Private Journal Spring 09-Summer 09


entry i:
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I bought this journal before completely finishing the last one. The copper journal has fallen asleep and you are my journal of surprise, rebirth, gratitude, health and infinite love.

Today Clint and I went to the arboretum and handed out waters, then I went to Jame’s house and bought this journal (www.whitefoxlikes.blogspot.com), a new place to store my secrets. A secret- whenever I talk about how I paint everyday, I’m not! Ha! But enough. I’m in transition right now. No paint, just reading, writing, loving this space.

I never want to experience winter again. I was just thinking of the winter foods left on my shelf- a can of coconut milk, some sunshine dust, dried orange lentils, gogi and Indian teas, rice newtles, a bag of popcorn seeds. I never want to see these things again.

I’m outside at the picnic table. The last couple of days I’ve had to access the apartment through the kitchen window. I don’t feel like going in now because I’m all in boxes, homeless and loving it.

a poem:

“Where I’m from”
inspired by George Ella Lyons poem “Where I’m From”

I am from a rainbow flavored coffee house between the hood and gentrified Lexington.

I am from spindly trees with shiny plastic necklaces hanging from branches.

I am from a womb carried east from California to be shattered at the hands of some other man.

I am from holy water.

I am from bread thrown to hungry geese, never wasting, never wanting.

I am from black hair dye, red lacquer on canvas, and on my face.

I am from autonomous signs. God. Is. Love. and the pennies thrown at our golden heads.

I am from recycling bins, the curious saving that goes unseen.

I am from newspaper.

I am from tomato seeds spit on trophies handed over by old men.

I am from tired lovers.

I am from crashing boats and and un-sticky stickers.

the rest:

I was at Omega for the whole of this journal. I learned tarot, vortex healing, I became a Reiki master and began a personal yoga practice. I decided to seek my beloved when I found this line in a Rumi book, “The Beloved is all there is. The Lover is a dying thing.” This is also about the time I fell in love with house music.


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