Sunday, February 22, 2009

Grrls' "Truisms," a la Jenny Holzer

Feb. 18, 2009, Casa Libre driveway


Thursday, February 19, 2009

sidewalk chalk

Art is never right or wrong

I wish I could see your eyes when you close them

I wish I could feel you without leaving a smudge

Love is love no matter what

You are your experiences

Hamstrings are the elevators of our daily lives

Duality is part of our daily lives

History has a funny way of repeating itself

Wishes are just ways to postpone physical action

-the GRRLS


A single breath contains all we need

reasts are either useful, erotic, or a nuisance

anada has no solution for the international drug trade

eath is a race to the finish

veryone is haphazard

ingers are utensils worth washing

iving-in can yield pleasant sensations

ate is a waste of energy

like touching myself

Jelly and jam are not the same

Kinesthetic travel expands ones range and reduces ones carbon footprint

Loke is a cool name

My body is a private piece of art

NASA has too much information and not enough people

Old people are not ugly

Pennies are the losers of the coin world

Quantum theory is my religion


Speaking your language should never be punishable

Time is our most precious resource

Uh is useless

Vile is just a rude word for something you dislike

What happens to yesterday?

Xanax is like trying to find a chair when the music's stopped

Yelling is better than silence

Zoos are animal prisons

-the GRRLS

words to the public

I would prefer most of my words to be public. Why would I write if I didn't want someone to read the words? I write what I feel, sure, and that can be a total mess but the words are meant to be analyzed. How can I grow otherwise? I write to inspire and anger, sometimes to prove a point that makes people hate me. I guess I have too much pride. Not concerning my writing, God knows I'll constantly need improvement, but in my ideas. I know what I want, how I want it, and screw anyone else. I suppose I'm a jerk in that sense.
I wish people around the world could read what I write. Not because I think stuff's amazing, but because I put myself into my words. It all boils down to what I want.
And I don't want to be behind a camera letting something else prove my point. I want to be on stage, any stage, saying it loud and proud.
I like it when people are quiet when I talk, I've noticed my English class is, but at the same time it makes me feel awkward.
'Do I sound stupid?' I wonder. 'Or is it something else I can't place because I'm so socially inept?' (Am I socially inept? That's a question for another day.)

Every living being is an extremist.

The body never matches the mind.

The whole spectrum is a rainbow of gray.


Wednesday, February 11, 2009

hurricane wishes

There is surgery. Surgery is the extreme though. There are binders and hormones. Those deal with breasts too. But there's nothing like surgery to leave vicious scars across a newly flattened chest. Ah to have them gone and but a memory that I can erase as I toss my bras away.
Pitiful, they are. Bouncing lobs of fat and condensed hate that will be displaced soon, so soon, sooner if the mother would agree to let me take the right hormones. Oh let them inject me with testosterone and let me watch as the embodiments of everything wrong fade away.
The body's a cruel instrument that marks and mars its way through my life. Girl-girl-girl it yells to the world as I oppress it under a flurry of hurricane wishes that scream BOY-BOY-BOY. I long for the release of looking in a mirror and knowing THIS IS ME. No more this is she, an entity apart from myself. Oooh, I'll seize that catharsis like one snatches a lover. And lover I'll snatch once I shed this form for the male ideal (ideal I won't be, mismatched parts that don't fit a confused answer to rushed prayers in the morning).
The body that knows and the mind that lives. Frozen gifts from a God.



Luscious, wavy, never ending.
Curl after curl, strand after strand.
Cascading in a billowy manner
extending from my roots, my cultural roots, my political roots.
Flowing, falling, reaching
radiating poetry, words of beauty.
Not just brown.
Not just there.
Like a woven cloth, caramels, browns, interlaced golds
surrounding and framing the elements of my face.
Gently spilling out from behind my ear
where I tucked it away
but the wind has other thoughts.
Luscious, wavy, never ending.


where do you write

I write from memories, from current emotions. I write under the table and over my head. I hesitate because of what my sister said. I write from deep down to just beneath the surface of my skin. I write from happiness, from everything lodged inside. I write because of the way you judge and the remarks you make. I write to keep myself from saying all these things out loud. I write as a resource, a mechanism. A large pool of hope and promise lies beyond every page, yet when I reach it I've already been taken by sleep's gentle grasp. I write for freedom and for organization, for regimen and for control. I write to understand my appearance and why you can't. I write so that I no longer stain paper with salt water. I write so that red may lose its shine and so that I can be at peace again with lackluster flesh. I write when the tablets have lost their effect and when the sun has just begun to rise. I write when my ability not to has worn off, faded away.


never daring to show even the slightest bulge

Everyday I am screamed at by the mind--be right, match, fit the conformist standards set today by society. Roman reaches over and squeezes me, is he making fun? Teasing? Or just... squeezing? At the moment it was strange, and confusing, but now I don't feel it. The mind screams at me "WHY?" "What was your fault?" Everyday I am hidden, sucked in, contained inside of a loose fitting shirt, or if it's tight, a jacket is thrown on top. Never seeing the light, never daring to show even the slightest bulge in the shirt or jacket. Tight, in, hidden, never shown, never good enough. Only spoken of negatively, only thought of negatively... the thighs and arms agree. I contain vital organs, so would a little extra padding be a bad thing? Apparently so. To speak of anything that is in demand of correctness in a light of reason or positively would be taboo. Sorry to the rest of the body, for bringing you down, but mind, maybe you're pulling me down.


the boobgene

I hate having big boobs. One girl, in my 6th period class, has little A-cup breasts and I envy her for it. She claims she has to bra shop as much as me, but doesn't have to go with full coverage instead of demi and doesn't have to sacrifice color for support. As my sister put it, my mom's good at passing down the boobgene.
A lot of girls want big boobs, it seems really stupid to me. Thanks to the girls, I can't wear button up tops without a hole gaping and fighting to hold onto the fabric. Or V-necks, that plunge and get caught into my trombone.


Tuesday, February 10, 2009


Hi there-

Thanks for checkin' out our blog. We are the Grrls, art activists in Tucson AZ.

We are young women and female-identified individuals, age 14-18. We are participating in Kore Press' Grrls Literary Activism Project to write, find our writer's voice, read out loud, work with video, and creatively present the words and ideas to the public in an "art action."

This Spring 2009 we will be focusing on Media Literacy and how women are represented in all forms of the media. The directions and ideas and thoughts and projects in this realm are totally open to all ambitions and personal desires. We have this workshop as a resource to learn, to talk, to brainstorm, then to produce and take action. There are about 15 of us this Spring. We see our writing and art placed in the community as a form of social activism.

We (the grrls) will be utilizing this blog to post our writings, photos, video, and other art during our time in the Spring 2009 workshop. Most of the stuff we post will probably be somewhere along the revision process, or it might be just the way we like it. Whatever it is, we want the community to have a place to check up on our work in the coming weeks. Please feel free to comment with positive feedback, constructive criticism, and/or inspired reactions.

Film-maker Jamie Lee and author Kimi Eisele are the kick-ass ladies facilitating our workshop this Spring.
Jamie Lee is a producing member at Pan Left ( and runs visionaries filmworks. You can see her creative work at:
And you can check out Kimi Eisele's creative work here: and this:
Brooke is our workshop assistant and friend--she helps us get stuff together. She's graduating in May with a BA in Creative Writing and minors in Women's Studies and Spanish from the UA.

Kore Press is a non-profit in Tucson, AZ that has been publishing women writers for over 15 years, co-founded by publisher Lisa Bowden. Here's the grrls' spot on their website:

We hope you bookmarked our blog! Thanks for readin'!