Wednesday, April 30, 2014


when I see you naked on the internet, my brain screams no - I want to cover you up, close my eyes, make it disappear. You are better than that, and I am a hypocrite.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014


When I was younger I used to say “only boring people get bored!” and believed it for years. But I was young and nieve and now I am older, and have been through some hell, peeking out from the dark at the light between the leaves here and there and knowing there is more to life, more to a simple existence. I stepped of the marked path and started into the thick of the woods with my head held high and now I’m trekking on, alone with wild determination and thick soles, waiting to cross paths with other travelers, adventurers and general fuck-you’ers. I want the dirt and sweat and the tears, I want the hidden waterfalls and the mythical Great Valley, Neverland, Home Tree. There is more to life than beauty, skinny, fame and riches. I am a fucking explorer; a nomad, looking for my tribe.

Dear Emma,

(A letter I wrote my friend, that I'd like to share)

Hey Emma,

I'm sitting here in this house, day after day, staring at my screen - at Facebook and Tumblr, mostly - trying to find connection, motivation, meaning. You told me you hoped I would be able to figure out my self destructive behavior. This is where it all stems from, this tendency to sink into my mind and find nothing but the searching, a buzz, a static, looking for a channel. I look at photos that inspire me. I bring in the trash can from the back street. I pick up the kitchen that looks like a dude lives here more than a girl. Beer bottles and dirty dishes. Clothes scatter the livingroom, bedroom, bathroom. I should clean the bathroom, I tell myself. I have so much to do, I remind myself yet again. I make lists, I write in my journal, I force myself to type on my typewriter. But none of it is valid, it's just random thoughts, or what I did yesterday, or the argument I got into with my sister. Some such bullshit. None of it feels meaningful. Some days I give up and go back to bed, staring at the ceiling waiting for something to come to mind. I drift off to sleep and dream that my teeth crumble, and unlike other dreams of the same subject, this time I encourage them to break, crunching them into pieces until my mouth is full. When I spit them into my palm, they're semi-precious stones, and I pocket them, toothless. I wake up slightly horrified, but glad it wasn't as terrifying as other nightmares I have. Which happens often, as you know.

Yesterday I decide to stop spending money on anything that I don't need. My money is running out quicker than I planned and I worry about being able to feed myself for another month. While wasting time online, I stumble upon a raw amethyst ring. In the description it tells of a myth about where amethyst comes from. Something about the greek god of wine being heartbroken and drunk, his tears mixing with wine to form this stone, which became a talisman of sobriety and to break addictive patterns. "Amethyst is said to grant a deep understanding, and has been called the stone of spirituality and contentment. They're thought to have a soothing and relaxing effect on people, promoting healthy sleep habits and in some cases apparently curing insomnia. Known as a stone of change, amethyst can bring about any type of change needed to shift your life and awareness. It's also thought to break up old emotional processes and assist in opening to new chapters of life." Perfect. This will be my gift to myself, a parting gift of giving up things I don't need so I can get the things I do need. It'll be a daily reminder. 

When I came here, I was under the thought that I'd leave in June, giving me a good chunk of time to set some things straight, to organize photos and to write. I started thinking about what I wanted to do. Well, I obviously want to go back to sailing. I quickly decided I wanted to cross the Atlantic, which I'd been thinking on for a while now. A couple of days ago, I was talking to a photographer who contacted me on Facebook, and he tells me there is a race called the Bermuda Race that leaves from RI, and it starts on June 20th. Things are starting to take shape, a plan has emerged. I go on the site and find that they have a page dedicated to those who want to crew for boats entering, and I sign up. Today, I talk to another photographer (who's also a sailor) who says he may know someone who needs crew. Perfect. I have faith that I will find a boat, regardless. After Bermuda, I aim to find a boat going to the Azores, and from there to Europe. Even as I say this, I feel something right, some eager and full of light feeling fills me. And this is something that I've known since I started sailing: I've found what truly makes me happy. 

But I do fear this destructive thing I have going on and have always had to battle. I don't want to fuck it up. So I plug away at putting everything in order, day by day trying to find that inner peace. I know the answer lies on the water. I know sailing will bring me to great things.

Miss you so much,

ps- because this is the most valid thing I've written in ages, I'll be posting it to my blog. I hope you don't mind.