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“This Sucks” 

Were the honest to god last words my dad spoke on this plane of existence and in his life. It was so… heartbreaking… and… hilarious? in that devastating cry till you laugh till you cry till you can’t tell if your laughing or crying kind of way. So honest. So unprofoundly profoundly unprofound… it really just what it was: “This Sucks.” And that’s what 2025 felt like. This sucks.

It was profound in its pain and unprofound in its universality. A dark night of the soul, a soft sunrise of the Bird, the last of a long long goodbye. It was the year of the Daughter. A daughter’s devotion. A year of time-warp and wrestling and wriggling and rage. Of terrible anxiety and salty tears and salty prayers and rogue sexy surfacings. Of watching dreams so real I could taste them slip like sand through my grasping fingers. Of the tender ritual role reversal of parent and child. Of being more seen in my mess than I ever cared to be seen. But so seen nonetheless. 

These pictures remind me that I am a supremely lucky person. Privileged beyond measure. To have this messy life that has magic waiting in the cracks. To have the LOVE that caused so much anguish and languish. The LUXURY to fall so fully apart and be consciously contained by a barricade of communal and familial reinforcement. To have had the TIME to spend with my parents, my creators. To have had some opportunities sprinkled into the summer that lifted me out of stark wintering and dropped me into a fall of presence for this strange and sucky and sacred year. 34 rocked me to my roots. In 35 I feel that rooting down to rise up. Happy new year to you, happy 35 to me, happy thoughts to bring us our wings ✨
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spring tings
12
Oops here’s Q4 of last year
20
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