An ol’ journal entry… the “J” series.

…I never was a fan of popularity.

2/11/12                                                          J-1

He grew accustom to girls dancing around him in their melodic gaggle, waddling, squawking. Their giggles like quickly plucked strings, shrieking gossip like the piercing shock of an over-played flute.

He mastered The Charming Disposition (#22) when wearing the Mask of Sincerity (#78), crooning with The Caring Voice of Concern (#53). He flashed the White Pearls of Charm (#66), easily folding, bending, squeezing young, fluttering hearts into his toy chest. He lingered over the box, humming along to the hopeful beating against the entrapment. Quickly, swaying hearts latched to their unlikely chance of being his, like a calf to his mother’s teat; savoring the sweet, nourishing nectar of self convincing delusion.

His sustenance and passions always within reach, he wanted for nothing, needed nothing.

The Night gathered her winds and teased the toy box open… finding new mischief to amuse herself with. He fell victim to curiosity, toppled over himself when he noticed her.

She was not like the hearts that resided in his toy chest… She possessed the wisdom of one who had seen many moons, yet she had walked no more steps than the symphonic giggling gaggle He surrounded himself with. She possessed something He never had before, something He could not identify.

Unfamiliar with her ways, The Boy displayed his Best Mask (#77), voiced his best rehearsed Concern (#53.2) with perfect pitch, flashed his Pearls (#60-69).

The Woman did not find validity to the Grande Presentation, but the persistent, Wicked Night Moon got her way. Curiosity took over for the unmatched pair.

The Night sighed a breath of relief. Of Release. Nearly erupting through the seams… long overdue.

He found himself in unfamiliar territory. He knew sex; he possessed a self-proclaimed crown in the matter. But this was strange…Her force, her commanding presence. She had a desire for more than pleasing him. She met him, surprised him, demanded things of him, challenged him. She showed him sensuality and self knowledge. His chest felt tight as she grabbed something intangible. The two took a breath and dived in.

It was awkward.

At times, painful.



He was unprepared, insecure, incompetent. Underwhelming. Vulnerable.

He was cold, uncovered. Naked. Exposed.

He held on to her as he glided into sleep. Trying to keep the moment, the feelings , the magic, the Ecstasy, the indescribable.

She slipped out of his grasp in the early rays. Long before waking hours, maybe moments after he drifted to sleep. She wouldn’t return. She wouldn’t say goodbye. She wouldn’t see him again.

He awoke, with tousled sheets and a slight imprint as the only remains of the night before. The only evidence of his journey the human portal to the divine. It was real. It was bigger than Him.

He softly caressed the lines where her body had lay



“Lie”,  his mind echoed… he was without his mask and his eyes burned with arrival of pure, first morning light, untainted by the day’s abuse, unsaturated by his tinted lenses. Seeing everything for the first time, He realized: He was alone.

He always had been.

His toy box tumbled restlessly. The boy opened the lid, forgetting his Song of Concern. His Charm tarnished, his Mask cracked and frayed.

The young hearts surrounded him, but their once soothing melody was now a cacophony of superficiality. The hearts took turns soothing and comforting The Boy without effect. He lead them back into the toy chest and shut them in again. Clouds covered the golden morning light until the room appeared dull and colorless again. It was dark. The music stopped. The boy buried his head in his hands and cried.


Ode To The Old Us

An old journal entry to an old friend. Long lamented, never sent.

Someone once asked me about the closeness of female friends… sisterhood. This might be something like it.

March 2014- New York, NY

You look so beautiful lying there. So serine. So peaceful. It’s nice to see your shoulders down and free of stress, even if you have to be unconscious for it. I’m glad that you at least have your dreams to run away to.

You’re paler than I remember.


It reminds me of when we were little. You: Blonde curls dancing just behind your pokey ears. Even as a child you were so sure, so graceful. Me, round red Irish cheeks exploding with laughter as I tripped and toppled over my feet and stumbled with my words to express ideas. We’d stay up late nights on our weekly sleepovers, giggling, secrets escaping our lips in hushed whispers, safe in the cover of darkness and a Winnie the Pooh comforter.

It’s funny how long it took us to be friends. I always admired you. You thought you were better than me, and I believed you. This gorgeous, smart, talented, graceful, fearless force. Even my Mom wondered ((aloud)) why I couldn’t be more like you. And boy, did I try. But I always fell just beneath the shadow of your radiant successes. Your courage, your maturity, your fierce independence, your unwavering self confidence, your ambition, your hunger for adventure were the weights coaxing my heavy sighs.

You held my secrets, you were my laughter. My sister. My heart. We grew up together. Faced life and death together. Gave away our hearts and mended them back whole again…together.

You protected me from hash realities no little girl should have to face. You cried the hardest at my mom’s funeral. Because when I lost, you lost. When you hurt, I hurt.

I’ve always compared myself to you. Measured my self worth with your accomplishments.

You were an endless, untouchable flame. You were going to take over the world, and I believed it!

I imagined us at this age, you, off discovering new lands and species and curing cancer and foundations and families and living and full, fruitful life filled to the brim with the viality this world has to offer.

You were the adventurer.

I, timid, awkward, ready to follow.

You’re my best friend, My love for you is immeasurable and incomparable to any other. Because it is endless and unconditional. It’s not obligatory because of a blood union. We are united by spirit. We have no choice.



My radiant friend is trapped inside with closed blinds. My adventurer lost her curiosity to explore.

*A sigh of stagnant, lifeless air. *

 I don’t want to lose you.

I can’t lose you.

You are my entire coming-of-age story… you’ve painted every memory with me, danced through life lessons, you’ve been my anchor, my muse, my biggest competition, my best friend and my worst pain in the ass. I love you.


I remember you used to tan this gorgeous hue of gold effortlessly, any time the sun was out. You coaxed me outside with the promise of endless summer days and boys. You mastered athleticism the way I had mastered sarcasm. With a hair flip, you dominated everyone in your path. You threw on a pair of jogging shorts and a tee shirt we probably found at a thrift somewhere, and easily maneuvered the large city park field like an Olympian. And I, overly, poorly made up (and always dressed inappropriately for the occasion), would sit on the bleachers, skin sizzling into a deep red (to match my unfortunate shade of blush) and wonder if the “ultimate” part of Frisbee was the glistening, shirtless high school seniors.


But your skin is now an unrecognizable shade of marble-gray. Deep purple hues hang on your eyes forcing them into a half-conscious, swollen gaze. The girl who once embraced the vibrant energy of the living world around her, now has to numb herself just to coexist with it.

Have you eaten?

….Please just fucking eat. How can I care for you from miles, years and identities away?

I know it’s my fault.

Every phone call I never returned. Ignoring the signs. Taking you for your word when you told me everything was “fine”. Pretending you sounded the same. Pretending we were the same.

You sleep in the fetal position, as if holding together what is left of you.

… I keep my promise, crawl over to you, and hold you. Protect you. Love you.

I will hold you for the rest of our lives if that’s what it takes.





THE CHALLENGE: My friends gave me a subject, a line, a word or an idea and I agreed to write about it  for exactly one hour. Stream of consciousness. Unedited.

…And whether it is finished or not, I post it.


Zach Lord


Start: 12:45pm

Finish: 1:45pm

…It’s a slow day at work.


I couldn’t rationalize how we had suddenly become so rational.


There was a time when we were so entwined I couldn’t tell what was yours and –

So on…

I didn’t think you’d need convincing. That’d I’d be telling you the story of us the way I would paint exposition and justification for a stranger singing our song for the very first time. Clumsy. Unfamiliar. The notes in all the wrong places and running to catch the down beat.

You were the composer of the sonata my heart danced to for what easily could’ve been the rest of my life. It played on and on and on… I twirled and swung myself freely and unsuspectingly as I fell deeper and deeper in-

the darkness. I couldn’t see myself anymore in the murky water. Water that told me everything was fine. Water that sustained the buoyancy of fantasies, resisting my attempts to dive… bobbing, bobbing along the surface. Flat. Superficial. Bobbing up and down with the waves that tried to warn me of the approaching storm… but I kept my eyes focused on the endless sky; never mind there was no foundation beneath me. I didn’t even notice I couldn’t swim.

I’ve shamelessly poured over pictures of you. Refusing any refuge from the torture of missing you.  I want to romanticize this by creating an image of a girl, bed head and mascara-tinted tears, holding a Polaroid of us laughing together… but this, unfortunately, will not satiate my hungry nostalgia for the 1990s… no matter how comfortable I am sitting in my over-sized flannel and angst.

No, I poured ((clicked)) over pictures of you on an overly illuminated screen, hunched over in a perfect “C”, like The Thinker… calcifying into my torment.

I wasn’t allowed to hang on to any part of you. Even our memories were intangible.

Photos obstructed by the daily pile of the social media feed, conversations only accessible through Wi-Fi, declarations of admiration lived in code… numbers. 1s and 0s arranged to convey how indescribable, unbelievable, larger than life I felt when I was with you.

It was a matrix. It’s all formulaic, isn’t it? A pattern performed with each new coupling as we repeat the script:

*With feeling*

 “I’ve never felt this way before.”

“You mean so much to me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“I love you.”

It wasn’t malicious. We were lying to ourselves more than one another. Somewhere in between the definition of insanity ((doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results)) and the proverb for perseverance ((if at first you don’t succeed…)) lived The Lovers. Us. Once. We tried to navigate a path in the thicket of our addiction to companionship and the deep desire to validate self worth.

Identity. You are so sure of what that is and so brilliantly embodied in it.

…I still wonder who I am when you aren’t looking. I wonder what I’ll say when no one is listening.

There was no evidence of our time together. These moments when I felt the most high and alive, and the most dejected and worthless. This time that shook up my entire being, my humanity and made me question my perception. My favorite memories. My most-requested dream. Sure, a movie ticket stub here, a tee-shirt there… We didn’t think about the inevitable end. I didn’t know it was inevitable….

I “liked” your photo the other day. Did you notice my attempt to embrace you from the screen that now holds the attention I once bathed in abundance?




Knowing that you know and never knowing why it’s still “no”, the conundrum teases me in another cyber-bender as I investigate how you could possibly be living undisturbed You were ever-present and now completely absent. I’m going through disturbing withdrawals and itching for just a taste of you.

 My skin becomes white, translucent. My heart atrophies. How long has it been since I’ve been in the sun? I’m nauseated, unmotivated, nearly-lifeless. Pathetic.

So we un-tag. Block. Delete. Unfriend. Remove from sight-lines and timelines.

  • But you’re still there. Going viral in my memories. Tagging yourself in my empty bed. Commenting on my dreams. Liking my sunny days. Placing a filter on my rainy ones. You post my loneliness. You liter my profile with heartache. You’re trending in my empty bed.


How did we go from one, singular unit to these separate entities? You were mine. You  ripped yourself from me so violently, I think I could still see pieces of my flesh hanging off of you. I’m raw. Exposed bone, muscle and sinew. I’m open sores and pulsating scabs.

Swipe your hard drive clean, and there is no trace of me left. I was your prized possession, your new, shiny, beautiful display and limitless possibility. Now, tossed away with the rest of the e-trash. Too big, bulky, awkward, irrelevant, slow, useless, aggravating, outdated…. collecting dust. I won’t even turn on anymore.

I can’t illuminate.

I become background scenery in a dirty city-scape. Unnoticed. I am unrecognizable in the ever growing pile; equally mundane and dull. My colors fade into an indifferent gray. Lifeless.

…until, one day, I become a nostalgic joke.



Coming Into Frame

I am no longer posting selfies in 2016.

No videos. No OOTD. No pictures with me in them. At all.

If you take one of me, fine… but someone else has to be in it.

I want my memories to be framed in what I think is important… and right now, I think my life should be less “me” centric and more focused on how I interact with the things around ME. Less about approval and more about experience.

I’m also going to severely cut down on my social media time, taking week(s) long breaks, and using it more for communication/information, instead of killing time. The thing about things posted on the internet, is that they will still be there, regardless of relevance, throughout the day.

…but the sun works on a schedule, and I’d hate to miss its precious rays in the small time I’m allotted between obligation and leisure.

Time is slipping out of my fingers like a restless stream of fresh water. This precious resource refuses to be contained, so I think I should nourish what I can in an existence that has an unknown ending.

This is in no way an attack on social media. It’s awesome. It’s in no way an attack on society or the way people utilize their time.

This isn’t about anyone or anything else… it’s a journey of self discovery. I’m making it public because I think we often only want to show our “best” sides…. always profile picture ready. And the truth is, especially in my mid twenties, I have more questions than answers, more confusion than clarity… I don’t think I’m alone, and I don’t want anyone else living in that falsehood, either. I want the freedom to be my most authentic self (when I figure out who she is…) in all of my interactions. I want to show every side. I think we can be beautiful even in our darkest times. We can celebrate life even when we’re not “winning”.

I don’t want to give anyone the illusion that I am anything less than human.

Summer Nights

It was the first time I envied youth. She was young: 22. Limber. She climbed over the railing of our balcony and infected us with her laughter. She was so captivating. Simply because she was youthful, joyous, silly. She responded with giggling. She knew she was the epitome of desire, from everyone either wanting her or wanting to be her. Youth is intoxicating that way. She reminded us of a part of our innocence that had long been gone. She told us her plans of running away to Colorado: a 20 hour road trip with no job, no home and no plan to arrive to. She was leaving tomorrow. We were each 7 beers in and a few shots away from being rational. It was gorgeous. I remembered being 22… With a similar plan as I moved to NYC in the dead of winter. I tried to remember when I lost sight of that girl who never capped her dreams, who instead of asking “why”, continued asking “why not”. Always seeking the possible and answering “yes” to all of her pressing desires when the world had told her no. When did I lose the endless ambition and hunger for life?

… It was when I fell in love. And in bringing someone else into my dream I lost sight of mine… And myself.

Now. I feel tired. Old. Not so limber and not so innocent. Bitter. Demotivated. I simply applauded her. I didn’t want to warn her that the biggest thing she’d have to fear out there was herself. That the world wanted her to succeed but one day she may feel like she didn’t deserve it. Or that she didn’t have the energy to prove it anymore. Maybe she’d never have to learn… Maybe she’s always be her biggest fan.

But for tonight. I simply clinked Coronas and pretended that 3 years wasn’t equivalent to 3 lifetimes… She was newly graduated and newborn.

We’re just happy you’re here… Helping us pretend we’re still young and beautiful. Reckless and carefree.