Jumping Waves

on the bus to Venice, Venice Biennale 2007

"The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clearing, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in the abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace."

from The Awakening by Kate Chopin. I read this in high school. It was my favorite book in AP English. I think it may have influenced my work.

I jumped into the crisp and cold Atlantic on Friday in New Jersey far from the city. I had to dance around at the water's edge before racing into the waves. I took the plunge, head-butting a wave at about thigh's height. It shocked me. So much that after a short soak, I slowly trudged out of the water towards the shore. I told Darla on the sand that it was like being in battle, a phrase I stole from my father, mouthed when a situation gets rough. It was hard to jump into that cold body of water alone. When you're young standing at the water's edge you have a hand holding yours. You know that that grown-up hand won't let go of your small one and you can simply look forward to doing what you came here for, the only activity in your mind worth doing standing at that foamy part of the water, jumping the waves. And if that hand holding yours belongs to someone of great strength or great fun, you may not even have to jump at all. You may be carried over each wave with both arms by two big grown up hands..

I come to you from West Philadelphia. I'm in my panties and boots drinking red wine in a cup. And I'm just going to write.

Laura Graham said potential... we talked about it over Yuengling in Brooklyn. So did my best friend and I over the phone in regard to our futures, both immediate and distant. I think about it a lot. I think of the little girl I once was wearing a red sequined beret, twirling around in spin-around dresses and charming strangers everywhere my mother would take me. I wanted to be a star. This is what I think about when I think about potential. The potential to be great...oh how gauging greatness changes as we age. To be great at age six was to be a star. To be great now...how to be great now...this is the thing that keeps me up until the wee hours of the night.

I want to be great. To be great is to be fearless and sexy and confident. And alone and accompanied only be choice not necessity. To be full. To be eager. To be experimental. To be open to change. To love not hate. To get off a lot. To laugh and cry no holds barred. To be brave enough to scream, when scared, when mad, when having an orgasm, when in labor, when laboring. To not apologize blindly. To not forgive blindly. To forget when it's poisoning your head. To feel pain. To get out of bed. To get up in the morning. To write. To draw. To Paint. To be ballsy like Sophie Calle and Tracey Emin and Candy Depew. To make and not give a fuck what others think. To not give a fuck and do it. To do something. To do anything and not feel bad for not doing something else. To jump in and stay there. To jump in. To not be terrified. To be terrified and do it anyway because if you don't you're being untrue. To be honest and jump in and jump waves all by yourself and love it because you finally did it. To finally do and be. To jump in. To jump waves. They never do stop coming at you when you're standing at the water's edge.

We've talked and jokingly said that we're either gonna end up killing ourselves or start over in completely different lives...

from the Letters to Past Boys series

oh how beautiful and pertinent this line is from a book I loved at age 17..

"She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again."

Kate Chopin

Oh Edna Pontellier.


I dream to be great...buona sera

xo ac