A Pen's G-Spot

Here is an excerpt from an up coming piece! You might see me in theaters.. Normally, I wouldn't mind the holidays. The christmas music playing through the rows of food but something about the snow covered car waiting for us and wet shoes was off-putting. It wasn't the cold because he would always give me his jacket. It wasn't the moister because it helped regulate my body temperature. It was about the honey. Clover honey found in little bear bottles grown and packaged in Colorado priced at just over five dollars. Clover honey, the best for eating, was not on our grocery list.  "Grade A, grade A," he kept mumbling. "Why do you need it?' "It's a science experiment," he scanned the shelf, "don't tell" he looked up with a smirk. "Is this it?" I pulled out a plastic teddy bear full of pure honey.  "Yeah," he laughed, "good job." He patted her head but I continued, "but really......

I have a set of Christmas lights in the shape of stars hanging in my room. The hung there since the beginning of spring, long before Christmas was a thought. They served a few purposes but two in particular. The first was to show off in front of my friends with Hey, check this out. How dope is this? and always keep me in my dreams. Stars that permanently hang over the curtains, curtains that hang over the window, the window that lets light it, the very light the curtains swallow, to only create darkness, that of the eternal night. The night where only the stars shine reminding me to keep dreaming and create.  I work at best in the presence of these lights. Oddly enough artistic enough to inspire me even though the turmoil around me hasn't. I either have the ideas but not the time or the time and not the ideas. Alas, I haven't given up! I managed to submit a few pieces --it's all about determination (and fighting off bad juju). For those of us struggling to stay immu...

In honor of endless hours of mind-numbing work, some time accompanied with uneventful hours of watching the clock and creating snowflakes out of dry cleaning tags, I have decided to write short specially designed for my blog. Welcome to the first. Los Dos Compadres: Pilot I wonder what's it's like to be ten feet tall to tower over the world. I wonder what it would be like to be just a few inches mighty, crawling along the ground. When I would go for a run, I would cross state lines with each step. It would take hours if not days to snag a snack. I would befriend the clouds, and swat birds. I would ride birds from place to place. When I was younger, I towered over daisies. I started out just as small as the ones I watch now. I would rip them out of the ground to tear each leaf off. I would watch them swim along the current and follow. Malevolent, maybe. Aimlessly, mostly. Honestly, I like making my own decisions. Truly, I like blending in. Mommy ...

Imagine the hundreds of miles, hundreds of minutes it took to get home to a family. The family that took hundreds of days to build itself with tears that smeared mascara and stained blankets, screams that shook the walls, and toasts that made everyone smile because when a family gathers, everyone is happy. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Lock up your turkeys --it's dangerous outside. All the thanks I would like to give. Lets start from the beginning. Thank you Denver School of the Arts for rejecting me, twice. If I didn't burn the letter of reject on a patio of a two bedroom apartment, I would have never been so down to notice a flyer.  This brings me to my next thank, thank you Alice Aldridge-Dennis for hosting my first conference. If it wasn't for the free pitch there and the array of workshops, I would have never felt like a writer. Alice also made it possible for me to feel like a success.  At the Castle Rock Writer's Conference , I met Trai Cartwright . Trai gave ...

I apologize. If I could, I would bake a million cookies and shove each one through the CD slot to feed each and every one of you. You. Are you still out there or has a two week disappearance been marked as a self disemployment? If anything, I have been employed and simply said, it takes the life out of the most vibrant. Mind numbing, soul sinking, work. That's not all that bad though, don't get me wrong. It's a nice distraction from not being able to eat quiet right or think quiet smoothly. As many scars as a bodies has and as many ridges as the brain may fold is about half as rough as bad juju can get you. Change is coming, the storm is brewing, and the caldrons of green-eyed witches are brewing just as the pumpkin spice lattes of white bitches. The change is social and it starts small, like the age under my eyes that darkens a pigment each day but not really noticed until my blood shot eyes appear at a family dinner. Then it pulses outward, first tapping the directly af...

Time to make this official. Here is my invite and here is my audience. Come one, come all! I swear I will feed you and care for you all. There shall be a tea party in honor of Alice as well as a reading to introduce her better.  Brenden Matthews  will have not only prints available for sale but also sculptures in an auction setting. My book will be available for purchase as well as a few surprise works! There will be three raffles but you have to be at the party to find out what they are. I do love dress-up so to fit the spirit, I will be dressed as Alice and I will have masks for those who like to get a little weird. If only, if only, I could show you how excited I am that this is all coming together but the best I can do is invite you all to Reality, conveniently located in Greenwood Village.

**UPDATED*** Welcome one, Welcome all!  I hope every one got a picture to be here right? No? The more the merrier! My Book release party has finally been announced! After a few months of work, my party, my celebration is happening in what not a more perfect month than October, the month of Halloween! I'll be hosting it October 26th as a collaboration with a few of my friends. One of which is Brenden Matthews, a fabulous photographer. He's done a few of my shoots and my author shot which will be up soon as well! He will be selling some of his work there as well as some slideshows around the house, maybe of his new works? Brenden Matthews Samples So to keep theme with my novel, wonderland. I'll be doing a few readings. The early reading --as motive for some writing folk to be on time for the second or in case someone is hosting an early halloween party --will be set around 4 pm, it will include a early book signing too! Alice in Reality Books It would be ...

As much as we want to believe that writing is our imagination on paper, it boils down to the approval of others for publication and reading. Sure, if writing was what it once was --storytelling-- then panic attacks wouldn't be a problem, control would stay in our hands and only our hands, and maybe we wouldn't suffer like Alice. Alice, in Alice in Reality , lost control. She let the stress chip away until her addiction --escape method-- resurfaced. Drowning in her darkness. But there's hope! Not everyone has to become a teenage girl with weed for fingers and booze for hands. While writing especially, it's key to have fun and enjoy or else there's no point in calling this an art. So, here is my cheat sheet. Five things to do when hell is freezing over. 1. Light Inscents Editing can be one of the toughest things during a writing process especially when the edits are developmental. To this day, I refused to cut the micro-chapter in Alice simply because that scene ...

As my Wednesdays go by, I keep my work flowing with workshops and to assure you I'm busy, here are some samples. The water reflected a blazing fire of anger the sky radiated. Only the sky held the words she shouted but the sun was already disappearing meaning her words would die with the cloud cover. He stood behind her with his feet rooted in the soil but body swinging like loose teeth in a mouth of a six year old. The growing redder sun oozed into the earth around him while the dark clouds danced around her. She would leave but she was hoping for a savior like the sun does everyday from falling but the more she stood, the more she understood she was melting away as the darkness overcame. She would run away and hide her rosy cheeks from seeming so foolish in believe he would really turn her around but no matter where see went, the ticking clock of indigo would follow and so would her words until they vanished in the purple peaks. The sand under him was compressing –moving...

"Hi I'm Anastasia, and I have depression." Why? You have everything. You don't look sad. Oh, do you need sugar? Is there a cream for that? What is depression? I like to think it's different for everyone. For me, it's like watching someone go crazy, someone who suddenly falls into trances of hate and shuts out the world but that someone is me. I understand what I'm doing, I understand I shouldn't yell at my mother when she offers me some food but I can't control it. I shouldn't think about how high of a jump would only hurt me but every time I look out of a window, I can't stop envisioning myself flying. It has been almost a year since I self-harmed. And I truly want to be better. He tells me "I hate it when you're like this" but I can't stop myself. Tentacles cover my eyes as something pierces my mind injecting it with poison.  I do not wish this on anyone. Never. I refuse to watch others suffer. And that...

I am a burrito, a burrito of sadness wrapped in my own pity as it pours. Actually I'm wrapped in a big blanket hissing at the water that keeps seeping through the doors. Despite the high mountains, I feel as if Pangea is her revenge and flooding our cities. Literal rivers keep running through the streets --rapids bad enough to erode schools and leave policemen directing traffic. It's nice to finally have a day in with my father teaching me Russian secrets but let me start from the beginning of this three-day inland hurricane. Day one. The onset was sudden. The clouds started brewing with the wheels in my head started turning. I think I figured out how to help people and help myself. I had a guest appearance at a suicide prevention club, at least I thought, and my anxiety was making it hard to hold pens. Shaking nonstop but that was only the subtle beginning of the storm. In the club, I managed to have an anxiety attack. The teacher who asked me to speak was late and the clu...

Since we just recently made ourselves a couple and you raped my freedom, I keep asking --why on Earth did I agree? 1. Four days before our first --going to Sonic because my navigation lied about Jamba Juice's whereabout 3. Sitting outside a bakery as it started to drizzle 5. Neglecting the fact that your father was waiting for you, we got honked at as we kissed. 11. Managed to turn into almost ten back-to-back a. Blushing as I tried to dance after six months hiding in my house d. Racing past my best friend as I continued screaming to make you go faster f. After getting dared, I pulled down your pants with my teeth... and your boxers. i. You actually made me believe that there was a Greek God named Pointius. 19. I still haven't saved your name in my phone. That happened four months after our first date. I was stupid enough to add an emoticon so now, I unconditionally smile when you text me. 27. Twenty minute discussion before yoga on whether 'the' or 'a...

Labor day is meant for people to rest and spend time with their family. My labor day consisted of me working on the thing I truly love --writing. Finally, I replenished my submissions with a poetry chapbook and past site that rejected me with secondary rejections. One site, Literary Orphans, has me stumped. They are offering submissions for their superhero issue. I remember being little hoping for a hero --a boy to save me, a wizard to take me around the world, and a woman flying round the city. I realized not too long ago that heros really do exist but not in masks or capes but on Instagram and math class. Milk Tyson, of Instagram and twitter, is a real world hero. He offers help to those suffering of anxiety because he himself suffered with it. He hands out his email for people to tell him their story. I would know because I recently had to approach him. My anxiety is getting out of hand as I was too anxious to open my love's door. I stood outside staring at the very knob I tur...

These hands, the very fingers that type a post, are those of a ghosts. In all honesty --I should have been dead. Long gone in a coffin is all that my mind would be left for. But, thank every god I'm not. Thank you to the woman in a black Subaru who stopped. These past few weeks I have been cursing my decisions. My body has been simply falling apart under the stresses of school and work. Pain from a dislocated hip one night and then worries of failure another. I seem to understand everything in class but I can't retain enough for tests. I poison myself with anxiety. The year just started but already, I find myself needing to catch up and work harder on top of my 20 hour days. Last year, I could fix everything. I would run a smooth silver blade against my soft lightly tanned skin till the skin popped open just enough to release a stream of red blood cells all running away with liberation. For maybe twenty minutes, everything seemed fine --perfect. It's been over ten months ...

The cars break in fear of never moving, the body curls in fear of never loving, and the words suffocate in fear of never being more.  It's really starting to click with me that my summer of working is over. As much as I found myself complaining about it, I realized I enjoyed it more than school. I was working --living my passion --and learning, through the ups and down of work. Instead, I'm stuck in classes with students who have as much common selfs as I do money. My green machine is a perfect example. The hulk is not only older than me, it's had a crazier life than me by the stains it has. Nonetheless, it's a car for my endless amounts of book and paper, choices of outfits, and wands of independent flexibility. My work purse is buried with heels and skirts for readings but I never find the energy to go. Instead, I find energy to make endless batches of butterscotch candies white and brown sugar alike. After over forty candies and 12 triers, they are still a hit...

On Sunday, my body was seamlessly transported to an island where a lizard juggled not only double digits but also flaming balls. His tale was green and covered in scales but moved just as his facial expressions changed. Battle horses were as nimble as fabric tumbling in a dryer but their high pitch screams radiated louder than the waves hitting the shore. My mind was lost in the beauty of dedication and passion. At the "Amaluna" Cirque de Soleil show, I watched dancers and acrobats from all over the world performing. Truly performing. It was passion when the ballerina had her solo. Her face changed with the music to add emotion, emotion which she was feeling. Every muscle in her foot flexed as she pointed her toes and the nude feet pads made it that much easier to watch. The pirates that invaded the island were toned but they were human. A few had tattoos along their bodies --one of bamboo the other of miscellaneous symbols. All of the performers were human and the island w...

It all started with a rejection letter. After another unsuccessful year for auditioning to Denver School of the Arts, I swore I would never write again. Sure, this time around I made it into the interview but afterwards, I received a standard business envelop with my mailing address. It was light, near empty, but I held it up to make sure it wasn't. Nervously, My nails scratched at the letter and slowly unfolded the white sheet. Dear Anastasia, Thank you for your interest in Denver School of the Art. Unfortunately, we are unable to extend to you an offer of admission at this time. And up the paper went in flames. I took a photo and a lighter to the edge. Gone --words evaporated leaving ashes on a snow-covered roof. For almost four months, the only words I wrote were the ones for school. I felt defeated because I immediately blamed myself --obviously it was my poor skills.  One afternoon at a Starbucks waiting for my annual optometrist appointment, the motion in my hand...

The unmistakable buzz of bumble bees --running and flying half across the world to do their jobs only to day a few days after --can't stop coming out of my ass. With my latest fashion statement --bright yellow pants --and my black bra on underneath, I am a human bumble bee. Running, always running, from appointment to work to new jobs to homes. Every day I have to go to the right house, find a car or way to tutor. then back home, then to clean, then to write. Buzz Buzz Buzz zipping from place to hoping to make it on time. But the one thing we forget, no matter the country, is talk time. The time it takes to get out of the house to a car --that is talk time. When the owner of the house spends an extra few minutes or so chatting about their weekends plans and you have to reply. Or when you run into a friend and you have to inquire how their life is going since seeing them maybe a month ago. "I'll be there is half an hour," really should be "I'll get there wit...

Points in a story are; endings, beginnings, turnings, and anything that really sticks. I've been told I know how to make a point in a story;  I tried writing off the sounds as settling until I felt the eyes.             I should have listened to myself. I should have gone for help. This parting is an ending point of a frame in my chapbook (due the 15th for a contest).  Points in writing for me come easy; I have time to look over every element getting the words just right with no rush of anxiety and heart arch in between. My life is truly the moments that happen when making plans. In reality, points never stick with me.  Beginnings --that hard hitting opening --start quiet awkward. The beginning of my love story started with the dying need for a smoothie two day before our date. I had a lighter in my dress and no bra underneath and our first kiss was his lips on my cheek as something mesmerized me...

At my mother's house, I have now been moved to the upstairs bedroom and the shower there reminds me of a scene from a house in France where the lead actress is surprised by her boyfriend and they go on. But in reality, I'm staying in the study where the separate bathroom has a shower head of fury blasting needles into your skin screaming when you touch it. I have been busy with events so I never had the chance to write, I was learning about the marketing world and meeting people to help me move further in life. But in reality, I went to an Astrologist to look at my stars because I needed reassurance after the latest fall. I've been reading contracts and planning stories but not actually going out. Today is the day I got to a Literary Ladies Lunch-in and honestly I'm nervous. I don't even have my glasses here because of a late night concert and car confusions. I have no idea what to say. Last night, I went to a concert alone --lost my friends --and four gay men bef...

In 10 days, Starbucks can put out three new drinks, one of which tastes like soap. Commercials keep popping up and I feel completely lost. I used to be the one trying the samples before the drink was official. After stumbling into my favorite Starbucks, open till 2 am and connected to a bookstore, I decided to try the new drink and was sadly disappointed. 20 ounces of peach and sugar and a hint of lavender soap. The barista was even confused when I picked it up. In 10 days, a girl might be inclined to take a pregnancy test. Ten days late is a shocking number. With that answer, her whole world can change whether or not the result is positive. No longer is she in control; her life and the steps after are determined by a little line. I was a result of a failed abortion and infection. My name, in the Russian language, means resurrection. I never thought much of it until I defined it. I resurrected my mother, which is why I hold the name. I resurrected my father as he told me he stayed str...

Her ass meant the world to me. I speak of two females, one is my ex-girlfriend and the next my ex-best friend. The first I would like to dedicate a paragraph to. I fell in love with her instantly. The first second I laid eyes on her, I knew she was going to be a whirlwind. As any awkward teenager, it took me almost a month to have a conversation with her and after a while, we grew close enough to call ourselves a couple. But, no matter my efforts and gifts, gifts I bought months ahead of time, she didn't have time to commit to me. She was off chasing other people and we went our separate ways. Harassment is pronounced the same but deserves a completely different paragraph. Throughout our relationship, I would call and text her miscellaneously to make sure she was okay since she was battling depression. I tried to save her from the kiss of death every time she needed a savior. Recently, I parted ways with her for good as I unfollowed the last account and no longer am I reminded of ...

The weather in Latvia went from wondrous sunlight to endless rain. It pours in the day and then pours around lunch, finally it pours in the evening when it's far too dark to see drops. Still, despite the rain, we try to go boating on a million dollar yacht. A beach house, jet skis, yacht, and five cars is where I'm stationed falling asleep to the waves. This is costing me absolutely nothing as my father and I were invited to stay here. We sit up all night talking and walking around the booming streets. Why do we do this? Maybe it's all the coffee we drink since Europe is fueled on it but really it's because the sun never seems to set. At two in the morning, the sky shines an aquamarine blue with only navy clouds covering it's brightness. Despite the bright sky and high latitude, the sun still tries to set nightly. This is what I want to talk about. Trying.  Staying in a beach house really makes one think about everything. Some man made enough money to own this ...

In Latvia, to climb a pine tree one must be a giant. The treetops cover houses with small branches tickling the windows. Being next to the Baltic, the water is cold but the beach sand is just as hot as the Sahara. Sunshine rains through the trees and the hedges lock it away leaving the passage from beach house to actual beach dark. Trees upon trees through what looked like a forest. A graffiti covered lodge and somewhere in the distance was the beach. The illusion concludes in the fact that once the beach peaks though, stone steps appear as the forest simply stops. Beige sand, softer than Egyptian cotton, greets the feet. The sun is just as hot despite the fact that Latvia is so far north it never has a perfectly dark night. Baltic sea water directly correlates though. It causes shivers up the spine as hypothermia becomes an option. Still the people swim. I can also say I swam in the Baltic sea and wiggled the legs to keep blood flow constant. A forest surrounds the house I am staying...

After two days of travel, I made it! Finally, I am in Ukraine, the first official stop on my trip. For some reason, getting here took longer than getting accustom to here. We started in Denver and took a flight to Chicago. Our flight was ten minutes late thus, after running through the Chicago airport with a laptop hitting my ass, making us late for our connection to Austria. The Austrian Airlines refused to let us board despite the efforts. Now we stood stuck in Chicago. The lovely women at the counter left with some other gentlemen and my father and I, well, let's say I felt worse than the women who gets dumped. We called for our luggage and assistance. Nor United, nor Austrian Airlines, nor our travel agent wanted to book us another flight. Luggage-less, alone we stood in the busy airport. My father worked his hardest but his broken English wasn't getting us any where. I, as we all know, have panic attacks. Airports are their breeding grounds. I panicked my way to Chicago ...

The cleanliness, the security, the solemnness of an airport can be overwhelming. The glass windows, the glass store entrances, the glass walk ways. The timidness of simply sitting next to your gate is uncomfortable as you understand it's only you. Who brings two carry-ons for a 10-day trip to Europe? Right. You do since you can't stand the idea of some man searching through your things. Since a young age, these very men thought all of us, we are the convicts and our things are set for detonation  The government doesn't have trust in us, so why should I? (I'm also deathly afraid of losing my luggage.) I feel the need to finally bring up my book. It's soon to be available online since I'm getting the copy once I return home to approve the printing. Finally, my work in a tangible object for me to hold. I still need to advertise downtown but I can finish my business cards while sipping some tea in the local internet cafe. That's what I need. Work over my vacat...

I've been busy. Who hasn't though? Wherever I seem to look, everyone is always running around making plans. What ever happened to the childhood boredom? Was it overcome by the need to be entertained? "Do, make, create!" chants over and over in my head.  After packing my carry-on bag for my trip to Europe (which only flys out on Friday), I finally said enough. I decided to do the unthinkable --relax. I went to a ball game and crushed sunflower seed shells with my sandals. I had dinner at a cheap burger joint and licked up the foil after I finished. I ended the night with a visit to the park with a playground. Hypnotized and mesmerized by my own toes gliding up and down, I finally questioned myself. Why do I feel so old when I'm only so young. Am I too old to play on the playground? Fly off the swing sets Crawl through plastic caves Ride up and down on a seesaw? Am I too old to paint with my fingers? To mix colors over and over, ...