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I’m so tired of sounding dumb and I am so tired of being afraid. I want to explain myself but none of it is making sense or comes together to point out any of the truth. I am so happy because today I found my friends there in my head. I was watching Last Days on my old Toshiba box tv I got off of eBay. I bought it to play all my DVDs and cds I have been collecting since I was a kid.


A man skinny-dipping out in the middle of the forest. I watch last days, building on my personal mythology around Kurt Cobain. I found my friends in my head too. I hear voices that are not there. I am medicated and still hear them. They are not mean nor do they tell to do things they just sit in the backseat, commenting and telling me little phrases. I hear them incessantly or not at all. Never following strict patterns. I heard Nirvana first in first grade, growing up in the Pacific Northwest you begin to feel the angst of the sound and feel like maybe you could know Kurt personally too. My dad has a friend who grew up near Aberdeen, occasionally running in to Kurt Cobain at parties. Later on, my friend said she would run into Courtney Love in the 90s at parties. 


So maybe the myth of knowing Kurt is not to unreal except the lack of overlap of our lifetimes. If I found my friends in my head, then they used to be my enemies for the longest time and now I made peace with my little devil on my shoulder. I wanted a miracle and maybe I got one. I am rescued from a lot of my darkest moments and seeing a lot of my own life like seeing Last Days, I feel like I am not as scared as I once was. That my world is backwards and that I can make choices and that fate is scary but choice feels scarier now that not everything can go in reverse. 


I can’t explain myself well enough and what I think of madness but I can explain the regret. The feeling like I committed a murder and now I am waiting for my sentence. Like the other shoe dropped and everything terrible will happen. That nothing can un-happen, like a buzzing machine, the needle feeds ink into my skin and marks me with my proof I have a body. I wanted to runaway for so long that sticking the images to my body using a safety pin hurts not as much as never having a place to run off too. 


I feel like a misfit, in a way that I understand isolation and solitude. I know what it’s like to be misunderstood and different and backwards. Nirvana growing up was nearly the only thing I wanted to listen to growing up. Bleach always played in the car. I was an angsty kid because I didn’t know how to handle growing up in a city and how to be a girl and how to do anything right.  


 Grunge grew out of the Pacific Northwest and forgetting the clear cut forests and the connection to flannels seem to go hand in hand. I wanted desperately to be like Kurt Cobain growing up. I don’t know if I find myself wanting to be like him now but understanding myself more now than I did as a kid, explains why Nirvana lyrics seem to find a kindred soul. I want to run as fast as I can away from everything. So much so, now, I get lost a lot downtown. That I walk past a lot of bad things. That I know a lot of danger and that maybe Last Days is like a lot of days I know. That it’s the same day over and over. I wanted to drive away if I wasn’t too afraid of the road and steering myself off a bridge. I want to run and I want to hide and I want scream a lot more than I get to. 

“Awesom-o 4000”


I am going to date and time stamp this one, Thu Jun 13, 6:40 PM. 


I grew up watching a lot of south park, so much so that I have three generations of south park watchers in my family. My grandfather’s tv would blare south park episodes from the tv room and his bedroom. I wanted to watch south Park and my mom thought it was educational, like the Ali G show, and let me. It was of course my favorite show and it makes me feel like a little dirtbag to watch it. I love Awesom-o 4000 and thought about how my cousin had drawn a south park themed portrait of all the south park boys for my grandfather (her great-grandfather) during school. If I could dress up as a rude little robot for school I would. Thanks South Park.

top 5 south park episodes:

1) The Korn episode

2) Starving Marvin

3) Gay Pet Sanctuary

4) Fish Sticks Episode

5) Mr. Garrison gets plastic surgery 



I need to get out of the house. I am so bored. I haven’t done anything with my spare time. I started reading but generally I have been asleep. I haven’t listen to new music and I wonder if I am just generally stuck. I complain a lot that nothing interesting happens and writing about how nothing generally happens means you’ll read about generally nothing happening.


I grew up in Portland, and its not exceptionally interesting. Its interesting to know everyone grew up somewhere and that we all grow up too. That sometimes I forget how long a lifetime can be and that nearly everything changes. Where does the good go is a song I liked as a tweenager and now I listen to it in my childhood bedroom waiting for the next thing to happen. I don’t know what direction I am moving in but sometimes I wonder if knowing how time works and breaking my concept of time, the world expands into a million pieces and I get to live all of them all at once and a million times over. I know that I am not supposed to be the same person now as I was earlier or later, that somewhere in the process of time turning that my cells all replaced too.


Earlier today I was reading the writing of a previous classmate of mine and I thought of how very little I have to write about. I don’t know if that means just in terms of imagery or general content. Like life experiences that translates into content. I don’t think I was exceptionally mature growing up, so I don’t think I am extremely wise or gifted to an extent that we can all draw some conclusion that I understand more than anyone reading this. I know maybe not everyone know’s what I know but I know what the hot summer feels like in Portland and I know what a concert in a field is like. I know what screen printing is like. I know what having very little money growing up is to having decent to whatever money is now. I don’t know if we have to bring it up, but then I forget I grew up around a lot of white people and I was not exactly white. I am not white really at all. Like barely. I am mostly Native American and Filipino. So now reading my classmates writing makes me wonder if I am a genre too because we all hear about identity but I forget that my proximity to whiteness and that indigeneity is not the same as mixed AAPI identities is like telling me banana lumpia isn’t a fun drag name. I might be from Portland in the same way I grew up here but so did all the people in my family for nearly every generation ever. I think Oregon native is a stupid term if it doesn’t explain the post-colonial landscape that feel like a nasty fuck you to every Indian kid who has to hear that Native and native are not the same and that we can’t have the word because local seems like it doesn’t extend farther than a few generations rather than their entire family tree. 


So whatever, I can’t write a solid fuck off note that is so clever that it doesn’t have a fuck off literally written in it. I just was hoping Portland doesn’t become a gatekeeper’s paradise with me pretending that I could’ve invented Portland because at least that would be funny. I tried claiming that I adopted Carrie Brownstein as Native American because she did more for Portland Oregon than a lot of the transplants who claim this city as theres or every white guy with dreads telling me he’s also an Oregon native. I can’t tell you what its like to be Native American until you tell me to stop because it feels like white erasure. I don’t know what I am supposed to say anymore, I now I feel ashamed of my mixed identity because everyone seems to be more from here than me, despite my parents growing up on their reservations in Oregon, I can’t seem to make it here in my own city. Maybe its like too disruptive to be Native American and if I was just mixed Asian it would be less political. I could be writing about diaspora instead of dispossession. I could write about banana lumpia rather than how I don’t know what commodity food is other than my dad does. That I know a little of my Native language because my teacher is researching it under her language grant. So I don’t know if we care if I am a half-breed and that I do understand xenophobia but also racism that goes like “ching-chong ching-chong” then putting a hand gesturing two feathers behind my head. So I am not sure if it was never not political to be a half-breed with none of the white privilege.

Then I remember I didn’t have to grow up in rural Oregon and that I should feel lucky I am not my cousins. That my mom isn’t a junkie and that I have two parents and that nobody has died recently. Or that I am not disabled and that my mom hasn’t been selling my shit on Facebook so that she can buy more meth. So I don’t know if I am lucky in the same way you are but I am luckier than a lot of people. I forget that I have to play too many parts so that we don’t forget America is a sucky name. 


So maybe I can never be bored, I can be bored and lucky and a little lost because I don’t see my name being called for miss portland pageant but I do think I am going to heckle a little because its all too much to have a glorified competition over a city that has shit smeared on the sidewalk and an overdosed man passed out in front of Safeway. I am not sure if this is a dumpster fire or an abandoned shopping cart, I want to leave everything too and forget Portland too. All of what I am saying is gentrification is like what’s happening to everyone who was here except its not called gentrification its called settler-colonialism and that maybe I am not being self-centered, just a little terse and tired that I have to explain what its like to always have others care very little about what I say because they don’t get the subtlety of being Native American and First Oregonian meaning I have no fucking clue of what its like to not be from Oregon with a capital F but this all brings so much shame because no one seems to care to hear any of it. So the fuck you note could be my land acknowledgement and a poorly written poem about multiculturalism and that mixed identity is super unique. But dude, its not and I think we all know that. I missed the part when I was a kid and I could just try to fight everyone and then get them in trouble with the teacher but now I can’t do that and adults act sillier than I do. So maybe its a pissing contest I can totally claim Portland’s It-Girl although nobody knows who I am and maybe that’s like my super cool title I came up in my bedroom to remember when Portland was still cool. Like pre-covid, pre-portlandia and pre-Oregon as a state and whatever pre’s we can throw in there. Like Prefontaine, I am the only one running (for Portland’s It-Girl) and that’s a sad story to mention. Maybe it will be an acronym for “Indigenous Too” because not everyone counts me as that. No landslide votes for me as an it girl but definitely should have some white guilt or settler-colonial guilt that makes you feel bad that there are actual Indian kids here wondering when you’ll mention that they could have grown up in downtown Portland too. Because a lot of them have. So God Bless Winona Ryder, she would probably say sit down and enjoy the show. Portland is for homeless people and everyone else who lives here. Because gentrification is a colonialism spelled backwards and Hawai’i thinks you’d need to take a page from their book, and stop saying vacation destination and maybe call it someone’s backyard or at least front lawn. I miss Tegan and Sara and Winona blesses this mess and tells me that everything will be alright with every muttering of every line in the movie Heathers, because I need the reassurance that I am still dead or was it alive? Because I always feel both and need to quit using my ideas as a way to compare why I am not perfect. So maybe read this and know a half-breed and a little more about my angst because I wanted to keep it a secret but definitely couldn’t. 

(Fuck, don't tell anyone I care, I just wanted to write that I am a mess and really bored and this felt fun to write on a website like a diary).



I want to know when I get done with whatever this step is what I will find and maybe I can describe it to you to make sense of it. Growing up my dad worked downtown and then at art college for most of my childhood. I am always looking for craft I think. I want like different versions of the same thing like all the time. I want things to be wood and like hand made and to have like holes in it, all the same distance apart, and to have like neon orange yarn attached to it and no one to bring up particle board. I want it to be like an etching and then a scratch. I want it to be a disc and then a composition or a compilation. I want it to be dusty and stained with coffee rings. I want it to be made by you and me and my friends and the guy next-door and his kid who’s the same age. I want it to have a shelf and to know everybody in the process. I want it to draw out for days and for you to know me for it and to see the concrete its laid on to have the same tufts of pink on it like the cement its mixed with. I want it dyed magenta and then quilted. I want it crafty and then switched back to artsy when the lights turn on.


I am looking for the same thing in sound form, like a beach sound or like finger picking but what I am really looking for is the past. I am looking for all the little things I remember seeing as a kid and know that nobody is making it anymore. It was all suffocated by the internet like when myspace died and we didn’t get to have our top 8 anymore. I want it to be like a backwards cap and a silly smile, like dude you’re good, you’re rocking it. I want the times to be behind me and then I can move forward from knowing what I want. I want to know that I am moving too, like my backwards cap, I am a metaphor and a simile and a hat put on to look extra cool dude.


Dude - I wanna be cool, I wanna polaroid picture of me doing it too-- being cool. I think we all want to go back to that time when we could like rock out play our guitars and like be twee as folk. Bro what the fuck is going on now. That gorgeous guitar sitting in its little meager case wanting to be strummed, dude we want to hear you sing a little too. It's not even a real song but we love you for it. I hear it, it’s like the beastie boys but a little classier. I am a man too and I hear you sing, it’s like the coolest song ever, man. 

MYSPACE TOP 8: (according to my interactions)

  1. My friend V.

  2. My friend M.

  3. My friend E.

  4. My friend M.

  5. My friend A.

  6. My cat (an account I made for him)

  7. My other friend A.

  8. My mom + dad (whoever has the account)


I thought the last section was about Sarah Silverman Program and I got really excited. My favorite episode is the bomb episode, the dog court episode and the beauty pageant episode, iconic show really. I wanted to know that maybe you’d be looking for the same twee as folk compilation too and we can run into each other at a record shop and get coffee and then make little drawings to hang up on my mom’s fridge because bitch your family. We all love this song and my cap’s still on backwards because I wanna look cool while doing it -- drawing pictures for the fridge. Sing it fridge, I love you, we all talk to the fridge too, I love it. I am silly and we all miss the little goofball with the backwards baseball cap, by that I mean me. Let me say, I am artist and an auteur and whatever that sounds super posh and not dumb. We are artists so visit my clog and soda store, we also sell donuts dude. The donut holes are on the house.


I have gone to a Tegan and Sara show actually. I was about 11 years old and it was for my birthday. So I was definitely had to be 11 because that was my present that year AND it was my birthday. I took my best friend and we went downtown for the show. I had a band tee for the album Northshore by the end of the night and we were considered quite cool for the fifth grade because of it. I had an iPod nano by then and it was also super cool. It was purple and I had a few music videos, mostly the one with the monkeys that T+S did and a lot of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs because they were my favorite band other than tegan and sara  back then.  I thought they were so cool and then I watched their TV show, which changed nothing but wasn't as good as their actual music. I remember when things were so DIY and when indie was so popular. Now I want that back, like The Blow, Holly Miranda, Mirah and like CocoRosie. Like Portlandia show era with IFC and like put a bird on it, which i have been telling everyone is actually triggering to people in Portland because it is so realistic and feels like mockery. Those bands were so 'artsy' adjacent or generally artsy from what I remembered. Like were did all the DIY go? Why aren't we knitting and felting our own handbags anymore? Maybe I will make a diy-something but maybe I want to just reminisce my first concert. T+S were so cool and probably still are. I just think its funny that its now like kind of old, like saying something is passé is kind of passé. But whatever, may as well write something about being a fifth grader and going to school in a tegan and sara shirt because we all probably went to fifth grade in a band shirt, right? But if I went to another Tegan and Sara show, I would be much older and probably at some outside ampitheatre, who knows maybe wearing a DIY-version of that same t-shirt I had in fifth grade.



I have a Yeah Yeah Yeahs video up on my site because this is a blog, silly, I can put up anything I want on it. I am not too serious of a person and I love the Yeah Yeah Yeahs because I grew up listening to them. I like that video and I like that a bunch of her fans answered the video submission to make that video. I think its a fun video and I wish we could have fun again like the good ol' days, which I have decided are 2003ish - 2012. I think that was a prime time for fun and like a decent portion of my childhood, so,  I wasn't overthinking how I dressed and what I listened to because I was in elementary school. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are fun and whoever argues they aren't doesn't remember that indie sleaze and like rave culture (even though I wasn't old enough to rave bc I was an actual child) looked super cool and probably was really fun. So if you are my age and said it isn't cool, ask a real adult what is cool because you were a child too then and had a bedtime and had to ask your mom if you could go stay at your friend's house, like why isn't she cool? You had like matching pj sets and went to soccer camp, I am saying Karen O was cooler than you and so were actual adults because you'd be a literal kid, sorry. Aside from that weird point I made, back to Karen. So Karen O you made the page, she was everywhere, doing everything and singing her ass off. She's still cool and I think about how she did the soundtrack to Where The Wild Things Are sometimes. Listening to it on my iPod shuffle wishing I was a super cool musician too (when I was 8).



I have this made up snarky, somewhat douchey guy who talks to me in my head about everything I write. He’s like my editor, telling me all the stupid things I say and he’s actually decent at his job. I wish I knew what my writing was for and why I keep a dumb website for this. Then I remember I paid for a domain and if you bundle it is more cost-effective. Then I remember it also makes me seem more professional and its nice to have an accessible document to look at things I work on. I don’t know if I consider this my work but I am working on it actively and use it like it is working toward something that could eventually be worth seeing. Read the page and meet my editor. He’s probably really funny too telling me to use bigger words and start reading more to work on my vocabulary. Doesn’t consider my casual (not quite vernacular) very interesting, that’s what he keeps telling me.


I started a Miranda July book today and maybe I air on the side of weird and absurd and maybe less heady and critical. I forget some people are sticklers for style and not everyone is going to like me. But somebody might make sense of it and like what happens when they read this. I am totally not an ego-maniac if I call myself a dumb girl as much as I do. I realize that I am definitely not a nice friend to myself but no one said that I was. At least I can be real with myself as a friend. Today I had a dumb and sweet also dissociative moment, not a wow-moment, that we look at books with tiny symbols and this elicits feelings and thoughts and how meaningless the page of characters would be to someone illiterate and that by looking at words and knowing how to pronounce them, somehow that makes them matter more. I wasn't amazed but kind of bored by it and like a little annoyed we give so much time and attention to writing and to something so ridiculous like somebody's ideas. I like thinking but maybe not really something saying it in a way that proves anything. I have lots of doubts. I don't know what's more awkward, reading Miranda July or trying to find Lena Dunham's book too.


I can't tell what's wrong with everyone if we can cancel anyone and then don't cancel all the male writers who probably dated underage girls. Like what is cancel-able anymore? What is work too? Am I working? Am I doing anything to do work? Or does the work make itself apparent to work on and then I get called in to do it and then we all say its more important than my free-will and personal agenda? Dumb question deserves a dumb answer. I wasn't asking it maybe, I wanted to know what we all think about making ourselves useful because maybe we say one thing and do another and not all of us are doing things that are totally useful but who cares. I read Miranda July for fun today because I love the bookstore and buying books can be a hobby if its more of the fun and gratifying part than actually sitting down to read them. So give Miss July a hand, I actually sat down to read this one. I think about your movie a lot, when he accidentally burnt his hand. Not a fun point but I wonder what makes me want to say anything then I read you, watch your movies and remember I had a childhood too watching you that makes me act a little funny now and want to be like you. Not famous or a director. No, what I am saying, is you inspire me, like buying a book with the aspiration of reading it. The book might inspire reading, and your work inspires me to work on my work.


What is art for? What is being good at something mean either? I don't really like a lot of what I say but sometimes I blame the same douchey editor in my head, who i like to think, eggs me on to say something stupid so that he can critique it and mock me for sounding like such a little dork. Maybe I am not the little dork he makes me out to be, maybe its like a silly little mistake to fall into his little mockery trap he sets. Maybe, I listened to the wrong guy telling me what to do. Anyways, I am proud I read a book today, I am literate. So proud I had to announce that, I do, in fact, read for fun. For work, too, to some degree. Sometimes you'd think I wasn't (literate), with my aggressive typos but TYSM Miranda July. Thank you my douchey editor that is totally imaginary. You do solid work too. Keep the comments comin', I will develop a thicker skin and not feel like a little goofball for writing about my imaginary friends that really are just my co-authors of this page (whom are all still me).

I think its funny I can dedicate a blog post to writing about my writing but I am really trying to say key things:

1) i have a really mean editor that is a voice in my head

2) i like miranda july (not-so-secretly Lena Dunham before we found out how weird she was)

3) i agree i need to edit and that keeping a section telling you that i have thin skin but totally get the edits is a thankful moment for me. 

4) i am totally aware i am not for everyone


I was considering writing a short story. The first short story I wrote was about an arson and the second was a ghost story about the only victim of that arson story. I am not particularly good at coming up with stories. I like confessional writing as it comes with the territory of having something similar to a diary (this is not a diary, its a blog). I wanted to be aware that reading my site is not completely for fun, because that would suggest I enjoy and am “having fun” while I compile the writing. It’s actually quite painful managing my website. I wake up with phrases I wrote, thinking about how horribly stupid I sound. I wake up a lot thinking about what someone else will think if they read this and what type of person they assume I am for writing this. I am not interested in being edgy, I have a lot going on in my head that elicits a lot of chaotic actions and chaos though. If you read this and assumed I am trying to sound tough, I am not. I have a mild risk-taking habit that is a result of a bad childhood. Nearly everyone did not have a saccharinely sweet childhood but I can definitely pinpoint a lot of my current issues from it. So graciously read my writing, expecting me to tell you very little about myself, just how I feel and what I want to do when I hide in my bedroom. I am a dumb girl in my room writing this, like a dumb girl writing in her stupid diary late at night.

Kathleen Hanna spoke about the secrets that go on in a girl’s bedroom in her documentary the PUNK SINGER, as a creative space for experimentation and exploration of self-expression. Recording her album, Julie Ruin, self-titled in her room,  I can see my bedroom as a space to hide all my terrible ideas and play like a girl. I like the idea that maybe a girl’s room is like a secret laboratory or something more than what is described in “A room of one’s own” (I am aware this is a feminist text and not a phrase) because it's also something less than a boy's fantasy or something weirdly voyeuristic to know our bedrooms' are a place to hide and play little dumb games. (the parenthetical phrases are because my constant fear that a some-sort of genius is reading this or someone who really loves to make criticism and wants to make me know how dumb I sound as a dumb girl). It's a studio but it's more like Dr. Frankenstein’s Monster Laboratory, violently chopping and sewing together parts to make a barely functioning whole. I don’t sing or dance in my room but I definitely love to play my electric guitar poorly and play only punk songs because I refuse to learn more chords or actually practice. It's a fun space, no judgment. Girls hide in their rooms because we are not allowed to be bad at anything or look stupid while doing it. We either have to be naturally-gifted or too prissy to even want to try.


I WISH I WAS HIM was nearly an obsession of mine when I found Kathleen Hanna’s cover of Noise Addict’s song about The Lemonheads’ Evan Dando. Commenting on Evan Dando and the fame of a manly-man rockstar who gets nearly everything handed to him is ironic and sweet when Hanna sings it. She sings a run at the end that is endearing and comical, with her silly little run, making fun of the fact that music about music is still funny because its about music (like a diss-track). She’s a goof and a lovely read. REBEL GIRL, her recently published memoir, now on the shelves as of May 14, 2024, is a sure way to get all the real fans to get more excited that maybe we have a girl culture and all the girls’ bedrooms in the world also have their on privately creative culture that produces a frankenstein as good as a cover like “I WISH I WAS HIM”. I wish I understood Pavement songs but maybe someday I will? (Don't quote me on the entire book, I am still reading it)


I could write additionally how girls are made to feel stupid all the time, with Neil Young's belittling song Stupid Girl. I love the song but why can't someone make the cover Stupid Boy and we all laugh a little. Dirty White Boy doesn't count as demeaning songs for boys, sorry. Or is feminism dumb or just being a girl, a woman or someone who isn't a total dude? I don't know if I regret saying that, maybe I will. I hope you get that girls have a sense of humor that makes us sound silly to you, that, like, maybe, or whatever, that we don't care seems to be something not fully embedded in masculinity the same way. But maybe we aren't all having a pissing contest anytime we do literally anything? So I know it sounds stupid when I will say it out loud, maybe I wish I was him.

Her next feminist text is called "Not About Her Boyfriend: The Kathleen Hanna story" (and a little bit but not-too-much about Ad-Rock). or "teach me how to play guitar, will you please, ad-rock?: The completely true story of Kathleen Hanna". dumb title, sorry. Do guys even read women or do they read women to tell us we are doing it wrong? (or just mostly dead white men?) I forget that sexism still is like this (its a lot of things so maybe thats why i didn't describe it) until I read the Economist article that young men and women are drifting apart and young men blame feminism. All these dumb girls taking our jobs. So yes, I wish I was him is a title because maybe if I could write about this as a unbiased male you'd appreciate it more. Please read REBEL GIRL if you like music and want to be more like Adam Horovitz (a.k.a Ad-Rock), because he read it too.

Maybe if I was a woman, I wouldn't have to explain myself and not call myself dumb so that you'd listen, just maybe?


I went to go re-listen to Junk Bond Trader and felt like I couldn't really access the same kind of emotions that let me listen to Figure 8 in general. I had to be in one of my darkest places to make sense of that album. If I had to rank the favorites, it would be 1) Either/Or 2) Roman Candle 3)XO or maybe Elliott Smith (self-titled album). I personally prefer the self-titled album but a lot of XO is stuck in my head and it has a decent amount of favorites (ie Baby Britain, Bled White, Amity).

I grew up, like most, reading a lot of wikipedia articles. Elliott Smith was one that I definitely remember reading in high school. Using alcohol and drug addiction metaphors that later became a real problem. Mostly, I grew up reading about Kurt Cobain. I remember watching that youtube clip about how he thought he was an alien or nearly visited by aliens. I can't find that video anymore but it's been a while since I first watched it. My parents reminded me of the video of Kris Novoselic throwing his bass in the air and hitting himself in the head with it. I forgot about that one.

Regardless, Elliott Smith's Tribute show was good. I don't know what a vacation to Portland looks like but mine would look awfully similar to an Elliott Smith autobiographical tribute tour. I think that would only be fair. I am literally so annoying about this but I am also really sorry to bring it up again. Maybe its a disservice growing up here but I am literally from here with a capital 'F'.

editor's note: So I had more interesting stuff here about Portland OR not being LA and their being three degrees to Elliott Smith but my imaginary snarky editor told me to take it out. But I want you to get to know me for Portland OR because this is where I am from for so many generations because I come from Portland before it was called that that, way before Mr. Columbus sailed to the Americas and all the shit went down. So there's a landclaim or i guess better, a landback, for you.




I bought Eva Hesse's diary and realized my diary is nothing like that. 

I want to think that I am a secret-keeper but I probably don't have any good secrets I have been holding onto. 


I broke no bones and maybe its everything I haven't done is like a big fat secret. Buyer Beware, maybe that should be tattooed on me too. 

My newest habit is getting to know someone and then telling them to never talk to me ever again. I can't stop running away and maybe one day it will have a major consequence that will make me have to stop. TELL ME TO GO 

here are a few recommendations:

- Fat Girl (2001)

- Is it My Body? - Kim Gordon

- Me, You and Everyone We Know (2005)

- So, Goodbye - The Butchies


We all worry somedays we are Tommy Wiseau to someone else but maybe that's another form of genius? 

So sorry everyone, the show is over. I know you wanted to see the last scene and then walk out and throw away that bag of chilled (by now) popcorn and hit the hay. We are all tired of writing. My god. Stop looking at your computer. 

I am no artist. Thank you. No art scene is willing to take me. I can stand around too looking at works and make contrived remarks with heavy-handed sarcasm but I really fucking can't. Honestly, I hate art. I am embarrassed that my eyes are this wide open now. I look at this page and I look at a book and that painting and maybe your shoes and maybe the flier. I want to know what we all did to forget vanity is a sin and so is sloth, and whatever, maybe envy too?

I am not super religious but sometimes I wonder if religion is a way to not make yourself less miserable because not everyone can use proper judgment and common sense. It's a dangerous game. 

If you thought that was kafkaesque than use google. Thanks. I forget what a massive ego looks like. Sorry not sorry. 

Let's all hope we grow up a little. Baby's have young souls. Think about it. Everything is difficult and unknown. My soul is maturing and has matured in the past few years and I am willing to say it, I am getting older. Mostly wiser? I don't know. But maybe when our souls enter our body, they are finally mature enough to want to accept the lives we agreed to. When I came to earth I accepted a lot and knowing that some souls mature faster than other souls and that some mature souls are still actual babies to other souls, happens to make a lot sense. Knowing that some souls don't know they will accept any form of reality and that some souls want it all. Also makes sense but my soul seems to like guilt. 

"Full Moon In Paris"

link to wikipedia here.

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