of the week is that i am in a virtual group show in chicago.

it opens june 5th.

it’s my first opening since early march.

that steam punk show got lost in the pandemic shuffle.

the theme for this one is “touch”

i had done this piece about masturbation

i felt it was a good fit for the art call.

while the show was juried, one piece was gauranteed an in

i only sent in the one.

the 8.5 x 11 mixed media piece includes an image i took a good 10 years ago.

i then made it into a crazy quilt style panel. using magazines, stitching and ribbon. The edges are bound like a quilt. the collage has a baroque feel I think.

with regard to this image at that time i wondered what masturbation might “look like” this was a take on it that i loved. using a timer.

i am very proud of this. its a unique one of a kind piece.

i’ve made others.

let me know if you feel curious to see them.

where does the love go.

this is a rather random commentary.  it may be how 2020 blog posts go as i really have no direction at the moment. 

I ran into a former person that i once knew on twitter.

i don’t hang at twitter exactly but i have auto feeds there and i forget.

i went there because i  wondered if i c/should develop a feed for my alter ego artist self there. i don’t want things alter ego to mesh with my me world. i am sure that i am naive to think that they don’t already mesh but…

the twitter person mentioned dumped me and a project we had steeped in for a year because of my facial hair and beard.

“the project is over. i want nothing to do with you – don’t expect anyone to take you seriously with that hair on your face.” 

ouch

this was written via an email on christmas after generously gifting me two bags of food just earlier in the day.

more ouch.

never heard from the person again. POOF.

this person was a serious fan of my writing and my photography since 2007. a HUGE, encouraging, absolutely adoring fan. we met for the first time in 2015. 

I won’t go into ALL the details of the year we worked together. I will say this… that person took me on like a pet, a poor/struggling pet who “needed”  help. that persons truth. not mine. someone who takes on a person as philanthropic good. I can bypass someone thinking less of me when there is a creative opportunity at hand. I also am willing to give a new friendship a try but i am also adult enough to know that folks who are new to my life may not become my next best friend — that’s how I felt about the circumstance. as time went on. this person had some serious issues. my largest complaint was how this person treated people that were supposed to be family. life partners. I never witnessed someone so verbally critical and cruel. like wince material. the spouse would cower. the spouse would hide. not kidding. add a drinking problem to all of that.

“we need to stop working now. i need to drink.”

I scroll this persons twitter feed.  IT WAS UGLY. Political and .fanatic zeal at a very high pitch. evangelical almost. stuff that that would make anyone run. How can such drama and rant beget any respect or credibility? all it did for me is have me shake my head. 

and then, i thought. where does the love go.

and then, i started to think of all the folks who have dumped me.

and then, more thoughts  …where does the love go. 

of course i then found myself upset

i have two marriages behind me. lost mr’s, the lying/dumping of mr cowboy and folks in recent years. perhaps thats true for most. as they say people come and go in our lives. in my family folks left as early as age 5.

do i feel love for them? those gone?

i do not. 

i recall the beginnings of all that love. all of it

i know exactly when the love for them left my heart.

the thing is with so many

i don’t know WHY the love left THEIR hearts.

I feel hurt. 

I know in my past i have tried when i can to find closure

why isn’t closure important to others?

earlier this year i read a book. 

i am pretty sure i wrote about it. 

the book i read was about depression.

not a topic i read about regularly. 

not that i am not curious but with times of anxiety at the tip of my tongue sometimes

it’s not what i feel a wondering about.

this book shifted that for me. it made my troubles seem insignificant by comparison.

this person is clinically depressed, medicated and wants to die. she made fun of this desire to die with such ease that the deep deep despair was actually very funny. she made me laugh. the book was fascinating and alarming. this person is a real handful. imagine celebrity status. imagine a book that makes a difference for many, profoundly actually. impressive, and important. depression is so real for so many.  The book launch passes by. life continues to happens and this person shares it and all the details on social media. the content is nuts. off the wall crazy. i think to myself, wow this person is a total nutcase and people love her. epic, complicated, hurtful, train wreck lunatic, and there is this entourage of people around her. always. they love her.

so then i wonder where does the love go. for me. 

and then, i feel sorry for myself. and start wondering if i could have done something differently.  that’s a pretty one sided conversation. where does the love go. where does the like go. where do people go when they leave, do they ever wonder how i am ????? does it matter that i wonder about them?

image taken eleven years ago.

 

 

 

December 2019

i’ve been reviewing my year past. i do this annually.  I have done so since… gosh, the early 90’s??  i have some deeper dives to do still. i took on some things differently this year and i think i am still too close to them.

this blog is one of them.

or how i blog here.

a few of you tried to get to know me a bit better this past year and while i am grateful, not one circumstance has manifested into something valid. like a reliable friend. a gal like myself could use a friend. someone actually available

not sure the random way of contact really works for me.

a month ago someone wrote: 

“I’ll reply as quickly as I see your responses”

haven’t heard from him.

he’s not an online person, so perhaps he has not “seen” what i wrote a month ago.

promptly, and in polite response to him.

he also wrote he has to be in the mood to reply. what the f does that mean??

he reads these posts, i think, so perhaps he’ll now write.

he wants me to trust him. he says.

he has been a fan for a very long while.

I can’t even get to know him.

the long wait in between communications is contrary to what he says.

i sortof don’t get it.

whats going on here??

i wonder if I was the gal next door would it be the same?

probably a stupid question.

another very long term devoted fan was also more communicative with me, and offered less cryptic replies. i had put him in his place more than once. he specifically asked for another chance at communicating. I gave it. I got vulnerable with him and then, much like his pattern prior he disappeared. he’s someone who could be a connection for me for something I need in the realm of my computer. I like the idea of knowing someone like that. but ….its not easy to ask for help with someone you can’t trust to even offer a consistent banter. i one is going to disappear then say so.

a former “mr” liked one of my posts on flickr. in asking how he is – he replied, “miserable” I know him well enough to perhaps fill in the blanks, but i did reach out to ask how he was doing. no reply. whatever. why reply with “miserable” in the first place, if you don’t want to discuss it.

another fan who has been kind, inquisitive and emotionally attentive has stopped writing. i don’t blame him, i’ve been a real downer this year. perhaps that’s a burden to another. early in my blogging days I was more relaxed. i am not that person anymore. don’t ask me to be.

the list goes on, i feel like i am either complaining. or hard to satisfy, or unreasonable. or i feel like this blog is my personal space and i owe none of these men. most of which are married a single thing. this leaves me confused about why i am here.

that is the question out there regarding my work here.

i will leave it as that.

i found this gem of a black and white during another image search.

yes, its the green chair.

taken at my house.

maybe i will render this one.

i can’t sit on my feet like this anymore.

 

 

 

Annual Entitlement

i celebrate another year older in a few weeks. 

it’s the one time of year where I want to be celebrated. it’s the one time a year where i want the attention. the sortof attention that it’s all about ME. it’s the one day that i want to know, like really really know, that my being born matters. i gave up a very very long time ago that my birthday is going to be some planned momentous occasion. planned by another anyway. I make my own way in the hey it’s my day lets celebrate department.

the entitled part of me has a wish list. i always do this. you know the drill.  it’s a list of items where later I can say. oh such and such gave me that for my bday. it’s about having something treasured that reminds me.  my being born matters 

folks are funny about being celebrated. some don’t want an ounce of hoopla.  i say nonsense to that. it matters that you were born.

others i know expect a month long celebration. and they get it!! ha!! how do they do that?

in today’s day i have no expectations except a small practical suggestion i sent to my kids. because that’s the other part of me. i am pretty pragmatic.

next year i turn 60 on my birth year 1960.

part of me thinks. gosh perhaps thats a year to plan something.

what would i plan?

i have NO idea.

i had an invite this year for a road trip

a gal i know moved in with her man.

i would like to meet him.

investigating it further

the drama was going to be too much.

my ability to roll with drama lately is nill.

i also had to put a car repair before a road trip

but, this repair puts the annoying front brake sound to rest.

and perhaps i will go a year without car repair drama

i like that idea. i like that idea a lot

the year i met mr cowboy, our first date was around my birthday.

he did all the right things, truth be

maybe i am just a pushover.

the day one is born matters. 

just like quite a few of you here

over the years

have gone out of your way

for my birthday.

thank you for that.

today is the day of the week i do art all day, i wrote a summation of what i plan to make in the upcoming year. it took me a better part of the day to make sense of it all –  this is a new strategy for me. i am not quite at the place to see this past year in my rear view mirror. it was a good year that way. a different year but a good one but, i hit a stuck place recently because of some pretty serious overwhelm. i stopped all. i went internal and I did some thinking. and today. all that thinking came together and made sense. i am feeling rather inspired. inspired by me. who knew

 

 

 

The Fine Lines Of Fandom

i just took the best vacation.

i had no idea how much i needed it.

seriously.

i got to a place of nothing

a zone of relax

a chill to the ninth degree.

i stretched it out as long as I possibly could.

i got to the i deserve this place too.

which felt grand.

BUT

today is my first day back to reality.

my writing this afternoon.

is a space/place away from the to-do list

which is rather long.

but long in a good way.

like due course long.

i am beginning to realize how i craft my life.

and how great it can be,

when i craft things with what’s best for me in mind.

not trying to be preachy

i just feel some clarity.

perhaps that’s what vacations provide.

my son, an avid cyclist said recently, just because someone rides a bike doesn’t mean we are friends.  it does mean that we have something in common. and that’s a great place to start. I liked that perspective

i say to new people in my life/life. my real life.  I am happy to try someone on. i love meeting new people. However I am going to be quick to acknowledge that if it isn’t a good fit. I will probably move on. i have way too little emotional energy to be with something that isn’t working for me. i also tell them it’s me defining the fine lines. that it’s often not them. i am complicated. and still rather fragile. i know of some people who want to be closer to me. I can’t do that any longer with just anyone

as fleeting, ghosting, judging and stupid as people can be. or have been. i gotta say figure out the fine lines

there ARE the good ones. true to self folks shine. i want and need shiny. i want light. i want effortless. and when i am around effortless. it’s a breath of fresh air

i say all of this because over the last few months now over a handful of you  have shared an opinion. this opinion sharing feels like the crossing of a very fine line.

I went with the first commentary. i let it roll off my emotional shoulder

i did not feel judged.

i heard the thought.

i let it go

but then another shared their thoughts, and another, and another

and now …i feel a tad bombarded by unwanted opinions.

the opinion is about the hair on my face.

you are all entitled to your thoughts about the topic

i also get that i am in an open public place about it

a virtual space

but realize this.  if i am a person now with hair on her face.

this is who i am. it’s sortof not negotiable.

it’s like if a man goes bald.

he’s now bald.

i bet that it is highly unlikely that there is a single woman in your immediate circle of influence who has a face like mine. how much do you want to bet?

and if there is, i applaud that woman. and I applaud you. especially  if you intermingle socially with that person, and/ or if you share her with your other spheres of …people.

ya see, it’s one thing to know me, to say way to go lady, to think that it takes such courage to be me. but more often than not, i am not going to be included at family dinner.

this is happening folks. this is my reality.

this is the way it is for me.

so….get with the program

for some

this face of mine

is embarrassing.

when a man that you know goes bald do you tell that dude

i don’t like your shiny head?

do you say yeah your baldness isn’t doing it for me.

because some are saying that.

about my face.

it’s fucking rude when you get right down to it.

i get opinions

i get opinionated

i get having a point  of view

i get free speech

i also get grace.

have some grace for fuck sake

have some empathy

try my circumstance on sometime and see how it FEELS.

are you on my shit list because you shared this opinion of yours?

NO.

it does make me wonder what you were thinking.

outside of your distaste for the appearance of my face and all.

it certainly does not attract me to you

it does not have me trust the nature of our communications as nurturing, compassionate, kind and supportive.

perhaps some thoughts are better left unsaid.

the reality of all of this is many of us have known each other a very long time

a decade long time

you and i hanging out in real life??

highly unlikely.

so i am i am never going to embarrass you.

put your vote so to speak where it matters.

onto other things….

in my fantasies – i meet a nice guy who loves to cycle casually on sunday. he realizes that i cANt navigate a bike on my own. so he invests in one of these. as corny as a bicycle built for two is,  i adore the old fashioned sentiment. i like the idea of doing together in a way that works …considering all involved.

this gem of a bike was at a place i was featured at… as an artist. i sold some art and gabbed with people who felt curious about me and my work. very low ebb of an afternoon but lovely.

the memory of an old schwinn takes me to many places. i’ve had 3. only one had the glitter hand grips. she was a buttery brown.

i feel too vulnerable to ride a bike now.

i am not a pig tail gal. more of a braids person. on this day though i was lazy. i love the part in back because there is only a very small moment of the dark hair left that use to be my signature. the rest is silvered or turned of all things rather white. i love the contrast

i call these two shots pig tails and jasmine rice. it was a daily, making rice, kitchen cabinet door left  open ( i do that. a lot ) moment. plus it’s not a bad shot of that tatt of mine.

perhaps i should feel apologetic about the beginning of this post.

like maybe my thoughts are not what you want to hear

but I don’t feel sorry.

i feel truthful

perhaps that’s where some of you were coming from too.

 

 

 

 

Triggers

if you say the word trigger

it’s an alert.

it says you have survived something

and usually those somethings are not good.

its a word that is used way too often now.

unfortunately

i loathe mainstream terms

sure i survived.

a LOT

but when there is  hashtag and a campaign around it

when survivors are now a tribe

no.

The words do however set the tone.

and the word trigger

i find very useful

i didn’t mean to run into these images but here they fucking are.

the triggers in this trio are there.

allow me to share.

first image. i remember this day. i had put this dress on backwards and didn’t notice. so like me.  this shot – headless me? was a bit like where had I gone. the “i” part. I love the missing head, the front of the dress on the back of me and the feet in the other direction — this is a great odd shot. I was losing my home here. my lovely little circa 1926 bungalow. my lovely 27 windows of 4 way light. my first space of my very very own. the owning of which happened without a plan in 4 days. my income once here began to spiral. the beginnings of repressed memories and trauma began here. and, so did my alter ego that all of you know so so well. ( or think you know anyway ) I have been writing for cathartic reasons lately and am glad of it. thank you for reading. and for noticing. i am ok. just alone as usual.  but thank you for wondering. so the trigger in this image was the toaster oven. go figure. when i moved in with mr cowboy. he pitched my toaster oven. big big demonstrative ceremony to the dumpster. this has got to go. in the scheme of things NOW I actually have no need for one. but then — a toaster oven was a fixture of home. and he dismantled home emotionally for me. at so so many levels. he messed with it. he messed with me.

second image.  in my creative mind and heart. images like these are an expression and story i want to tell. coupling. my belief in two. visually the moment captured here = lust and desire. it shares an i feel pretty and it pauses a something between two that is a feeling. not a selfie, not contrived, not predicted. it’s real. i can feel the tenderness of these two lips touching. it was like that between us. chemistry at it’s best. lips kissing to wet between them lovely. yum.  the day after this was taken. this man dumped me via text. who the fuck does that. i was stunned.  i gave it or his so called dump some time, because it was JUST weird. He crawled back with an automatic sorry and a handful of pesticide ridden yellow roses. I allowed that. this is where i should say to myself wtf  — because i asked for more of him.  we all have part in our messes. the trigger in this one — stops me in my emotional tracks. the very very memory of such tenderness makes my stomach turn inside out. how is this even missing from my LIFE. we all deserve kisses. lots and lots of them.

The last image was taken for someone who at the time was paying attention to me virtually. he. like most. fleeted. but at the time this was taken for him. the banter was very lovely. I enjoyed taking this image and would do so for  special certain reasons and circumstances. This image reminds me triggers all of my humble beginnings – 10 years ago — my alter ego, my courage to be nude and my looking at myself. inside and out. I keep trying to say… that person is no longer here. I keep speculating about trauma, and age because the other side of it all is there and real. when i look at this image i don’t see the same flesh. and age has altered the demographic

At some level I have stopped looking. or have lost the desire or the feeling of i am…worth looking at i guess. and this isn’t to self deprecate. this is to say who really cares. because who does ?? because really.  if am deserving and worthy. then that should be standing by my side.

My cat was sick last week. for about 4 days she wouldn’t leave me. her curled form upon my chest had me feel a tenderness again that had me weep. she’s a fucking cat. and some of you are not cat people so, i get that but  …the emotional value of a pet is sortof there. and she, and I are together more than anything else. the thing is. i, as you know, tell stories with my photography. i offer a narrative. and doing so in social media has had a volume of folks fall in love with her. It’s pretty neat. In the spirit of that — two strangers and one friend have gifted funds for a now empty vet envelope. not small change either. generous gifting.  That said, I am fully prepared for a next circumstance for her in a way I would have not been able to manage on my own. THIS is pretty great.

I should write more about the gifting economy sometime. and money, and triggers.

another time.