I’ve lived 29 winters that have all led me down the same avenue of self-expressing myself to death. Mexico and its unforgiving waves on the west coast are deeply rooted in my veins but I made a home in the desert. Arizona, who am I to love you? You need nothing but an ungodly bright sun, the sweat, and tears of my body, and my endless desire to remind you of what real passion looks like. Arizona, I left you for greener, wetter, forgiving pastures. Portland swallowed me whole and watched me fall to my knees in deep need to paint again. Now here we are. The strangers I have met along the road have been the purest form of evidence that I exist. Somewhere, everywhere.

And I hope you remember me like this, a poorly assembled montage of all the people I’ve ever met. A tragic character in a play of my own creation. The ring leader behind every urge to shed unwanted layers of myself and start over. Self-loathing and egocentric but I carry with me an unwavering, burning desire for introspection and delusion.