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Detail of The Life of Saint Dymphna (1505) by Goswin van der Weyden

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Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

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The balancing act of keeping your softness while making it clear you're not to be played with.

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liminal spaces--new orleans, 2023

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i thought i was at my lowest but holy shit it gets lower

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What do you take off when no one’s looking?

Is it your skin? Your hair? Do you retreat out of the bones your mother gave you and hide in a dark forest?

I lean on Camille, my accidental best friend. A fictional shadow of myself that holds me tight and reveals the darkness and softness that I both long for and try to ignore.

The Anatomy of Self Destruction.

I turn the phrase over in my head a few times, trying to visualize and digest the options and their meanings.

Is my destruction small and familiar? Is it starving myself to feel both less and more, like I did as a teenager? Does disappearing parts of my body make me holy, or just full of holes? Will my suffering make feeling love for me an insatiable craving?

Is it knocking my shins, knees, and forearms against the floor or door frames so I can produce the deep purple bruising that's been a comfort to me in the past?

Do I take up smoking, now, in my late 30s?

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Do you ever go “ wow ok” and shut down entirely

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shoutout to everyone dealing with. thhe fucking difficulty

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11-11-11, los angeles