I am the stranger, the perennial outsider, viewed with bemusement even by my own family; the black sheep, the ‘other” daughter.
I have lived a life full of trials and adventures. And as I take pause to gaze back upon my journey, I realize it is time to speak up for myself and for others like me.
Form breaks up in the Bacchanal dance of life.
When I ceased to know right from wrong
I have lived a life full of trials and adventures. And as I take pause to gaze back upon my journey, I realize it is time to speak up for myself and for others like me.
Form breaks up in the Bacchanal dance of life.
When I ceased to know right from wrong
I ceased to worry.
Then people worried on my behalf, thinking I was mad.
But I rejoiced.
Drunk as a sailor on life’s liquor, what did it matter?
I lived.
And the blaming eyes that followed me, embarrassed on my behalf,
Were not mine.
They mourned for me while I rejoiced for myself.
Now tell me, which of us was smartest?
My journey has demanded that I play many roles; daughter, sister, wife, mother, virgin, whore. I have toiled in fields and factories, lived in the woods and in cities and homeless shelters. I’ve been a nurse’s aide, teacher’s aide, gravedigger, file clerk, and barista.
The story I have to tell encompasses heavens and hells, within and without, squalor and splendor. I have lived my life surfing the thin line between madness and inspiration, shooting the curls with trepidation and panache.
Included in my story are musings and ramblings about religion, sex, politics, agriculture, social practice. There are poems and pictures , real life experience and imaginative exercises. The totality is chaotic, yet coherent, giving an outline of one woman’s reality.
Perhaps this humble story will be of interest to souls puzzled and curious about this mad mystery we call life.
Nude modeling used to be my main income source. I like doing it. It's easy, contemplative and I get to be naked at work.
I like to pretend I am a tree or a rock and see how my imagining affects the resultant pictures. It often does, believe it or not.
Anyway I got a gig at the University of California at Stanislaus. I was staying with my oldest son while he was in school there.
There was a Monday-Wednesday-Friday class and a Tuesday-Thursday class.
The m/w/f class comprised non-traditional students; older people, immigrants, handicapped people. The instructor was a charming Italian gentleman.
The T/T class, on the other hand, were all freshman, all thin, white and apparently middle class. The instructor there was a tight little Englishman with a stick up his butt.
On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I felt warm, relaxed, and beautiful. In the drawings and paintings of this class I was beautiful and you could see my tree-and rock thoughts come through. The instructor would point to a portion of my anatomy and say "Look at that beautiful curve", etc.
Tuesdays and Thursdays I was grotesque, pathetic and laughable. The students could scarcely look at me anf the instructor could barely bring himself to say the word "B- b-b-b-b-b-breast."
I am fat and old and battered. I veer between hideous and exquisite. I love being with people who are broken enough to see and appreciate that.
Then people worried on my behalf, thinking I was mad.
But I rejoiced.
Drunk as a sailor on life’s liquor, what did it matter?
I lived.
And the blaming eyes that followed me, embarrassed on my behalf,
Were not mine.
They mourned for me while I rejoiced for myself.
Now tell me, which of us was smartest?
My journey has demanded that I play many roles; daughter, sister, wife, mother, virgin, whore. I have toiled in fields and factories, lived in the woods and in cities and homeless shelters. I’ve been a nurse’s aide, teacher’s aide, gravedigger, file clerk, and barista.
The story I have to tell encompasses heavens and hells, within and without, squalor and splendor. I have lived my life surfing the thin line between madness and inspiration, shooting the curls with trepidation and panache.
Included in my story are musings and ramblings about religion, sex, politics, agriculture, social practice. There are poems and pictures , real life experience and imaginative exercises. The totality is chaotic, yet coherent, giving an outline of one woman’s reality.
Perhaps this humble story will be of interest to souls puzzled and curious about this mad mystery we call life.
Nude modeling used to be my main income source. I like doing it. It's easy, contemplative and I get to be naked at work.
I like to pretend I am a tree or a rock and see how my imagining affects the resultant pictures. It often does, believe it or not.
Anyway I got a gig at the University of California at Stanislaus. I was staying with my oldest son while he was in school there.
There was a Monday-Wednesday-Friday class and a Tuesday-Thursday class.
The m/w/f class comprised non-traditional students; older people, immigrants, handicapped people. The instructor was a charming Italian gentleman.
The T/T class, on the other hand, were all freshman, all thin, white and apparently middle class. The instructor there was a tight little Englishman with a stick up his butt.
On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I felt warm, relaxed, and beautiful. In the drawings and paintings of this class I was beautiful and you could see my tree-and rock thoughts come through. The instructor would point to a portion of my anatomy and say "Look at that beautiful curve", etc.
Tuesdays and Thursdays I was grotesque, pathetic and laughable. The students could scarcely look at me anf the instructor could barely bring himself to say the word "B- b-b-b-b-b-breast."
I am fat and old and battered. I veer between hideous and exquisite. I love being with people who are broken enough to see and appreciate that.
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