June & July

balance beam parking lot

ghost sonic



stark st jungle


chirps of angel

charcandrick west

paint print


spider sunset

viva la

eagle eyes


astoria gold







gypsy tent

I am


a man on the moon

July 28, 2016

No one who wanted Bernie is happy that our party stuck us with Hillary. But we can tantrum about it and blame everything on it that happens (horrifically) after a republican is elected, or we can take what we get, roll up our sleeves, and get to work creating change at the state and local levels.

We can still push things forward with a democratic president, whether our little hearts and our just minds want her personally or not. It’s not like we’re going to forget what Bernie makes us feel, or stop holding that as our intention. Is it?

If one setback can break it out of us then we were only playing around with it in the first place. Don’t boo, vote. Don’t just vote president, vote city.

~Curtsey, end rant.

That is just how I feel.

I am

signed sealed delivered

July 28, 2016

It’s been you, too.


I am

Taped inside one of our new kitchen cabinets by a previous habitant. 

I feel better about my choices in general. 

I am

Stargazer lilies are growing wild in my neighbor’s yard. 

I am

Tonight I drove, not on purpose butjustcuz, past the old New Copper Penny, and I shouldn’t have.

Seeing it without its neon was like experiencing melody minus harmony. It was suddenly just this flat old building about to come down and I was just this old bitch with memories. I’ve never once ever gone down that street without basking in that hot pink glow and feeling this weird old treetown sense of…happening. Growth. Age. Potential and primordial slushy.

An OG is dead; long live the fancy shit. Some stuff is best left behind, I agree. Some stuff also was just there your whole damn life and it challenges your own sense of immortality, fragile at best at all times, when institutions greater and older and stranger than you go down. Is there a country for old men? Old songs? Old cars with engines like the dregs of a root canal?

I am 

Aw, man.

In some ways I am going to be goggle eyed with ecstasy when I finally get out of this mousetrap of a neighborhood; and in some ways I am going to be so sad.

From the moment in spring that it is just a little too cold to be doing it, I start leaving the front door open when I work from home. Lucky sits in the doorway, to keep out the riff-raff and to generally survey the goings on in her domain.

All spring long and now into summer, there has gone by each morning a stumbling, lisping, drunken bit of humanity, probably about to have his second birthday any time now. All spring long he has stopped toddling and squealed ‘kitty!’ as he passes our house, and his parents, although they initially tried to hurry him along, have at this point fully bought into it.

One morning when they went by I was working in the craft room instead of the living room, and Lucky was supervising my progress. I heard them toddle by, and a desolate little ‘kitty…?’ My heart cracked and I grabbed up her supremeness, which by the way she hates and she totally gouged me for, and bundled her to her spot at the door. Tears were forestalled. I made a new friend of a parent for life.

Today the whole family went by, and as usual, stopped for a few minutes for the following conversation.


‘Yay, it’s the kitty! You love the kitty. Hi, kitty!’

‘Kitty! Amigo!’

‘Yeah, the kitty is your amigo, huh? Ok, bye, kitty!’

‘Bye kitty! Bye amigo!’

I am going to have to leave a toy kitty or something in the garden for him when we move.

I am