Hey folks. I have revised the letter, “To You (Who is really me),” if you are interested in reading a newer version. Simply expand this entry below to read up or check out the “letters” tab above. I updated the archive of letters for your nostalgic reading pleasure.

However there are exciting things to look forward to! Coming up next week:

More found art  (blogs, music, and literature)

New projects! Explorations in audio recording as well as public art.

And as always, writing by yours truly and possibly some more design work.

Get psyched! Get pumped!


Something has changed. And it might be too many things all at once to pin down. For a while I was submerged in a deafening silence, pervasive and heavy, and you were no where to be found. I called,  you didn’t respond. I asked questions. There was  no  answer.   My voice was not my own, my throat hoarse, my limbs perpetually tense, my temples throbbed and the lines in my forehead embedded themselves into my hairline. I was bracing myself as if an anvil or a piano were about to fall from the sky, drop onto my head and smoother me.

You seem smaller and bigger at the same time, as if parts of you withered away—like an onion unfolding. The first layers were tough to break through and the tears endless. The weight of the world descended from your shoulders, gathered around your feet and people noticed. All those layers, falling, one after the other, revealing new forms, casting light onto parts of yourself that you never knew existed, never connected with. Relentlessly you peeled and peeled and after the tears dried up the onion was no longer in disarray. It was blooming. And other parts of you faded—erased by the pencil used to draw the days and hours passing. Grey lines and the caps of letters vaguely remain on the paper like scars or beauty marks, and it reminds me that I can’t run away from myself, you are constantly bringing my body back, drawing me back to reality. You have become a body –blood and organs contained by flesh with less between the two than ever before.

You are a whole person.

When did it all happen? Was it the winter? Did I leave you out in the cold with snow piling on your eyelashes and in your hair? Or on my bed, tucked and ruffled in the jersey knit sheet and white cotton blanket I laid out when summer began to heat the walls that surround it? Or was I keeping you in a secret, in an attempt to maintain control? I was cloaked by worry. You, buried underneath. I was underwater. Fighting. Pumping to the surface erratically, trying to grab hold of everything and everyone around me because I couldn’t handle that limitlessness that sweeps in when you smile or the sun sets pink orange purple and blue all at once or someone looks into your eyes and you feel your stomach dance because you realize you are a human and that is a powerful thing.

We were separate entities running at different speeds, you a breath ahead, air streaming in the space between. I, floating with no destination, half blind and over stimulated.       Then it fell.  You let the ball drop, said all the words I wanted to say, let the conversation play out exactly as I had concocted it in my head and we were starring at one another, unable to hide. I woke up the next morning surprised to be in my own body, to feel the same skin and fingernails and hair I went to bed with the night before. I was still breathing. I hadn’t become something else, but settled into a new shape, a new perspective.

We breathe. Self-actualized. Objectively aware. There is separation and we are unified. We think our thoughts. We feel our feelings and we are like water. We can flow like rivers or streams or pool in the grass like a hose that is carelessly dropped. We can drip like raindrops or a leaky faucet. Or we sit and wait. We are still like water. Be like water.



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