Grew up in the outdoors of Alaska and developed an early passion for storytelling.
Weapons of choice: kindness and laughter.
It’s a piece of paper and ink. It’s your hand gliding in patterned flicks. It’s asking the material to transport the ineffable. A magic show – a feather-light vessel for intent. It’s a letter, from a heart in one geographical reality to the distant next.
Did you know color is a sound? A vibrating holy hum. Maybe a whisper, maybe a drum. I don't know from which one I come. I think myself gentle, like the blues of an ebbing stream.
The Heart You Left
“In my heart, in my heart, the truth will always be.” The flowing melody leaves me. I touch a hand to my cheek to wipe it dry, forgetting about the light bruise in its linger. In a flash, Luciana’s face as she slapped me after I overcharged her boyfriend for his repairs at the garage. She was right, it was stupid – petty, but it still made me happy for a moment.