in the middle of shaking
it all happens just below the skin
Read MoreCategory: essay
When all that’s here is change
I am completely aware that the only constant in life is change, but this time, it’s staring me in the face. The lake is different. The sky is different. The owl hooting was even from a different place in the woods.
Read MoreDreaming of Grass
layers of Coney Island
Read MoreSoup, Death, and the Holy Sea
Making sense out of small miracles – and that is all.
Read MoreFiguring out the FLow
Art is not a luxury. Art is essential. Its purpose is to reflect, convey, express the beauty and the struggle of what it is to be human. Amanda Palmer inspires me with her courage, compassion, and vulnerability.
Read More“re-Member-ing” our Divine Nature . . . Things Patrick says
“Act locally, think cosmically.” – Rick Levine
Read Morethankful for friends in faraway places
I have so much gratitude for artists reminding us of our humanity.
Read MoreChange, Art, and Meaning across Generations
This week, I posed for three local artists after taking quite a long break from the work. I had forgotten how my mind sort of spins as my body becomes a landscape. There is a shift in my perception, like I am taking in light.
Read Moresterile (mis)conception
To be human is to be creative – whether we are conscious of it or not.
Read Morelessons from a street waif – don’t fall through the cracks, transcend them
The benefactor:
Sometimes people know that you are homeless. If you are young, and perhaps very pretty or have some kind of odd feature that is attractive, a more affluent potential protector may make it known that he wants to save you. (Again, sometimes a protector may be a she, but a he is more common). He may have a wife and even a daughter your very own age. He has all the best intentions for you – clean clothes, a warm bed, a shower, food. He might even take you shopping and out to a fancy restaurant . . .
Flash (R)evolution
I am moving house. Well, apartment to house. Still renting, but I am spreading out, sort of.
Whenever I move I find stuff – lots of writing especially. I write a lot, but it doesn’t mean I type it, or file it properly, or share it.
The discipline is in the order, not the action for me. I don’t know when I wrote this, I suspect right before moving to Arizona, 2006/2007, while I was leaving my husband and living in a basement in Brooklyn.
Read Moreacademic paper that touches on (living in) the streets
I can look the part, and I certainly have the required credentials to fit in, but I feel a creepy sensation under my skin when I drive to work everyday to sit at a desk and push paper around for a bureaucratic system.
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holly troy ~ sacred folly 