I want to...

be more.

You change. Or, you make mistakes, mistakes that become you, a pattern, a dark hole you can't resist, can't stop falling down over and over again because the familiar falling and that rush of air are so much better than nothing. Plug in that sweet sad music and write. Wrong words said, wrong choice made... I will not let my mistakes characterize who I am. I will spray paint the walls. I am this promise, more than my failures... More despite the cracks, more because I grow out of them, move beyond them.

An amazing friend told me she would not give up hope, that I would learn, that I am more. This is for her... and more.

Mold # 7 sold and $10 donated to the American Cancer Society


Boob vs. the Volcano

A little less than a year ago, when I began this project, I lovingly and laughingly referred to it as my Boob Enterprise. I tried to come up with a creative title and had a web-work of scrawls filling a page with "breast" lingo. What do you call them - after all, they're used for various purposes with designated labels that depend on the person doing the labeling. For example, when referring to someone's classy tits it's slightly more refined to speak of her bust. It's also a fact that one in eight women does not get "boob" cancer, rather she will deal with "breast" cancer. However, four in ten men don't ogle at mammaries - but hooters, jugs, or bazooms they'll stare at for hours. Sometimes they're knockers, other times a rack. What about jugs, tits, mere cleavage, ta-tas, bosom, udders, perhaps globes, honkers, or simply put, body parts. So many names and it all depends on how you say it and how you've heard it said before.

As testified by, the word "boob" is actually vulgar slang for the female breast. But which of the seven non-obsolete definitions for vulgar applies in this scenario? It would seem I've gone the wrong route in selling "boob" molds rather than "breast" molds as it implies a lack of taste, can be thought of as obscene, or heaven forbid – common, as well as lacking in charm and aesthetic value.

Consider instead the word "breast". Yeah, check out the definition on that one. So formal, so dry, so anatomic, so… politically correct. While I have nothing against the word breast I think there may be too many people with a grudge against "boob." From my first brainstorming session I came to the conclusion that "boobs" are more personal, simple, and comedic with a hint of blunt. They harbor no ill feelings of superiority over their fellow breasts or ta-tas but underwire them all. Don't get me wrong - this is a serious matter, my words are heavy words and cancer is no joke… But I ask you, who could survive without laughter?

When it comes to my mind, and molds, boob and breast are interchangeable, as I like a little laughter with my love. Though I'm not throwing out the word as trash, I think I will revise my eBay titles as I have hope that the word "breast" gets more hits than "boob" and perhaps the serious needs to be read before the humor.

But again, I ask you to add some absurdity to your lives and keep a pair of boobs on the coffee table and hopefully work to save the lives of those suffering from cancer, whether in breast or otherwise. More tit for your tat so to speak.

And as for the title of this piece, it just flowed for some reason.


I want to wake up tomorrow

Too many nights I've gone to bed wishing I'd want to wake up in the morning. Too many nights in a world where we can’t have what we want unless we take it, and I just lay down. For those whose best dreams are of themselves dying… I think of you often, have included myself in your ranks.

Both strangers and friends have shared their little deaths with me. Those moments when nothing seemed a better option than, well, nothing... Here I think of them, each unbearable pain a different story...

She wonders if she can hold her breath, exhale all the pockets of air and feel her heart scream.

He stares at the counter top for minutes before grabbing the car keys and the sleeping pills.

She looks with hollow eyes and deep tears at the image in the mirror before downing a handful of dreams and drowning hope in the bath.

Dead eyes glazed, he watches the razor edge slide across his upper arm and the thin line of red appear, then drip.

Hair tied back, hands gripping the cold porcelain she heaves and flushes everything away, everything but what she most wants to disappear, herself.

But I don't want to die, I don't want them to die. I want that wish to come true for each of us. So here’s to a new day tomorrow, maybe a mistake, and a grab.

Mold #2 sold on March 06, 2007: $35 donated to the American Cancer Society


Read between the designs

I don't know what to do with my life.

I want to be good, but I'd rather be everything.

Sometimes I try to keep the fear, the pain, and the questions hidden, try to make others read between my designs. But there is something to be said for taking what can seem the ultimate risk and sharing your soul despite any dissolving faith in self. I can't keep attempting ties to others wings to fly me to such great heights... So often I don't want to be me...

Every other page of my journal is filled with promise:

"I will make something of my life. Make it worth having lived, for myself and for others. I will be enough."

And every other page of my journal is filled with doubt:

"One thousand and three things I should be doing to save myself right now but all I can think of is how I’ve already failed."

Maybe I don't know where I'm going, maybe few people do. Maybe I can't be everything, but I will find a way to get to the place where I don't hate me.

Someday I'll paint a picture and show you the words that made it okay.

Mold #3 sold on March 14: $15 donated to the American Cancer Society


"hope is a thing with feathered wings"

Who holds the rifle?

I wanted to hand out the words to save your soul. The kind of words that animate, that crawl inside your head to live and breathe hope. Then she called me naïve, he said I was a dreamer, and they called me young - like hope is a condition I’ll grow out of.

Looks like hope is a condition to be beaten into submission, into graves.

The problem with some is that they've lost their taste for dreams. They could spew when they hear about someone chasing a shooting star. Success, and they call it a miracle, failure and "I told you so." I won't let this be me.

I may be beat down in moments, but in the end, just because I may not see my star clearly doesn't mean I'm slowing down this run.

Mold #4 for sold on March 21, 2007: $10 donated to the American Cancer Society


Too many words...

To be blunt, the realm of relationships sucks and you can fill in your own words of pain and joy here.

There is in and in-between, this is just a reminder not to throw myself away. Break out Not down. Conquer loneliness.

Mold #5 sold on April 2, 2007: $15 donated to the American Cancer Society


We said forever...

It doesn't have to feel this way, be this way. I'm sorry.

Forgive me.

...the distance grows

Mold #6 sold on April 10, 2007: $12 donated to the American Cancer Society