such tangible concepts.

home is here:



and here:

and as much as it may irk me, here too:

words will come eventually. i'm settling for the holidays and determined to read, create and live normally as i can for that time.

then back to the grind. always back to the grind.


no words.

cause they're just silly some times.
(and often fall short of real expression.)


this is from one of my first mentionable shoots ever. by the numbers i'm not that different from two years ago, but my work, my appearance and my soul speak otherwise. i try to remember if i was ever as obsessed and driven by "fame" as i observe many wildly talented up-and-coming models to be, but then i remember everything in my life has been driven more by random circumstance and the need to succeed. i never really wanted fans so much as friends and co-conspirators, publication seemed a gateway to more work, but now i'm rather content being disengaged as fuck: i value very few thoughts and even fewer opinions.

it seems this is true even of myself.

i keep hearing wonderfully vibrant gossip about myself all across the country, and i sometimes really wish an ounce of it was true. i have my brief spells of devilish behavior and have surely established some controversial ties, but mostly keep to myself and stay focused. i do wish i had the time to live any sort of life, even if it was that of a internet diva.

so many seek to "do what is not expected."
why not try ignoring expectations all together,
and just doing what feels right?


autumn's crisp comfort.

this ship is righted, and set back on a (slightly altered) course.

tied to so many things, shifting shapes regardless.

meditation must wait until the voyage comes to a rest in december, the highway's lull and fall's vivid colors have to be my only solace.


staying sunny in a blizzard,

my life was ripped apart this morning in dayton, oh, when i walked out to my home to find it smashed, violated, and the safe containing all that is valuable and essential to my life: gone.

all legal documents: passport, birth certificate, social security card, and car title, over a months earnings diligently saved in cash in hopes of investing it in precious metals once i returned to colorado which i estimate was at least two thousand dollars, and a whole assortment of other personally or sentimentally valuable things.

i emphasize this word, because they are just items and money when it comes down to it. all replaceable, all liquid.

all still totally essential to my functioning, and achieving my ultimate goals, on paper.

there is so much frustration, rage, and despair whirling around my head that i can only hope to fall back on my trademark stubbornness/resilience and push forward. good things come to those who work for them, waiting is futile.

i feel like i've been trading pieces of my self for the opportunity to inch towards the golden light filling the horizon, only to have it shut off, and another one turned on much further away.

i may be taking a break from this job. honestly, i may be quitting. this is yet another circumstantial crossroads, and pending my feelings and abilities over the next few days, it may be time for a drastic reaction. it doesn't matter how good this seems, if there's no love then everything is utterly in vain. even more so if it repeatedly endangers the life and ambitions that drive it...

sleep is all fitful.
love and comfort are hundreds,
probably thousands,
of miles away.


this boat is obviously sinking.

the flesh that sustains me financially is failing me physically.

i've been breathing underwater for a month and now can't inhale fully without a pathetic wheeze escaping my lips and a stinging pain in my breast. foreign drugs have fallen useless, as has healthy eating, a buffed up vitamin regimen, and all the good will i can possibly fathom.

the road is a fucking difficult place to be this sick, and winter is coming.

i go to the clinic tomorrow,
praying i walk out with most of my savings intact.


i have a magazine column!

with a deadline coming up tomorrow. EEP.

you should check out the first issue though, really.

September - 2010

DENOVO Issue 1:

Featuring: Writings from VELOCITY, Julie Bilotta, and Laurie Jones. Makeup Artist Lyndsey Ariel. Reviews on Apple's iPAD, BAR-CELONA Restaurant. New music from dRUMFISH.Interview with actor Erik McKay. Fiction from Abbey Phillips. Photography from Dixie Dixon, Marc Whitaker, and Robert Anthony.


bread crumbs.

dear food distributors and producers:

please label your fucking products correctly.

when you list allergens, list them ALL, and do the same with your fucking ingredients. "bread crumbs" doesn't jump out at me as "GLUTEN!" when i'm scanning a label of something that's sitting in the hummus section, which rarely has the death protein in it....

i forget how entirely shitty this makes me feel.
and now i'm stuck, seriously ill, at my mother's house.
atleast i made it here.

obstinance and resilience are easily confused and blended.
a lady told me today she'd love to be doing what i am, but she'd have to take shooting lessons first. i laughed and told her that the world really isn't that scary.

then i drove my car, with no air conditioner or alternator belt, the remainging 300 some-odd miles to my hometown, zooming around mountain bends while eating a pomegranate and not wearing a seatbelt.

if bad things are meant to happen, they will.
one way or another.


near a place called xxyxz.

in the middle of the desert one can feel the instinctive animosity of the earth come to life when the sun drops, it makes me hungry.

is it wrong to want blood?

positive rage.
channeled disgust.
and a taste for empathic separation.

to live in a world where the glass was too often half full would be fucking boring.

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monologue. (are you listening?)

no strings or things, less love, more living.
i've found relative peace in passivity and debauchery.

this week blew up in my face, and i've been sucked into a pleasant distraction. sometimes i wonder if the minds i try to understand are seeking anything in my innards, most often i just bask in their eccentricities.

i'm content with having much less than i have been in months, my income and spending are both at all time lows. times are rough but i've got all i need, and the maintenance costs of living in a newly renovated high mileage truck are starting to level out.

publication in a few magazines forthcoming, i'm daily debating my feelings on my occupation. the past year has seen me really gravitate away from enjoying mass amount of attention, or spending any time on the computer. add that to a complete lack of desire to get made up and pretty, and you have a pretty poor model.

i'm glad i have the wherewithal and ability (apparently) to fake it.



it's very strange to be so ambivalent about life. transience is like being under a voodoo spell, you focus on getting what needs to be done done and spend the rest of your time absently dreaming from the back corner of your brain.

the northwest always has me gaining weight. too many bakeries with gluten free goodies up here.... and i tend to gravitate away from the world emotionally before or during my stay up here. i have a comfort eating issue, i just don't know if i see it as a full blown addiction yet.

and i don't know if that's really a horrible addiction to have.
as much as i love bones, i am in love with cuisine and the culture surrounding it.
(hence the spice rack in my tiny mobile nest.)

running and working endlessly.
i don't know if it will stop until the winter.

i hope i will remember every corner of the earth i speed past.



i have no time for decompression, and so i am trying to live every day just like i strove to on the playa, with an open heart and mind and more determination than usual.

i do not have a multitude of images to show for my adventure, nor would they depict anything about what this burn really consisted of for me. it was much less a party and much more a prayer.

the desert taught me some fucking important things this year.
and i learned them (mostly) alone.

there is great solidarity in singularity.

on with life, it's the most precious thing i own.


land ho!

there is magic on the horizon.

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coming home.

home is in the moments i feel safe, in his voice, her hips, his arms, her eyes. home is flying down the highway blasting music, i think my residence currently lies somewhere near 70 mph.

you told me it's ok to come home, so i might.

here is a brief summation of the past week or so, because i really don't have the will to formulate it into eloquent symbols and vague asides. it's been a fucking week though, and deserves summation:

detour to colorado-
a sharp jab in a tender spot-
a illuminatingly beautiful 3 day visit,
the motherboard on my laptop dies,
freakishly accurate chakra reading,
playing housewife,
shoot cancellations and flakes GALORE,
transmission scare,
truck hell,
stereo hell,
computer hell,
money hell.
lover's paradise.

i haven't drank in a month. and although i sometimes want to, i recognize that it's only when i'm upset, and that is definitely when my mouth should stay dry. when my head stays dry, i don't really ponder it.

i have 4 hours until i have to leave for a 13 hour drive and i don't think i'm going to sleep.
my path does not know the meaning of leveling off.


freezing temperature.

in the sweltering heat i feel my heart turn to fucking ice.

one day i hope i will be able to do as i say, not as i do.

when you are temporary, all forms of relationships are ultimately in vain.
there is plenty of room in my life for emotional ties, just no apparent tethers.

love me not.
(it will only fade with the miles.)


home sweet home.

it still needs some love and decor, but this is my new habitation. it travels with me, fits me perfect, and i built it with my own two hands.

sublime is not strong enough a word.

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strength in singularity.

i need to sleep so i can finish building my truck-home and shoot tomorrow, but i'm too occupied dreaming with my eyes open. i am so utterly infatuated with the future right now it's absurd. and i have no idea what to expect, which is the most freeing feeling i've had in years.

i have places to land softly,

i have goals and deadlines,

and i will shortly be tied to no thing, no one, no place.
just responsibility for my job and well being,
and an overwhelming sense of connection to all.

i often wonder if i will all this irony into my existence,
because it makes me smile like a child.

all photos by the amazing jaret ferratusco


circle the spiral.

i am lucky to have wandered upon such true, but forgiving mirrors in the funhouse.

self destruction is an utter cop-out:
no more alcohol until the burn, and then i believe i'm sticking to wine.

now: a week of packing and building, preparation for life with no tethers.
and i'm excited to enter it with such clarity.


glisten from the daze.

i will miss philadelphia, and having a home. i am driven away from all comfort by a need to overcome my circumstances as autonomously and quickly as possible.

my birthday was on the 14th, and quite honestly, after my 21st, i'm not celebrating it anymore. it is without fail one of the more stressful days of the year, regardless of my lack of expectations.

i don't know if it's humanly possible to move forward in a situation without some sort of goal in mind. a plant will die no matter how much water you give it when planted in poor soil. it's been mumbled that i love without an "attachment to an outcome," and though i really do just want everyone i care about to flourish in whatever way they see fit, there are still basic foundations of conducive interaction that need to be nurtured.

dancing is still the most therapeutic thing gift in my life and it must happen more if i am to remain sane. last night was spend popping, locking, shuffling and swinging my heart out under the stars with thousands of other people in the mountains: every muscle aches in utter joy.

the proper world is based in certainties and i have none to offer or demand, a fleeting fire.

can one revert to any grounded path when it has been disregarded for the sky?



slug, the main propoenent of musical collective atmosphere, puts my life to words in such an eerily accurate fashion i don't know if my writing can even hold a candle to it's clarity. i sort of feel that way about all of hiphop, it is, in it's finest moments, modern poetry.

And when the vein start to pop from the blood
Pushed away from the heart
Patience, I need more, as my temper becomes tempted
To up and down on this seesaw
I should escape, I should disappear
Its gettin clear, crystal clear
I'm in a bad position here
I gave you power, gave you control
But you had to play the role
Reckless with the treasure that you hold
There isn't much as unsatisfying
as the blind man listening
Believing in the one that's lying
Hide the crying, tears in the pocket
A fool for the interlude that introduced the moshpit
Exhausted by the storm, before the calm
Holding on to a memory, keeping it warm within my palm


friends and lovers lie (down).

so accurate is the time honored standard of loving yourself being integral to truly loving anything external. even truer is that if one hurts themselves they are causing collateral pain to those that care for them.

i don't know if my heart will break ever again but it is certainly sprained.

days like these i wish i was not such a goddamn romantic.


motivational objectification.

buy new car, drive until it's "outdated," trade in for newer car.
upgrade your flight, your housing, your look.
find new thing, abuse, grow tired, repeat.
the american way.

(i hope it's ultimately not the human way.)
did you think you'd be as much like your parents as you really are?
i sure as hell didn't.

i'm craving deep connections and fishing in fleeting seas.
but know that i sail towards something, now a little bit more tangible.


model's block.

i repeat the same routine, just a series of posed emotions, cheapened beauty and deft hands.

(by jade noir)

i just want to be back in school.

i'm not feeling too awesome right now, in fact i've been eating lots of amazing gluten free baked goods the past week to try to distract myself from that fact. i want time to read and be curious and creative, but i don't even have time to get my work done properly. i can't even work right now because i'm too busy worrying about who will take care of the kitty love of my life while i live in my car to save up to go back to school. i hope to financially be halfway there after summer is said and done.

i fear i will never be content, and relish it at the same time.
progress is the child of discord.

(by my photographic muse: izzy, head piece by j. martin.)

disaster is an enticing thing, or maybe i'm just masochistic.