Tarifa

We circled around a few streets. The cafes and terraces were packed with locals and tourists. But, we could barely keep our eyes open. We hauled our tired bodies back up two flights and crashed.

The Manzanares

I wander down a street where a gypsy woman in black sings a cante jondo, tremulous and pulsating, from a terraza draped in laundry three flights up.

Released

I went to Sedona on a vision quest many months ago. I sat in a prayer room filled with the smoke of  tobacco, juniper and sweet grass. A man moved the smoke around us with an eagle feather and I saw spring.  A savage green spring so far in the future it felt like a date I will never live to see. 

Out of place

We are in the middle of a warm spell. A  few days out of place. Winter breaking the rules. The lakes have melted. The snow is gone. I took baby for a walk yesterday and he saw birds, maybe for the first time in his little life. Geese flew in a crooked V above us,... Continue Reading →

Winter

I took a stroll down a snow melted path by the Rancocas Creek with my love. We wore invisible red silk threads wrapped around our wrists in honor of our fated devotion as we meandered through a brown, sleeping field. Tiny sparrows crunched under brush on broken sticks.  And the whoo of a gentle wind... Continue Reading →

Stories of Madrid, Tarifa and Barcelona

Thursday, Jul 21, 2016, 11:36 PM Calle Mayor, 38, Madrid, Madrid, Spain 84°F Mostly Clear 11:37pm. Madrid time. I'm so grateful to be here, but so tired and already experiencing dizziness, headache, and exhaustion. It's strange being here with just Julien and I. I like it, and I am possibly more relaxed. But enough with... Continue Reading →

The perfect meal

I assure you this dish was so divine it threw me into a state of temporary nirvana so profound and so celestial that I became speechless for moments after I had first tasted it...

35 years of journal writing

If I slept with you, you're in these journals. If I partied with you, you're in these journals. If I loved you, you're in these journals. If I worked with you and found you any bit entertaining, you're in these journals. If I cried on your shoulder, or begged you to stay, or hated your fucking guts, you're in these journals.

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