January 2012
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If you live in New York and want to be serenaded, than I can make that happen. My friend Alex will be in town at the end of January, and I’m looking to keep our art projects flowing of juice. We’ll dance for you! All that’s required, is an interview and a willingness to get your picture taken. And some good conversation, of course.
You can inquire more at:...
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This is old, but relevant. Although it makes me cringe, I’m starting to think that maybe I should just take my own advice. It’s crazy how much I’ve grown.
insomniagirl:
Make something, make something, make something.
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December 2011
15 posts
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“SMELL HIS TUMMY.”
This was written as a poem on my way back from Molokai one summer. It wasn’t made into a song until February of this year. Sometimes I can be naive.
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The depression never went away. It’s something that hides underneath the skin and comes crawling out for good. What I don’t like projecting though, is the pain it brings back. There is always that obsession with sex and the bitter tendency to starve myself. Sharp fingers gravitate towards bad memories.
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November 2011
19 posts
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“I’m not one to believe the universe has a place for everyone, or anything that benign, but the universe definitely has a language. And it’s not English, or Spanglish, or Faarsi. It might be poetry, but I’m not sure. It’s probably music. It can hear singing. It can hear anyone who tries expressing themselves in any manner. It can hear girls talking underwater....
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“This is kind of a dirty song.”
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October 2011
23 posts
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This one’s from the vaults. I was drunk on wine and completely in love with the idea of a boy. The only problem, is that he never really got to see the real me. That’s where I fucked up.—I want to say this was recorded at the end of July, before boarding a plane for London. Patrick actually just dropped off my guitar at the apartment I’m staying at. It feels good to have my...