Weeks Thirty One, Thirty Two, & Thirty Three: Long Time No Splat


go by an inward vision. Often they have to figure it out themselves.”

“So finally, a writer must be willing to sit at the bottom of the pit, commit herself to stay there, and let all the wild animals approach, even call them up, then face them, write them down, and not run away.” 

“We are often funny to cover up the fear, but this quiet place exists as we exist, here on earth.”

– Natalie Goldberg, Wild Mind

Things I’m afraid of:

Rejection, Ugliness, Poverty



It’s been a minute. I am swarming, always. I realized on Easter that we are all never going to be in each other’s lives forever. It exists better to hold people in the moment, and then let the memories of them be as they are – try and not let them be ridden with the pain that comes from wanting some one in the present flesh again. I practice this.



Crinkled raisin veins

Dried & dusty heartbreak


Who am I when no one I’m with knows my name?



A humanity

Where everyone

White, Black, Chinese, Trans, Other-Abled

Can look into the eyes of one another and see a portion of him or her or themself


A humanity where we are always in community & friendship even when we’re all walking, talking, speaking, shaking different and it is






can’t that be enough?



Beginnings of a Poem to Dallas (where I left adolescence and found whatever this age is that I am in now ) 

Well Dallas



Beer, Birds, Swollen Crickets


Faces that may as well

Faces, my own ribs

One, Two, Stack

Eyes that replay in the dreams I don’t remember

But settle in there

Ribs stack

One, two

All the same

Like damp sand body prints

The salt foam (embraces) overgrows



Big cars, clean clothes, clean streets, white skin (Highland Park), good food,


Fresh haircuts

All of the men just went to the barber


Late summer night cedar elms

They carry the swoll crickets

Cars hush by


Everything is pleasant, no?

How could anyone be sad?

In mini mansions or at least

Large, inexpensive, renovated apartments



How could anyone be sad?


Drunk on Sunday mornings in a swirl of technicolor lights and bible versus boomed through a loud speaker.

Drunk on Sunday afternoons

Screens the size of children’s beds

And beer

Oversized texan apples

Crispy, golden flesh

Craft beer


Roars of sky & floodlights


The sunset is bigger here, the sunrise too


How could anyone be sad?


Most of all the faces that play on repeat in the recesses of my cardiac flesh and stretch themselves and their clear, plush Texas flesh

(Sunshine, beer, enough quiet and apartment space so that you can sleep easy)

Around the sinews of

My skinny, skinny, starving, weeping






After Pizza and Beer

Here is what happens to my body when I drink & eat well:

Release, Relief

Here is why I may never have children:

Release, Relief



Watching kids in NoHo

“I was crazy, I went away because I was crazy, but I’m not crazy anymore”

She wears all black, a floppy hat in nighttime, her height & her exuberant dark skin are astonishing even three blocks away.


Weeks Twenty Seven, Twenty Eight & Twenty Nine: STUTTER SMIDGHE

Basically my brain has stopped working.

Or maybe I’m just blocking myself from writing the same thing.

And therefore I’m just blocking myself from writing at ALL because

There is one theme pulsing inside of me all of the time. Maybe two on a strange day.

I could stand to sleep more and drink more coconut water probably.

Literally the word stutter is ALL OVER this month’s journal entries.

Good news; a good quote, to keep me writing even when I’m like;


^ That’s not the quote. This is (below) (why can’t I find a down arrow?)

“As you go along, you make up reasons for doing what you want. There’s open space. Enter it.” – Natalie Goldberg’s Wild Mind


^^ Yum, fries


Do You See What I Mean About My Brain Not Working?

Gunk out of my claustrophobic comes in the sun caffeine stutter stark stutter stark in a roundabout way bejeezus smoked on pipes curls upward and I am

free and alone in the desert


Annoyance at Hipster Land

I just want to escape into the mountains and camp until I forget what trendy is.

Instead of asking for his number

We said goodbye and I actually said “If it’s meant to be, we’ll see each other again.”

That Lively Girl

With brown eyes that could be wet jungles full of sweet pineapple air and hardy howling wolves.


I’m ready for singleness.

I’m tired of dating.

I’m tired of liking people who don’t like me back

Turning myself inside out like a rotten old squash and vice versa

I’m tired of hanging out with guys who just want to get in my pants – and push it too – and guilt me too.

For a while, I just want to read, write, watch movies, and make money.

Collapsing along in life.

Bumble Bumble.

At this point I can’t ever imagine or remember being bored.

Or even having energy to burn.

I like it that way?

Exhaustion prevents yearning for sex or a boyfriend.


Sugar & Fat

To be hungry

so that

All the cookie batter

And hardened caramel

Could never make it



^ The word gets it better than ‘eat’


Can’t go there ‘cuz it’s all too much

Bah Blah Boh Mo Record Player Glassy Nails

Stretch the cobwebs Shake the

inhibitions and fogged head the

Grime the grime to dig further into the guts of myself, I find

Too Many Screens are Stirring My Physical Body Emotions


Jesus Christ, Human Beings Do Not Exist On Screens

I do not feel closer

I do not feel liberated from the constraints of my physical body when I am talking to a human on a screen

And that liberation is what I crave more than anything

Why my Dad is the Best

When I cry because I hate myself, my Dad’s voice gets tendered and feathery and his eyes widen (as if he was about to cry) and he gingerly pats me on the back, stuttering clichéd affirmations.


Christ, I need to read more. But I also need to fuck more. You know?


Be Friends with Your Crushes

Friends are good to have and we need to take care of each other, ESPECIALLY when any sparkling gold lick of caring flutters up in our hearts

(how rare it is to care for someone simply because they are; care about, think about, fawn over, with a shimmering shimmying heart)

Our Special ones

Better than loved ones


Not family; the people whom – and you don’t have a good explanation why – you cherish – you cherish with a fairy-like intensity that doesn’t exist in the same manner for family.


It’s been said and Needs to be Said again

I wish girls didn’t go on diets so that they could stay looking like girls.

I wish

When women looked at one another. They celebrated and congratulated one another.

I wish sickly women and anxious women and sad women and fat women and ugly women weren’t rejected but even more deeply

I wish women weren’t so terrified of being all of those things.

But physical beauty and intellectual superiority, charisma – that’s just the way the world works isn’t it?

Some are and some aren’t, none of us are all of everything

(right? are any of us all of everything?)

But we are trying to be we are

Puking & Running & Crying & Fucking & Not Sleeping or Sleeping Too Much & Reading

(Reading is good. What I mean to say is)

I’m thankful that I know love.

For family, my friends, art, nature –

And it’s this that I escape into.

It’s this that I fight for & live for and it’s this that matters because

We are all dying bodies anyway

What’s the point in being discontent with not being the best?

Weeks Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six: Lose/Find

“Find patience enough in yourself to endure, and single-heartedness enough to believe, that you might win increasing trust in what is difficult, and in your solitude amongst other people. And for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is right, at all events.” – Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

“We are here to keep watch, not to keep.” – From the New Yorker, an article entitled “When Things Go Missing” by Katherine Schulz


^ Every year, the flowers bloom and then they wilt


As life tumbles, and I lose what never dreamed I’d lose, or I lose what I always worried I’d lose, I must be patient and trusting that as life is loss, it is also finding. Also, drink in the bubbles of this very instance please, because it will be gone soon.


? (On giving oneself and feeling not seen) 

If an oyster must be open, then please don’t mistake it for a clam.



Excerpt from a play I’m working on for an upcoming one-act festival

A broken heart is

A sore throat

A shaking in the stomach

A spasm in between the ribs

It will take a very very long time to

Get the dark and lonesome goopy space

Out of your diaphragm, if ever

Hot and humiliated grief grows red and slimy on the inside of your lungs

Second Excerpt 

I need saving

When the blood in my veins

Is so thick and loud that

Another moment spent

With no arms to ease the fat of my own soul

Will surely be the moment I take my own life



For now

I am content

I see the sun coming out over the clouds and I don’t give two shits about any behavior I exhibit that may not have pleased another person (that is, so long as I harm no one – and golly, these feminine errors I ruminate over have HARMED NO ONE)

It is liberating like a jump into a cold blue ocean on a hot day

And the salt water makes your flesh sore in the most blissful of ways

I hold firm

I don’t doubt myself as a sexy, intelligent woman, as a creative, important, hard-working artist, or – most importantly- as a human being living a good life.

My life is good, and I’ll change it if I want to thank you very much it is none of your business, but that is said with kindness, I love you, shut up.

Anticipation for Spring

Bring on the storm!

The heat and the naked giggling legs!

Bring on the twilights nauseated with the pulse of sex crickets!

Bring it on!



Today my body carries shattered glass. I shiver and my hair frizzes in the sweet polluted air.


Despising Insomnia

My head accumulates all the nighttimes that were never slept

They are small black angry boxes, clattering around


I believe in God. Because it is a comfort. Because I sense something powerful vibrating behind myself, pressing things forward with a gentle puff from parted plush lips.


How to be alone

If we can’t have one another, we’ll have to retreat into our ownership of the earth.

Weeks Twenty Three and Twenty Four -No F***s

“Do not observe yourself too closely. Do not draw too rapid conclusions from what happens to you; let it simply happen to you.” – Letters to a Young Poet by Rilke


^ I’ll never shave my head, but I’ll always think about it.

Woah, hey, I’ve kept this blog for six months and also, I’ve lived in New York now for six months, woah, hey! WHAT A CRAZY LIFE.

I’m still working on giving no f***s – and I should clarify this, because also, for me, giving no f***s means giving no f***s about all the f***s that I give. MEANING:

That I love ardently, foolishly, and quickly, that I twitch when crumbs are left unswept, that (in my core) I must follow through on the things I say I’m going to follow through on, that I’ll go out of my way to spend time with friends or people who I want to be my friend, and that in general I’m very uncool about most things BUT THAT I EMBRACE MY QUIRKS AND MY SLOPPY LARGE HEART. IT IS WHO I AM AND I SEEK NOT TO CHANGE IT.

Also, in the no f***s category, I’ve been reading Rilke, and Rilke is all like “life is painful and lonely, don’t fight it, embrace it.” Also, you saw the above quote – life is happening, I just gotta let it happen and not think too much of it – like I often worry if I’m living right. Yeah, I think a small dose of this is good, but in general, I’m just living, so like just live yo. I’m p sure my gut knows exactly what it’s doing, and I do follow my gut, so I JUST gotta trust it, go in full force.

Also, to note: I may give no f***s but I still intend to live every step in love.

AND SO. Selected selections from my journal entries these past two weeks. It’s not much, but I try and NOT post all the repetitive and self-pitying morass that is the bulk of what I write ;D :

An angsty description of why I depend on writing (it rhymes!) 

I have a bulbous heart overflowing with hot, bubbling glue and I have no other place to dump all of the enormous goo.

The beginning of a short story entitled Mug of Wine

He was pale and lanky. A ghost sheet of skin stretched out over his towering bird bones. Freckles emerged like red-headed French children playing in the sun from the smooth pallor of his cheeks and in between the laugh lines bowing, kissing, and folding in prayer at the the corners of his clear blue eyes.

I had waited an epoch of a decade to see him again as he was now; before me, lost in something before him, sipping merlot from a mug the color of velvety mud.

On all the feels

I feel so wretchedly human; humiliated, alone, and out of my own control.


Snow snow snow the great butterfly kisser, it comes down like my childhood, with an all-encompassing hush.


Healthy, firm flesh with yellows, browns, and red simmering beneath the surface.

Week Twenty One and Twenty Two – Find a Reason


“Make sure there is a burning need to tell the story. It’s what will carry you through the drudge of the project” – A rough idea of a quote from Erica Fae. I saw a screening of her film, To Keep The Light, this past week and she said the above during the talkback. If you get a chance to see it, do! It is rife with quiet, hurting beauty!

All these “writin’zzz” are always rough, but especially so this week. Just pieces of somethings – maybe if I find reason I can make the somethings something.


On Ebullience 

When I walk down the street I look at people and I stifle great affectionate laughter

From my eyes, cracked-out sunbeams; so fierce with endearment, they pierce

I have a great love for everyone and I want everyone to look at me


A Train Story going off into something else

Once upon a time there was a young woman on a train. She wore a second-hand red wool trench coat from Bill Bass, striped knee socks, and a fuzzy purple hat.

She closed her eyes and laid her head back as her train car filled up and emptied out and filled up again.

There was a heavy crease between her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth sagged low.

People noticed her the way you notice a piece of discarded pizza on the staircase.

They were disturbed, perhaps a bit disgusted, but they also hardly registered it because in New York City there is food and sad tired people everywhere you look.

I have had tranquil beginnings with tumultuous splashes.

I have had happiness, anxiety, and air.

I have had great loves that were never real and real loves that were never great.

Myself, myself, myself, myself, myself.

Some people think not of themselves, but I am my own favorite subject. My own favorite mystery, and belonging.

I am my own belonging.



Spring Continued 

January half over

The spring vomits itself into the

Twitters of birds

And calm pastel metal sheets framing the houses



Life Sounds Like

Life sounds like a fridge.

Alone at night in an empty kitchen.

A piece of clear skin rubbed against.

A beer chugged. Brown tingling.

The sound of solitude begins in the thick of your ear tubes.

The sound of tiredness begins in the exposed and numb skin on your neck.

The sound of children sleeping. Feather breaths.


Stab at an Elevator Pitch

The work I want to make?

Work that exposes the injustice of the world, the darkness of life & death, the horrific things we are capable of doing and thinking but also

Work that reminds us how much we are capable of loving, how strong we can be in hoping, surviving, forgiving: finding and fighting for light, independence, freedom, community


On Alchohol

Alcohol makes everything glassy. Cinematic.

Can I be a harvester of light? Is there any place for it here?




Week Twenty: In the End, Myself


“Your anger and damage and grief are your way to the truth.”

– Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

After making a New Year’s resolution to calm the F down, I had a bomb of a week, two nervous breakdowns, and a paralyzing broken heart. I did the opposite of calm down. And with every dark streak I get hit by, I get better at coming out at the other side. Calmer, more accepting of the shit of life, more practiced at laughing and breathing through the highs and lows. Most of all, I’m more wise about how to care for myself when – in the end – there is only myself who can do this. And I’m less afraid. I’m more trusting that light awaits me if I just cling through. And I’m confident, even if only mildly so, that I am capable of facing the darkness and clinging through.


An anxiety attack happens like this.

Part A. The trigger.

An event.

A break-up.

A big expense.

A failed paper or project.

A text not responded back to.

The bomb hits.

My head hurts.


Thinking on the train.

That’s the danger.

Thinking on the train all by yourself.

All of your history boils up and everything that can be wrong Is

Pressing in in wet velvety layers

Compression in my ears

The sanctuary is a pack of black birds in the cold blue sky

Breath and

Dizzy headaches

Dizzy headaches

Dizzy headaches

Slithering, vomiting worms jumbled up in a coil

The incessant pound of construction outside.

No one can take care of each other, not really, not once you reach a certain age.

I’ve done everything wrong

My hands are numb

My gut is red

My head is loud

The next part is when you come home – malfunctioning and leaking sparks of petroleum – to call out your roommates’ names – but no one answers –

And you sit on the smelly bed and start crying.

At first it’s just the sort of weep to release itself.

And then it catches up unto itself, it races to make itself more wretched.

There’s a cacophony of silence.

The gentle hum of hammers next door.

I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, I want to die.

It all mounts and wraps around my neck in a sick web.


On Surviving

The fat wet winter sky.

I don’t have to be fulfilled to take a breath and be thankful I’m alive.

I don’t have to be riding waves of ecstasy and success to find a reason to laugh.

I can be in love with my life.

I don’t have to swim along smooth like a plump fish belly-floating in hushed stream-lets

I can be a flimsy piece of burnt salmon skin, getting shredded by the inconvenient, angry rocks – and I can still take a breath and

Be thankful I’m alive.

I think one trick for me to be calmer is to accept life in all it’s storm and imperfection.

To slow down and love where I can and go to sleep when I can’t.

I pray I may wake out of it with raw & open eyes; a heart ready to inflate;

A skinned & throbbing muscle: all-exposed, unashamed, and earnest.

Life is too short not to fall in love, even in dangerous situations.

It’s too short to give too many shits about rules.

It’s too short to NOT relish possibility and hope.

Life is too short to feel bad about needing.

Back I am to square one; myself. And myself is rich & plentiful and unafraid to seek out what I need.

Weeks Fifteen – Nineteen : Calm the F down

“Follow what feels good in the moment. Every moment. And it will lead you through a most excellent life.” – Jen Sincero


^^ Anxiety. My work for 2017 is breathing through the sticky feelings. And to not drink caffeine in the middle of the day because it always WRECKS me.

So December was so busy I just shut down my plan-y mind and surrendered to every moment as it swept before me.

Or, well, for the holidays I did this. And before I left for the holidays, we were booked back to back with shoots (!) for my short film, which we have wrapped filming and will be editing this next month!

Happy new year’s eve! My resolution is to calm the F down. Thinking about the future and planning everything and/or stressing about all the things that are not planned is my crack. Goodness, I have a roof over my head and a plentiful, educated mind that (for the most part) finds productive ways to occupy itself, why is it I keep wanting greater; wanting change, travel, money, grad school, a more exciting job?? I just got here! I need to invest my presence in what is immediately in front of me! Yoga and presbyterian church taught me that satisfaction begins within. I don’t want to lose my ambition, but I would like to focus more on cultivating satisfaction with what already is. That is: Living in Brooklyn – working part-time as a nanny and writing/dancing/risking/talking/listening/reading/making stuff/discovering my soul/exploring/learning/playing/connectingwithcommuntiy for all the other hours. Do what feels good! I’m lucky that I have the freedom to do so!


On Nostalgia for College (The Great First Loves You Find)

My life balloons up before me when I am alone like this. I feel nostalgic for the moments (particularly in college) when I was so overcome in my body with the revelation of love that I would weep, falling asleep on friend’s couches / The devastating splendor of liking someone so much that a few hours talking with one another might as well have been the moon/ Life being so dense with magic, so easily swayed between extremes / Bless these years. The embarrassing clichés. Bless the uncertainty & romance & great desire of these years.


On How God has Changed For Me

I used to think God meant behaving correctly (according to the rules) – but now I think it means loving wildly and rebelling against any conventions that separate us from ourselves or one another.


I don’t know where this came from or what it is for and I don’t remember writing it but

I took off all my clothes and stood in a white room.

My body vibrated.

My pale skin

That hadn’t seen the sun in months

Was cold and smooth.

People on the side lines

Pressed their noses against the glass walls.


I feel a deep regret when I am the cause of other people’s pain. A debilitating, havoc wreaking regret that I can’t shake; my soul losing blood from tetanus infected wounds; curling up in demented angles.

Can we assume the best of people and assume that they feel the same way? That when they cause pain to another human and feel no regret it is because [a. they’re ignorant as to how they’re causing pain b.they don’t view the victim as human because the victim is too different from themselves c.they don’t view the victim as human because they blame the victim for their own pain]?


Super Dark Angst and I Saw a Fire on the Way Home

When I was walking home

On Myrtle

Next to the Low Income Housing

– Sometimes I walk pass it and day dream of living there because I imagine that rent is           dirt cheap but that things are regulated so no mice are to be found –

A window was on fire.

An air conditioner had caught on fire.

It sent billows of smoke up into the air.

Grey smoke.

It burned for a long time.

When the firefighters came, they walked one by one.


I feel so heavy.

It’s routine for them.

Heavy and unable to focus. I’m drinking wine to make it go away but it’s not                             going away. It’s getting worse.

And they sent a ladder to the roof of the building.

And the firefighters

Who had their last names imprinted in large white letters on the tails of their jackets

Climbed up into the building that way.

I realize that the loneliness will never go away. I want to forget everything and I                       want to make everything eternal.

When the fire finally went out

And we had all been watching it for quite a while

It happened in a flash

And then the smoke was black.

A large man with a round face and a green sweatshirt had a tear streak down each cheek.

“That shit freaked me out. I was freaked out, my heart was beatin’.”

I asked him if they had a fire drill. If he had heard a fire alarm. He shook his head.

What a sick world

That the safety of the rich – therefore the lives of the rich – are put in priority over the safety and lives of the poor.

The problem

With everything nowadays

Is that everything is darker

And when I’m alone

I marinate in the slime, in the shadowy syrup with the gas fumes of reality.

Is it just winter that’s like this?

Or has it been like this since I realized that I had a writhing, sparkling, bloody, and stinky soul – and that I still had to go on living in the world with all it’s apocalypse, it’s abandon and it’s horror?

How is anyone ever hopeful?

How does anyone over the age of ten ever feel okay?

Week Thirteen and Fourteen : Good Busy

And all this life & love & strife & failure – is it the twilight of nightfall or the flush of some faint dawning day?” – W.E.B. Du Bois

(This quote may be unrelated to this blog post, but I wrote it down while reading The Souls of Black Folk and it resonates with me quite as we watch our president-elect make disconcerting cabinet appointments and hold…. post election rallies? Post election rallies??? Has every president always done this, and I (or the news) are just beginning to pay attention??? Is anyone else making the imaginative leap between these and the nuremberg rallies??? I don’t know if it is wise to fear these things and to jump to these conclusions – one must be vigilant, but one must not worry too much either. (I can be rather masochistically drawn to worrying, and that’s not helpful)).

I am getting BEHIND on this blog, but it is for good reason: principally, Thanksgiving, and secondly, all of the projects I’m working on! Finished shoot two on Wednesday for my short film Tenny, and am working on the writer’s team for a short webseries Unplugged and assistant directing/stage managing/dramaturging my friend’s play Greenland which will go up at the Dixon Place in January! Also, a podcast of one of my short plays by Bare Wire Theatre was released!

Collaborating on artistic projects does, typically, make me feel more fulfilled than anything in the world. I reflect on blog posts – from just a couple months ago – that were rife with doubt and insecurity about this moving to New York thing and this aspiring artist thing, but dude, like, I’m livin’ in the moment and the moment is good. Money might always worry me a bit (no, I am not paid for the artistic work I do, and actually, yes, usually it costs me money), and juggling side jobs can be stressful, but I think it’s a fair trade for living a life doing the thing and being with the people who bring out my best.


^^ For Thanksgiving, we had a large family reunion in Amish country! There were horses and buggies on the roads, and the nights were SO uncannily, enchantingly dark and quiet!


A brief description of Ohio

Grass expanses

Engulfed in Gold

The Ancient Setting Sun

A brief description of my Father’s side of the family

The Pollitts have good genes and good luck. We are all tall with golden skin. Well-carved smiles. No one is overweight, everyone is college educated going back all the generations (my great-grandfather, a professor, had seven masters degrees). Everyone (mostly) has good jobs in medicine, accounting, motherhood. Everyone (mostly) married their high school or college sweetheart, and (mostly) no one is divorced.

[There are stories and sticky histories; cancers, tragedies and rebellions in romance, family members with mental illnesses whom I’ve never met, but I do not see the struggle. I only see the light of the fruit that is alive and presented before me. And (mostly) love, gratitude, generosity, and humility are the overpowering sentiments when we are all together. Everyone was raised with stories of Jesus and it’s his compassion everyone is working to emulate.]


Alone in the apartment, After a Gas Leak [don’t worry, it’s safe now] [but it was pretty scary] 

The craziness inside of stuffed walls

The puffs & sags under her eyes

The sound of a caribbean game-show

With a  jungle green spin wheel

Muted and Shouting from downstairs


The smell of gas

Invisible gas from the oven

Unhappy nausea

An influx of black shadow sparkling in on the edges of my vision.


Everyday life. Habitual forgetfulness of my own hums and whispers.

And the startling.

The self-startling of when I say my voice out loud.

Week Twelve: Stick together in the Mad, Mad, Mad !


What a Mad week. What Mad times! A year ago, I was in France, it was two days after the Paris attacks, and the whole country pulsing with fear and heartbreak. Once again, here I am (here we are) at the epicenter of a historical shift.

It is tempting to drown oneself in “the world is crazy and meaningless, I resign myself to depression and a life spent in bed” – but it’s not just craziness without explanation. There are reasons behind the madness. I challenge us to look at these issues.

Why is racism/sexism/islamaphobia,etc. prevailing in this country? Why are some educational systems failing to fully address the importance of tolerance in a cultural pluralistic society, what conversations aren’t being had, whose stories aren’t being heard?

“Freedom fighters don’t always win. But they are always right.” – Molly Ivins.


Why Trump Being Elected Hurts

Because it says rape and sexual assault allegations aren’t enough of a big deal to keep a man from the most powerful office in the world. And that says. That when the world looks at the mishandling of women and the mishandling of e-mails. They see the mishandling of e-mails more worrisome, more worth noting, and more worth bringing to justice than the mishandling of our bodies.

I am optimistic about how far women have gotten – I am. I am optimistic as I wear pants and no bra or corset, as I frolic the morning away writing words and posting them on social media – as I travel unaccompanied – as I get affordable and easily accessible health care for the unique health issues that come with having a woman’s body (PLEASE DO NOT DEFUND PLANNED PARENTHOOD TO OBLIVION!)

I am thankful to be writing this – to be adding to the bonfire that is the internet’s reaction to our new president-elect – but it still hurts to know that women and men in this country do not consider an unwelcome assault on my body important enough to hold the assaulter accountable; it hurts to know that the Flesh and Spirit of my being Is. And always Has Been. considered Less Than.


Why I Have Hope (from my time with little children and their families) 

Do you know why it’s going to be all right? Because presidents get elected and economies crash and wars are started and people are oppressed and moms and dads still cry with love when they get to hold their babies. Not all moms. Not all dads. But many. And the warmth and depth those parents are feeling is a sign that life will go on – and to survive is our first step towards improvement, discovery, and the manifestation of love.



Last night I joined a group of young people (mostly students) as we walked from the great white arch at Washington Square Park to the Trump Tower. My legs just kept on moving. My voice, when it shouted, and when other people joined in, felt powerful, heard, and responded to in a way it never has before.

A few of my preferred chants (shout them to the skies! Make everybody hear!!!!!!!) :








A Party with Friends

In all of the broken hearts and confusion of these past six days, the most truth and constancy anyone can find is our presence (our solidarity) with one another.

My question is:

How would life be bearable if all my friends or family were taken away?

We are all upset about the election of Trump because what it means for our present and for our future.


A vote for Trump is a vote that is disrespectful towards women, people of color, disabled people, LGBTQ people, immigrants, and muslims.

A country that votes for Trump is a country that does not care if its leader chooses to other and demonize people different from himself for his own political gain.


What if it all does turn out as badly as we feared?

What if all my friends are taken away or arrested because of their intelligence, their rebellion, or worst of all, because of their “otherness”?

Life is okay for me now because I’m with people I love and because I can do what I love. If both of those are taken away, hell breaks loose and sunshine deteriorates.

But let’s not be afraid of a Trump dictatorship. Let’s be WARY of one – but do not live in fear and dark clouds – don’t let confusion or the heavy mass of disillusionment take away your joy in life. At a time like this, we need more love, more life, more freedom calls in the middle of the night, and more tight embraces.

Whatever you do, do NOT retreat away from one another!!!


Week Eleven: The Sun Still Rose

I am catching up on this blog the morning after this historic election.

I am heartbroken. I am frightened. I am committed to action;

“But despair is no answer. To combat authoritarianism, to call out lies, to struggle honorably and fiercely in the name of American ideals—that is what is left to do. That is all there is to do.” – David Remnick in The New Yorker


In the madness, remember to taste your food and to be with one another. That is the first reality there is.


The Unedited Plea

God grant me the tools to overcome the storm. God grant me the tools to unify, educate, empower, inspire, and to fill with compassion.

God grant me the tools to get him impeached.

God, take hold of our country.

God, heal her wounds.

God, we are fiercely divided.




Grant me the tools, the power, the insight.

Grant all of us the power, the tools, the insight.

The sky is grey, New York is frightened.

It has been foolish to dismiss Trump because something he is saying is resonating with our country’s citizens, and now the proof is bold and loud that this group of Americans listening to him is no small number.

The sun still rose.

The sky is grey, the sun still rose.

We are disillusioned and grim but we are still walking.

I don’t want us to be divided anymore.

I don’t want to not listen to the other side anymore.

I don’t want it to be us and them, I want it to be we.

Somebody drew Jesus’ head on the sidewalk outside. He is the typical caucasian male with brown goatee representation, except he has one blue eye and one brown, and his crown of thorns is blue. He has no ears. A cigarette butt is strewn on the right side of his head where an ear might have been. He is gaunt. He has bags under his eyes. His eyebrows wrinkle in the center, and he looks worried.

My mom cried this morning and told me not to get pregnant. I said, yes, of course, duh, ‘cuz now I might not be able to get an abortion. My mom said no, it wasn’t that, she said she didn’t want me to bring children into this world. She said she’s thankful she’s on the way out. She muttered something with a sob about her children.

How imperfect we all are! How it comes to hit us with bricks in the face whenever we try and forget!

What we need is a discussion between the two sides. There are people who watched the debates and cheered Trump and booed Hillary. I’ve never met these people. There is something wrong that I have never met these people.

God give me the power and wisdom and tools to protect minorities and the oppressed. What we must keep happening, no matter who is president:

  • U.S. acceptance of refugees.
  • Protection of women’s rights.
  • Protection of gay rights.
  • Further movement and discussion to heal our racial wounds.

And on, and on, and on.