Wouldn’t it be romantic, regrowing the forests together?
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Hi friends. Oh this moon has me so slow and quiet and soft. Over half of our country’s forests are cleared for clear-cutting. I watched a video about a nonagenarian who’d restored a clear cut redwood forest with his sweetheart this week. Charles and Vanna Rae Bello. Bless them.
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Come support @forestfortreescollective and the beautiful renegade relief efforts for asylum-seekers of Good Shepard next week for our supper club, MINGALEMU! There will be the best pozole you’ve ever freaking had. There will also be my dear, dear @madre.jaguar !
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First Image: oldie but goodie for the archive! “Crone Is God” aspen ecopoetic sculpture as part of a solo exhibition at Naropa University.
Another day amongst earthlings talkin’ bout the earth today like we just rentin’ it, not talkin’ bout how earth became us, not talkin’ bout how we become earth, how we each will under the soil will sleep the long dream.
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Happy Taurus season and Earth Day! Come have pozole and talk about maíz (which I JUST learned is a grass!) and dig our vibroscape with @forestfortreescollective and @madre.jaguar this Friday at Good Shepard in BK. And get ready for a stellar summer of incredible exhibitions and events on Governors Island with us!
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First slide: “Lay Her Burden Down” ecopoetry install from my solo exhibition at @ifoundleon with Colorado’s wildflowers!
So there I was dancing at the Crisco Disco, a sparkling Brillo hot suit. Misster, I said to my mirror, you look far from home. What I knew was that the lazy game of the chaps couldn’t catch my slick. Men, like flies I had to flick. I was a match on fire: less and more at once. Sweat as fashion accessory. Smoke of the butch barely matched stick, still too much take on the took. Brillo bb, it’s always been us on the coal and you seen the crook. So it is, and so it is: Femmes write the book.
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Happy full moon in Scorp. Bloom babes! Look at us building ourselves on foundations nobody can take away from us, even on our worst days. Our sense of worth isn’t made or broken by someone else’s take. We’re impossible to manipulate when we root, so we take a tip from the flowers-store our light in our depth. Bloom, babes! The @forestfortreescollective Governors Island residency season kick off is May 16! Save the date!
That woman’s Thelma. Out from under Motherless Men. Hat trick, that Kick, his tap tap and his slip was wide awake. That take was the plan. Time our time came. Ain’t nothing in the way but another good as gone man. Misandry is the last wave feminist. Canyon haunt, she’s done what she can do for her father’s men. Our time come. That woman’s Louise.
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Listen to me friends: there is nothing more valuable in all of humanity than a grown woman’s respect. Double that if the grown woman respects herself. Double it again if she’s in her life’s work in spite of it all. Double again if she stands for other women. Listen to me babes: be very, very judicious with your respect. Be deeply discerning with how much admiration you will and will not give to these men. Do not entitle them. They can choose whether to earn your trust or eat your dust.
Soteriology: Magdalena arrives myrrh-bearing on the moonrise’s saving grace. I lift the tide over me, blanketed. It’s a different kind of love that shows up after having lost the real fucking deal. Weighted. Convention loses its persuasion. It’s a different kind of body to be cast onto with the shame of near perfect strangers. Grief stricken love rages at anything less than itself. The lament. The depth of space and time. A sip of blood from the chalice. Another death. A feminist hermeneutical fusion of horizons.
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It’s 78 degrees in NYC today and I’m listening to Ma Rainey, who I imagine would trip at the idea of echoing a hot pink 2026 full moon. I’m ramping up for another season with @forestfortreescollective on Governors Island! It’s gonna be a big year, I can feel it! Keep me in mind for off island readings, residencies, and creative gig opportunities! Calling in collabs! ✨
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First photo from @riversidenyc where Dr. King opposed the war against Vietnam.
Find a lucky grandma, lift her up.
All life long you’ll have good luck.
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Here’s some post residency glows. Toody is on my shrine. Proud of how artists work it out. Cool to see an eruption smooth into tributaries. Cool to see how artists create worlds and futures together. Cool to see how we make life from collapse. Cool to see how daring we are. The dream is finding me. The grandmothers are catching me up to them.
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Happy new moon, mermatriarchs! My lucky grandma turns 93 this week. Send her your love, she will multiply it and double your luck. 🍀
Spa day for the spirit. Spa day for the mind becoming matter. Salt bath for the purifying heart. Herb steam for the womb. Scrub down of the internal dwelling. Whole unto the self cleanse and oil. Dressing into silken robes these duties of care. Polishing up for erotic fascination, to stand beneath stars that will eagerly show one’s best side.
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I’m beyond grateful to return once again to my psychospiritualcreativeandcorporeal spa @souwester this week! I’ll be participating in Sou’wester Arts Week 2026 (Seaview, WA)! This magical, women-run residency has nurtured my practice as an artist for over a decade now. To have a space held by and for artists that the public also gets to enjoy is such a gift. It’s a huge inspiration behind my work with @forestfortreescollective .
The public is invited March 13-15 to explore 60+ artist exhibitions, performances, installations, and studio tours, all free and open to everyone.
I would love for you to come experience the magic of Arts Week and say hello. I’m daring the musical realm and will be performing with my friend @_joselobo__ Saturday afternoon in the lodge!
A little perk! 10–20% off at nearby hotels: souwesterlodge.com/artsweek2026
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Here are a million photos from the last decade returning to my creative practice and self at @souwester !
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#souwesterartsweek #souwesterartsweek2026
Under what conditions do we spare a man? Under what exceptional circumstances do we stand beside them? Not to eat not to ash not to send to stone. The men do try, but the men never can seem to get past the gate, even though the gate is guarded only by grandmothers.
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Rule of Yaga’s thumb: probably gonna get hungry soon as his feet get wobbly under his story. Hello and how are you all finding this ecliptic bird bath? Too hot? Too cold? Toxic slush? Space slop? Slurpy and burpy?
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Last slide: a little valentine for the baddies with the saddies. 🖤
“Sincerely, Miss America”
2026
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The machine as monster against her maker. We went to high school with these men, we’ve sat across them at conference tables, they’re our uncles, and teachers, and coaches, and doctors, and dads. If at the center of our new world is the grandmothers council, at the edges wielding swords are those of us who will not let our bloodlines bloody the land. ICE OUT.
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If we’re gonna use AI, we should use @ecosia ! They plant trees not bombs.
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Sound (the human kind) by @_joselobo__
The man on the L train sits down right beside me and says “Now let’s find the creature dressed as a human being.” My stomach growls. I lick my incisors. Quietly turn the infradian. I would never give away so plain and men tend ill prepared for the creaturely. Honies listen to me, they can catch us if they can. But we are far from easy for the catch.
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I get my sweetness and my deep loyalty from my maternal grandmother (pictured), who I adore and am so lucky to still have around sweetening me up (rounding 94!). Everything else about me I get from my other grandmother, who couldn’t follow a rule in her life, and protects me fiercely in the ancestral realm.
Working with grandmothers is everything to me. The more I work with grandmothers the more I want to share the grandmothers I love. Feminism fails without elder femmes as council. And it’s not grandmothers as some benevolent force that makes them so vital (and dangerous), it’s their humanity and their complexity and their deep, bodily understanding of what it takes to evolve humanity. Nobody has this how grandmothers got it.
This year, I’m gonna work to bring more grandmothers together for public council. If you know a grandma who isn’t afraid of the times, and would be up for a challenge, let me know.
Happy new moon.
I eat my psychic Wheaties. I know what I know. Moon needs Sun needs Grandmother. I throw my magic beans on the floor I have scrubbed by hand. I don’t like to lose a good thing. I want romance almost as much as my own sovereignty and security almost as much as freedom. Me, I’m nobody’s Patsy—I like having my energy. I don’t take love for acceleration or to go blue at the root. Counted are all with every reason not to trust me but extending of love the same. I take my daily achey breaky in a two-step’s stride.
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War and peace are at it again. I retreat to shell for the poem. Marking the midpoint on my fortieth turn, the moon brightens. I am strong of spirit, local power, water, and grace…having had some time now on the wheel.
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Full moon love to you all. 🖤🌕🖤
My body, built to be loved is ringing the bell. I take my tea bare. A better poem would add bourbon, but I have work to do, and the fruit of endeavor before me. Fat slice salami tactics are so far working in our common enemy’s favor. With help from the sun, the mind-sky of inner space forms like a mystic scepter. The solstice is another thing they cannot take.
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I scrub my floors with rue, light every candle with the sunrise, welcome Mithras and Saturnalia, and let smoke lighten the lift of my sunny season work. By then, we will be dancing with the grandmothers under the moon. Solstice Blessings, friends!
