About Me
not being afraid, chopping wood, working my way out of the machine, making love to the sun and its resulting freckles, clay, discourse of mostly any kind, field mice and creek frogs, autism, books and bookstores, roasted garlic, pretty much any vegetable, woodcuts, being Mama, abalone, turquoise, amber, body modification, accordian music, oil pastel drawings but only in the present tense, murals in every sense, woodstoves, Latin American insurgents, elders, old bicycles, banjo music, plant medicine, sovereignty, talking to prisoners, talking to trees, revolutionary hip hop, accupuncture, hitchhiking, weeds, making friends with children, making friends with emotionally devoid adults, making friends with grumpy old men, the smell of tomato leaves, Wet Dog Press, stealing photocopies from government offices for non-profit organizations, free speech, war stories, cocoa butter, harmonicas, helping people to heal, baking bread, cuddling, authenticity, pensive staring, wandering in the city, packing lunches, the moon, madrone trees, bamboo, Tarot, Irish drinking songs, porter and stout for that matter, scapegoating capatalism, monochromacity, three day old sprouted seeds peeking up above the soil, figs, tree climbing, making toys for my children, hairy armpits, not taking pictures of important moments, Banksy, sharing, being alone, being together, green tea, kim chee, autonomy, unintentionally rhyming, anything fairly traded from India, kava chai and poets, soil biology, African film, Japanese film, Anais Nin, solidarity, finding things, fire, quilts, goats, raw honey, alpine ecosystems, listening to people tell their own stories, batik, having journals and not failing to fill them, pirate radio, trust though not trust funds, Andy Goldsworthy, the smell of tamari hitting a hot wok, cracking knuckles, sand dollars, the hundreth drop of an increasing rain as it merges with the pavement in August and I am the only one around, the color of eggplant the week before it is ready to harvest, written word, spoken word, the way Lyli and Scarleht say "here you go, sister", ginko leaves scattered on the ground in early October, not understanding pop culture references that are taken for granted by the masses, hobos, wool lichen-dyed yarn, lanterns, nomadic cultures, comsuming myself in research, collecting large glass vessels to accomodate my kombucha's multiplication, the potential of each intersection of time and space, avoiding cliche, ascending the summit, waking up slowly, liberation
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