the voice of Slamdance 2016

Slamdance let me be the voice of this year’s festival!

Click the link here to read all about my adventures at this year’s festival





FROM THE VAULT #2: Will there be mud in the future?

I like reflecting on things I wrote in the past. And the conclusion is… I think I AM too hard on myself…

It’s also nice to see that I am right on track with “the plan” and I am no longer working as a phone slave at that “fluorescent nightmare.”

Well, an entry seems appropriate right now… because I’m pretty upset… not like crying upset… like… futile upset. Like, no matter what I do it won’t work… life wont work and all I’ll do is sit at home all awkward in a yellow camping chair writing about a fucking yellow camping chair… that’s all I got…. Really that’s IT. If genius comes from misery then I should be belting tight four part harmonies while painting Dali’s lost masterpiece right now. But no. I’m listening to Bollywood funk, avoiding a much needed shower, wanting to rot away into this damn yellow camping chair. At least I’m writing… big fuckin deal… I just beat myself up in these… I mean… due to the eh… what’s the word… oh yeah proof and data collected from previous entries such as, lemme see… I believe the exact words were “just stop it you fucking loser” or bitch… I dunno. I guess I’m a little mean to myself… if I’m not nice to me, who the fuck is going to be.


Ra ra shish boom bah


Rhyming, yay…



Anyway… so I dint get on the team… I’ll take DIFFERENT CLASSES and then get on a better team! With rockets! And uh… a soup buffet… and travel. Or I’ll be a receptionist forever…. God I better not be working as a phone slave when I’m 23… I cannot have two birthdays at that god forsaken fluorescent nightmare… I just need to follow my plan… move out… get  a better job… its all in the plan, no more fucking around. I’ve been spending too much money. I have enough stuff for awhile and should even get rid of some… what is with my fascination of stuff anyway… wtf is wrong with me. I form attachments to the smallest piece of garbage that might have a cool slogan on it or a pretty color or some fantastical sentimental attachment… more beating myself up… whtv… maybe I just appreciate the small things… like, small 


of garbage…


Damn, I am having crazy mood swings…. Maybe I’m going to get my period… fuck, whatever… the sooner it comes the sooner it goes. Its probably all out of wack cause all my friends are on the pill so my hormones gravitate to them… or some science-y bullshit of that manner.


Ok… life plan, here we go, in writing….. er typing… maybe I should physically write this… it would have more sentimental value… ha ha… small joke at my own expense. I just miss my own handwriting sometimes. I wonder if children in the future will even know what their handwriting will look like… will they bother to teach penmanship at all? Is cursive going extinct? Will notebooks, pencils and pens soon become like chiseling words into granite? Probably… haha, then I’ll read this and think of the good old crayon, paint, and mud days


I wonder if they’ll have mud in the future… I wish I could type without looking… I shoulda learned or forced myself… I think im stuck this way forever now… depressing weh weh weh weh.. I need to perk up and take a shower… the thing in this chair is starting to hurt my neck… like I should move or I’ll have to speak out of a tube… hmm not fun


Ha ha ha this song called typewriter tip tip tip tip just came on and it’s the noise im making… oh itunes, you know whats up


Sad. Mom isn’t going to be ok when I move out…. It sucks that sometimes you have to make others so unhappy to make yourself happy… where is the line between selfishness and selflessness? I haven’t found it yet… but im honing in on it


Ok, shower time, my stomach aches… its been like that for a few days… I hope im not getting sick… 


The Estate Sale

The Estate Sale

It was hot and her thighs peeled apart inside a pair of baggy short shorts as she stepped from the car and onto carson. She’d never parked on that side of the street before and her mind’s eye saw a girl carting a clarinet, kicking a rock stop slowly in front of the house with the creepy bamboo lady inside. The sun was licking hot her wounded tissue and her back started to ache a little. “Fuck my back is toasted.” she said to the girl entering the warm air on the other side of the car. She stroked her burned skin lightly with her nails upside down, sweeping away from her head…. like she was taught to do.

“It’s a little red, yeah” said chick.

“I feel like someone put a wool blanket around me, it’s so dry out!” said Kea. They had just come from the beach, her bathing suit was still a bit damp, but from salt water or sweat… she didn’t know.  Her hair had wrestled with the elements that day but she hoped she looked more like a mermaid than a bird’s nest. Sadly, she was wrong but her romantic illusion and relaxed attitude kept her from brushing it or putting makeup on. Free drinks and shade were what they were after when they saw the sign for the estate sale about two blocks away from Kea’s house. Kea was glad for the interruption. She wasn’t looking forward to going into the house where she grew up. She had moved out and now when returning, she would get this weird feeling that she was visiting someone who was terminally ill in a hospital. She felt sick and itched to leave and would start to imagine that it smelled like bleach. It wasn’t as bad when she was alone in the house.

They walked across the street which was quiet except for the sound of the sun slamming into the asphalt. A pool of sweat was beginning to form between Kea’s breasts, “shit I’m gonna get all pimply on my chest” she thought. Then she thought about the last time someone else had touched her between the breasts where the pool of sweat was forming.

“What’s an estate sale? Are they selling the house?” she said to Chick while flipping her hair around like a horse swatting at flies. “I think someone died… and they don’t have a will or something” Chick said as she shrugged and walked up into the house.

“Sad… I always wondered who lived here” Kea said to the sun.

The steel blue house was hidden behind a small forest of green bamboo looking plants that were shooting out of the ground like post growth spurt teenagers at a high school dance. Kea had always hated those plants. they almost conquered a small part of the deck in her backyard one summer a few years back. They were ugly and she never liked that this house  had them all over the front yard instead of grass. Some of the forest had been chopped down to make room for a mountain of old tupperware to sleep soundly on a red tarp. She looked for Chick for some sort of support but she had already trotted off inside where Kea’s eyes couldn’t see. She was on her own outside and found herself tiptoeing lightly around the situation. She wasn’t quite ready to walk inside the house yet. She felt like an intruder and began to awkwardly shuffle through a pile of old sweaters on a tarp. This turned out to be a gold mine for old t-shirts with the name of her hometown on them. Torrance 75th anniversary, Torrance Farmer’s Market. Torrance YMCA, Torrance grower’s Association, each one a legacy to a story that Kea had never heard of yet could somehow still be familiar with. The things they make t-shirts for… she thought condescendingly as she folded some neatly into a pile. Pointless as they seemed, she was going to buy one anyway. Deep inside her, in a closet, behind some boxes and shoes and forgotten report cards you could find Kea’s love for her old town. “This woman really loved Torrance.” thought Kea. It was obvious to Kea that the clothes had all belonged to one person, so Chick must have been right about the definition of estate sale. Kea suddenly felt like the intruder again and set everything she had greedily hoarded into her arms back down on the blue farmer’s market tarp. Once again her mind powered up its projector and she watched home movies of her walking on that very square of sidewalk, avoiding the cracks and holding her breath.

“You have to hold your breath while your walking by the witch’s house!” said her brother.

She was so scared that she held her breath all the way to the end of the block then gasped “You didn’t hold your breath when we walked by cause you told me to hold my breath which means you were breathing cause you were talking!”

“No! I can talk without breathing!”

And the witch was forgotten and replaced with an argument over how one can talk normally without breathing.

Kea looked up from the sidewalk, waved and said an awkward hello to three people sitting outside who seemed to be on the other side of the situation. Kea wondered if they were friends of the “witch” or family. Had they gone to the funeral? Did she die recently? How did she die? How many kids did she have? Grandchildren? Was she happy? Alone? Scared? Heavy thoughts made the weight of the sun on her back triple as Kea stumbled for the shade on the side of the house.


A quick note: I wrote this on scraps of paper I found in the airport, one being the ticket I printed out from my work printer. I bring it to you, unedited.


I am going to write while i travel; this is a testament to my future life’s goals. An ultimatum to myself.

So far:

Y drove me to the airport. It was nice to catch up with her. It’s nice having a seester who I can chill with. We pick up on conversations days later… it’s amazing. I’m in a crappy Disney bar with chrome tables and business men. There is some sort of teen dance troop watching TV and yelling “woo” as dance the stars murders the imagination. This 70’s dad with a stache guy just looked at me… fuck I’m gonna need more paper. A grandmother just told a girl to stop eating with her fingers. The girl shouldn’t talk to her mammy like that. My posture is getting RI-DICK. Wow, you are such a grandma, Grandma sitting next to me.

“She’s so pretty.” she says through a mouth full of pasta salad, indicating to the host of American Can Dance or whatever the fuck. They aren’t speaking to each other… just watching.

Some “club-y” woman, wearing clothes far too young for her (the Limited 2??) : “OMG! You got a picture of THAT!?”

She snorts into her champagne… champagne? Are they drinking champagne? They are… ha ha.Oh shit is my flight  nott delayed. I better chug this heineken. BTW, the waitress gave me a pen. Niceeee. Suck it Hudson News, effin three dollars for a  pen.

I like writing in public… it’s my new high.

Commercial flashes by on TV-

Sears: “Don’t just go back… ARRIVE”

really? Really?? Slutty kids…

Now the girl is flicking oranges at her grandmother. I wonder how she will arrive at school this year.

Isn’t it enough to get to go back to school? WHy don’t children enjoy learning anymore? Why doens’t our country value it?! …and they wonder why we weep for our future… if you raise children who’s heros are false idols… then you are aiding the problem.

I better go check on my flight.

Hours later in JFK…

Flight was ok. I awoke with bright red fingers and thought I was bleeding… but it was just flaming hot cheetos. Too bad… it might be fin to start bleeding randomly with strangers surrounding you. What would they do? WHat would I do?… While we were getting off the flight, some kid dropped the F bomb, but botox/juicy couture matching sweater and track pants set, didn’t seem to mind. We were standing awkwardly close to one another in the aisle and the lights flicked off as the power on the plane went out. I thought about having sex in the small utility closet bathroom. Most people panicked… i rolled my eyes and turned my phone on, and noticed the boy looked nervous. I told him that the power went out because he swore.

I had to go back through security in order to get my boarding pass… god i hate being cattle. I feel itchy. I found someone’s laptop when I was getting my boarding pass. This pushy, highlighted, matching pants and jacket wearing dried up fake tan 48 year old (I’m being nice) woman told me to give it to the attendant. She looked at me like I was about to bust a move outside and start selling that shit on Canal Street. I am not a juvenile delinquent.

I refused to get Dunkin donuts… and I’m sorry, but America doesn’t run on Dunkin’ in fact… I’m pretty sure  America’s not runnin’ anywhere because of Dunkin donuts. I stole Burough’s Dry from one of those Hudson news joints.

8/12 7:30 AM

Well well well look who’s finally on a flight home. After a calm olympic, rat infested weekend I am finally sitting, center seat, in front of a pterodactyl on a plane that will get me back to sunny CA. On the puddle jumper flight I sat amongst a large red haired vera bradley family. The girl(?) across the aisle from me kept poking her mom in front of me every five fucking  minutes. “How long will this take Mommy? Mommy, will you hold my hand? Mommy, dolly needs a snack. Mommy, I think I like girls” etc… The girl spoke as if she was eight , but looked at least forty-three.

The baby behind me is crying. Is there baby Valium? Like, a half tab?

“Mom Mom, MOM! See the clouds?!”

“Yeah quit pokin’ me”

(5 Minutes later)

“Mom (poke) MOM I’ve never been on a plane when it was raining. Do we get to watch movies?”

The girl is wearing all pink, a baby Target pink. Her muffin top rolled over the top of her sweat pants and made a shelf for her pre-teen, already flabby boobs to rest on.


Jesus I’m a bitch.

Posadas and the Jesuit Missions

the day before I left I took a stroll over to San Telmo (the long route through the botanical gardens) amazing street art going on, if you wanna check out the album, it’s here. I LOVED that I got some snaps of these kids

But my fav pic that day is of the little guy that lives in our house:


Anyway, I left Buenos Aires late at night and woke up the next morning to a sunrise and an itch to write. I had my journal with me, so the rest of this will be unedited from the pages of my journal (unless I choose to leave something out…) I’ll use [brackets] for when I add a note, and the italics indicate when I wrote in cursive:

“17/2/11 7AM On the bus headed to Posadas to see the Jesuit Missions. I am humbled by the modesty and simple grace of the ‘frontier.’ To the left I see a short forest of trees in, what seem to be, defiant straight lines. The sun rose fast and orange over a small town with ruins of ruins, sketches of sketchiness and untamed wilderness strewn with shacks of goods. I saw a sign for Budweiser and found myself wondering about the similarities in all our lives. I feel rich, But who is truly richer? I have never felt so detached from the gray metropolis or the blue seasides that I can familiarize with a concept of home. It reminds me of when [my sister] and I were driving through South Dakota and Colorado. The sense of awe at just how big our world is. And the feeling in your belly button when you realize that it isn’t even it. Once there is more, there is more… and then more and more until your mind stretches out so far that your womb aches and snaps you back. We truly weren’t meant to understand ‘all this.’ We think we are humans but we are really just cattle, no… grass. Once our blip exits the screen, there will be no one to interpret our primitive scratchings. We will only finally refuel the universe in a smaller amount than we took once our foolish graves dissolve and feed back. I wonder if I will ever be famous… and if so, will it ever matter? And now a few words on bus travel. It’s as bad as I thought it would be. Not better or worse. The bus station in Retiro was strange and chaotically efficient. My bus showed up right on time but there was no announcement until (literally) one minute before. The bus isn’t packed, which is nice, normal amount of talky toddlers, but none screamy. As we pulled out of the station a woman one seat ahead and to the left started freaking out. Not too loudly, but noticeably. I didn’t understand a made a ‘that bitch is crazy’ face. Which I still regret [even now re-typing this into a blog] because as she begun to cry I heard the words ‘abuelo’ and ‘murio’… I’m SO SORRY! I’d be a wreck if I found out Abuelito had died. When that day comes… I will not be ready. ooof I can’t even write about Abuelita. It makes me too sad. I wish I had charged my iPod more… it was VERY cold on the bus all night. I’m so glad I brought mom’s/my cardigan at the last second, and these pj pants. I just saw a very skinny cow. Flaca vaca… hahahaha. The cucumber I brought is gross. I can’t believe they served us a meal. It wasn’t great… makes me think twice about complaining about plane food. Also everyone got a Pepsi. No choices, which sucked cause I didn’t want caffeine. Just passed by another smattering of buildings all I saw was ‘bar’ y ‘carneceria.’ [guess that’s all that any city needs really] These must be the ‘saltine crumble cities’ I saw from the plane on the flight to BA. As we ate a movie starring Hillary Duff came on. I literally thought of seven different ways to kill myself with various things I had packed. I tried to sleep but there were two people on the bus snoring loudly. One is behind me and the other one IS BEHIND ME [this was underlined]. Really? REALLY?! You snore like clockwork the whole way and your wife snores like some foley artists’ dream?!! Then I thought of seven ways to stop them from snoring (or breathing) using only the things I packed. I chose #7, loud Daft Punk and finally found some peace. The man across the aisle and one seat back is watching a video with his headphones in and is unaware (or a jerk) that his headphones ARE NOT working. Surprise! Now we all have to listen to that sappy crap. I hope he is embarrassed by his music selection. Why is this country obsessed with the dulce? Everyone eats cookies and drinks Pepsi or café w/loads of sugar. Even that Hillary Duff move movie was syrupy….

Friday: wow wow wowiw wow. I loved Posadas and the surrounding mission area. It was so beautiful. Orange streets, sweet smoke, glitter sea, tranquil faces, maté sipping gentle green trees hills and bush. [This sounds prettier in Español… Calles de naranja, el humo dulce, el mar brillo, se enfrenta a tranquilo, tomandomate suaves colinas verdes árboles y arbustos.] Posadas reminded me a bit of el Centro or Ensenada. But San Ignacio was so simple, but beautiful. It’s as if I visited a jungle city in the clouds, like I was in a movie about visiting the ruins, not like I was actually there. Everyone looked healthy, happy and peaceful. There were horses and dogs running freely through the town. And motorcycles everywhere. Never in my life have I wanted to ride a motorcycle. But seeing those bikes breach the crest of a hill with clouded backdrop and descend down a red clay road passing pink shacks and yellow flowers into the golden purple sunset…well. It was stunning. [This sounds prettier in Español tambien… Pero al ver las bicicletas incumplimiento de la cresta de una colina con telón de fondo nublado y descender por un camino de arcilla roja que pasa chozasde rosa y flores amarillo en la puesta de sol de oro púrpura … bueno. Fue impresionante.] The Mission was about what I expected. Learning about the Jesuit and Guaraní lives and how the town worked was really interesting. The rocks glowed orange blood red, well more like sand on fire. Or burnt skin but less pink. Anyway, I kept sneezing the whole time… allergies. So I was actually glad to leave. But I think the journey there was more important. It was a grand feeling. Walking along the side of the highway, alone, not sure where the bus station was. Completely free, but safe, knowing that I did it all on my own w/o agenda but with only curiosity and my intelligence. The moon shone bright with a mustache as I walked along the river/port in Posadas. Everyone was out jogging, literally everyone. And everyone was enjoying a maté w/friends. It was very enchanting. I had dinner at an ‘Arabian Mexican’ place… very extraño. I had a gyro type thing w/steak, tomatos, [yes I spelled tomatoes wrong twice] corn and cabbage… the tomatos and cabbage seemed like they’d been soaking in vinegar, kinda like the asparagus I had @ Las Violets café en BA. (That sandwich was weird…) But I ate all my Arabian Mexican gyro, it wasn’t good but it wasn’t bad… drinking a bottle of wine helped. I walked back to La Vuela de Pez hostel and passed out. I slept pretty well and this morning woke up and caught the bus to Iguazú where I am now. Things are going well! Strangely, I find myself missing ****** often. I’m gonna miss Posadas, but it deff was a ‘one day town’ the crazy hills, the  resteraunt [restaurant] with the friendly waiters. The dark lit streets and that crazy dark market with all the maté. I deff need to try it out when I get back to BA.

Saturday?? [Insert weird dream here, I will include this part about me and this ugly baby I had] I tell everyone the baby saved my life and some woman on the street said, ‘you best not be buying any nice furniture o theyz be takin’ pictures of that and not the baby!’ everyone laughs as we get into a pink square taxi. [There’s more, but back to reality] weird weird dreams………… ANYWHO I’m on the bus now heading home to BA. (Weird saying ‘home’) I smell like wet dog but am very happy with my weekend excursion. Why do my ankles look so god damn fat!? And what is this scratch on my arm 😦 I have the worst skin. I hate you skin. So I wanted to write about las cataratas [waterfalls] but what is there to say really? They put Niagara to shame. It was an eerily beautiful day, like lightning in the air or like a storm was coming… and it did. I had just walked to the bottom of one of the falls and gotten all wet. On the way back I stopped to eat my sandwich and BOOM rain and thunder and sun. I packed my camera in plastic and napkins and continued on. After a few mins it stopped and I did the rest of the paseo superior. Luckily my camera died right as I left the park. Oh I forgot! My unplanned extra day. Friday I got to puerto Iguazú too late to see the falls so I had to stay the night in a hostel. THANK GOD FOR EXTRA UNDIES. [mom was right] I have never been so grungy in my life and I’m so proud that I figured this all out on my own w/only a backpack and a few torn pages out of Lonely Planet. The hostel was cool, I slept in a 10 person room and just chilled at the hostel all night. I didn’t really fell like exploring, plus they had a BBQ that night so I didn’t have to go looking for a resteraunt. [yes, spelled wrong again] It was really good and I got to chat w/a bunch of people from all over the world. This one guy Tav, from London or UK, really buddied up to me and expected to go see the falls w/me the next day but I politely told him I wanted to do it alone.. I’m glad I did. I like doing things at my own pace. I’m really glad I came here on my own. It’s so much easier to get around! I’m on a nicer bus this time. Blankets! Whiskey! I smell terrible but whatever. I’m drinking my maté and I absolutely love my new cup and straw. I ate WAY too much delicious meat at the hostel… tummy ache now. I need to start doing sit ups. Three more hours to go. I’m glad I was able to sleep last night. AND I got to watch Prince of Persia. It was actually pretty cool, plus my boyfriend Jake G. is such a hottie. Armed officials came onto the bus twice this trip to check our passports which is weird cause they didn’t check at all on the way to Posadas.”

That’s all she wrote!