The otherside

Tell me about grammar, how language as we know shifts consciousness.
More, I am very efficient. Less, my akin is soft.

Reading the diaries of both Anaïs Nin and Jean Genet I am thrown back to a time of familiar drives. The hunger for companionship strikes me lonesome for my pen, for paint, for the drug of a lover's touch. I am unarmed by my solitude.
This work that has traversed nearly a decade is decadent, bold, relative to my experience. What else could it be?
I work now as a cocktail creator and am doubting my shift of location. Seattle had friends, family, familiar routines. Here, I know almost no one except the shadows of memory. Save the transgressive shift of perspective I am still alight with the memory of my last great love.
I have perspective and my innocence in a locket. A darling asked me to marry him, it's my third proposal this year. I will marry all of them, none of them, one of them. I bought myself a ring and married myself again. I did it first at nineteen and again this year at thirty four.
Unpacking boxes I am amazed at how long I've been closeted as an artist. I make solitude a lesson.