She's a prose painter, some of them will like her words, some of them will love her words. Some of them will not stand her words, but then again she's not here to please the faceless maddening crow. To them who truly know her, she's like a European sensibility mixed with the sensual abandon of a woman lost in a world of Pablo Nerudian sensibility. She's the one who likes standing on a moving bus or going into a library and using her outdoor voices. When she go over to the dark side she always bring cookies and tea. Sometimes when she's really wild and crazy, she'll even bite into a piece of fruit without giving it a good rinse first.
Does it taste sweeter? You bet your sweet ass it does. She believes one of the most courageous acts you can do it think out loud. She does it often. Sometimes she does it here. With her own words.
To her, words are sacred as they are profane. Each word is a small story, a thicket of meaning. Words are such sacred objects to her. With words she explore all subject that cross her strange and dark mind from herself to madness, hope, memories, childhood, regret, courage, fear, nature, love, sex, reading, writing, life or what drifts through her cerebral cortex on any random morning or afternoon.
Mostly with cookies and a cup of tea.
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