psst! it’s me, abby. hi!

heythere buddy:) want something beautiful? oh okay…

“what i want in this life

is a willingness to be dazzled.

to cast aside the weight of facts, and maybe,

perhaps- to float,

just slightly above this difficult world.”

(just a few utterly lovely lines of poetry, written by the one and only, inordinately extraordinary Mary Oliver)

anyhoo: hi. i’m abby. that’s me. right up there.

oh, whoops. also down there: (but that’s all. i swear! no other photos of me. i’m not a narcissist…i’m maybe a little vain, but like a little! and only “maybe!” ok? so shoot me. except don’t, because you, (and literally every other person i ever meet or come into contact with for the rest of time MUST. LOVE. me. now that IS the truth, disturbingly. and unfortunately…for you, mostly just inconveniently and increasingly exhaustingly for me personally…

sigh… ohhh life. you sure are one helluva beautifully evil monster aren’t you.

hmm. oh but i digress, shall we keep plowing Onward? oh Let’s!

here we go: so sally forth. tallyho. giddy-up. get-‘er-done. and so-forth and so-on.

and so, um. i guess with all “that” said and done, (thoroughly said. repeatedly done, all ad-nauseam…) i think now i’ll stop acting CRAZY, start feigning sanity…and try to move this thing along, starting….now.

me, doing what i do best: trampsing through the forest in long effluvious dresses like some sort-of Marie Antoinette-esque faux Bohemian will-o-the-wisp-ish Nietzschian Dionysian desperate hipster. but really, i’m just me, which isn’t much of anybody…not really. Guess the joke’s on me. Good one, abby…good one.

ok ‘abby,’ so what?! who am i and what do i do and why on-earth should you care?

ok, okay. honestly, you probably shouldn’t care. but, on the freakish off-chance that somebody out-there happens to feel, even just mildly intrigued, here’s a bit (ok, a bit more than a ‘bit,’) about what makes me totally amazing…

i’d call myself an amateur dabbler of-sorts in the epic pursuit of creating something, anything that feels actually meaningful, which seems increasingly difficult to achieve in this culturally divisive, label obsessed, social media skewed, generally soul shattered and straight-up surreally apathetic zeitgeist of our current national climate circa 2017-’18.

So i guess i spend most of my time trying to figure-out how to say something that’s relevant, that at-least feels important, that speaks to people in some emotionally real or soul-stirring way, that would resonate at a frequency that could be felt and so heard by a few finely tuned ears above the din of mostly angry static.

so. what does all that make me, exactly? personally, i’d say it makes me a dreamer, of sorts (quite possibly a delusional one, but still) a dilletante, an idealist, a bit of an agoraphobic hermit, and, once again: a dabbler in the arty-ish-esque pursuit of the visual, creative, and i hope one-day truly meaningful sort, mainly involving drawing, photography, and mixed-media manual mashups of the two.

i like art that shows its fingerprints; some lingering trace of the soul who created it (this “trace” would smell of pine needles, preferably. Or of a match, right-after after its been struck).

i love the way art can often bridge the gap of pleasantries and personna and politeness, to meet at a point where two souls can just sit quietly and reach an intuitive understanding. Whatever this is, this Soul Speak (so-to-speak. ha..)

“i call this creature ‘the Being of Unbearable Lightness’…a winged yet tragically flightless creature typically seen fetally perched amidst the words or glimpsed wandering deeper in the subtext between, the lines of Milan Kundera’s ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” deep in the midst of an existential crisis, paralyzed by life’s seeming lack of meaning, held forever in-place by the great burden of being, and all of life’s just barely endurable beauty and hoping all fraught with subsurface knowing that it is all ever so fleeting- so we’re left half in awe half overwhelmed by the weight of these feelings of being alive and awake to our own fear and trembling, by the simple sound of our own heart’s beating, the sigh of our unspread wings impatiently heaving…. such unbearable weights both the beauty and sorrows of life can become , by such undeserved and immeasurable freedom, our brightness, our lightness our weightless capacity to rise-up in flight, it’s a light that, taken lightly- can both inspire and ignite us, but stared at directly with wide-eyed intensity, it becomes a dark sort of brightness- the kind that will bind us and blind us to the wings we have enfolded behind us, unseen afixed to our backs, and to that which has taken our sight and is holding us back; our capacity for flight kept just out of sight and beyond the brink of our wildest dreaming, and life instead becomes a picture of some living thing captured, a winged being whose chest is still heaving, whose heart is still audibly beating, emanating still a waning sort of fading light, living paralyzed inside a picture framed-in perfect still-life.”

i think it is utterly crucial to the honesty and depth of empathy we seek to express and receive in this all-too-human exchange of hearts that beat just beneath the pristine surface in the ancient language that is the secret to all art–

something ancient, forgotten but infinitely innate hidden wisdom that’s held deep beneath the surface of mind, in the depths of every human soul, lost beneath layers of dreams upon blackness upon nightmares upon imaginings upon shadow-figures’ outlines traced in ghost-chalk, held beneath layer after layer of our heart’s bottomless, untamed and unknowable darkness.

and even-though i think We’ve mostly lost touch with-it, there is, every so often for just a little while, that unmistakably “other” sort of silence, that draws-forth our tentative visions from beneath the shadowy-netherrealms of our subconscious, and into the illuminated theatre of our mind’s interior.

Art has the capacity to capture and translate what we can only glimpse or guess-at through our mind’s eye, which is all one very long-winded way of looking at it. Mainly this was just me at my worst: being wordy and tangential in-attempts to sound extremely intelligent. My hoity-toity Stream-of-Unconscious-Gobiligook.

… my somewhat obscure/obscured Point-being: it’s all a matter of how you see things, and what you feel is the best way you can express something deeply and honestly.

And while I’ve seen so-much digitally created art that has taken my breath away ( i marvel at the artist who can look into that boundless techno-void of infinite creative possibility and bring that dream into the light of actual reality…) Because our current technology is pretty powerful stuff- pretty powerful, as in:

“ANYbody! even YOU! possess the power to become magical-God-like-omnipotent-creator-of-virtual-realities-from-pure-visionary-techno-void! All that’s required is some basic computer Know-How and the requisite digital dexterity in-order to press that ‘click’ button!”

But…speaking personally (with way fewer exclamation points) all this apparently very “basic” technology that My Generation is simply expected to have some magical, inherent understanding of,

or at least possess some innate potential for understanding,

or (at the absolute and very least) possess the intellectual hubris necessary to reassure myself that, while theoretically, i totally have all the inherent, intuitive and intellectual hutzpah necessary to develop a highly advanced & thoroughly complete understanding of ALL this technological hooey, if!

If …i felt like it,

the truth is? i DON’T.

Ergo? i DON’T.

“There is no language for our pain… only a moan.” -Jerome K. Jerome

“the abandoned planet of Microscopia”


“…and so one day the sky collapsed into the sea, and with neither stars above nor earth beneath with which to see our dreams or play or pray or fall upon our knees we simply ceased to be. The End.”

“this tree, called life, which grows-

higher than mind can hide or soul can hold…” -e.a. poe

instead, i choose to fill my head with whatever i find interesting, such as:

Legends, myths, and figures of ancient Icelandic lore,

apt metaphors and poetic similies that parallel the plight of moths,

Rhymes and imagery relating to the moon,

various metaphors, symbolism, allegories and what have you that embody the nature or capture some elemental facet of the meaning of illumination; including but not limited to such qualities as related to emanation, refraction, reflection, invocation, obfuscation, sfumato, chiaroscuro, projection, bioluminescence, phosphorescence, foxfire, prismatic bifurcation and so-on and so-forth,

other light-related Questions such-as, implications of what it really means to be the kind of thing known to have a particular propensity and/or the inclination to “shine,” …versus the very different sort of thing known for being inherently bestowed with that coveted capacity to emanate from within, i.e. To “glow.”

(This is all important stuff, people)

i also think a lot about eyeshine, also known as “tapestra lucidem,” (not entirely sure if that spelling is right) but which essentially translates to mean “illuminated tapestry.” …so this is obviously completely weird & cool, in a very mysterious and spooky and beautifully phantasmagorical, spine-shimmeringly lovely kinda way.

I think about other things as well-

like where did all the phonebooths go??

are they all just sitting inside some ginormous pit in the middle of the Nevada desert somewhere??! Because that sure would be one helluva WEIRD choice for disposing of about half an entire human population’s worth of retro telephonic human display cases, and ergo also the most likely possibility (given what we know of our government’s standards for what constitutes sanity and logic in determining policy & making those BigBoy decisions)

also it’s something i’d be really interested in seeing…so just tell me, oh employed underlings of the “Dep. of the Interior,” c’mon you gov. lackey weirdos, where’d y’all stash the booths?!

{ahem!} s’cuse me, phew, i think i got a titbit overexcited back there, oh my. aHEM!

i have Other thoughts too. tons of ’em.

Which is one reason why, this website (just for-example) makes no sense, why the “menu” frequently takes you to pages that just say “oops!” Followed by the helpful suggestion that you try the handy ‘Search’ box.

So. What am i saying, exactly? What i’m saying is, perhaps, more-like a bunch of questions: Like, would i feel less lonely, and probably much less angry, if i somehow tried to express my genuine feelings about life & my place within it through some other vehicle besides humorous, faux-lighthearted self-deprecation? Like, could i possibly help myself By being honest about the gravity and extreme intensity of my own self-loathing, my unspeakable feelings of unconquerable loneliness, my whole lifetime of unsucessful, desperate attempts to overcome (or at-least come to terms with) this increasingly unbearable, ever-more inexplicable & at-last hopelessly incommunicable despair turned depression turned absolute and utter flatlined apathy, instead of just listening to the sound of my own silent scream, reverberating inside my head?

Second question: was that last question super-intense and uncomfortable for you?

follow-up question: so, like, even Assuming that that last question caused a significant level of awkward unpleasantness, disquietude, and/or feelings of general discomfort, i mean- you’re still alive, right?

third question: assuming you survived the social unease & discomfort of that last question, now let me ask you: What IS it these-days about ‘feeling awkward’ that’s so completely unbearable? why does it seem like people will do basically anything to avoid socially unpleasant or uncomfortable situations, in-which we have no choice but to respond in an unscripted and thus a genuinely honest & empathic way, rendering our true selves momentarily unguarded, and therefore allowing others the privilege to glimpse some part of our humanity that is authentic, unfiltered, and willingly/consciously vulnerable?

like, really? you felt awkward back there, huh? so…you felt a certain level of physical unease and perhaps some accompanying mentally upsetting discomfort for a little while, until you were able to squirm your squeamish self out of said socially painful scenario? But, who made you- or ANY one of us- the official whistleblower on so-called awkwardness, as though it were something objectively quantifiable, (i.e. measurable on a scale from bearably cringe worthy to utterly intolerable) and when did we decide that the old go-to strategy, that-being, “seriously. Dude, DEAL with it,” was no-longer an adequately empathetic response to the slings and arrows of outrageous personal suffering brought about by these supposedly unbearably awkward social kerfuffles?

most importantly, aren’t we forgetting that the main point of human to human interaction has absolutely nothing to-do with “being comfortable,” but has everything to do with our shared willingness and capacity to interact on a universally human, deeply real and intuitive level of felt communication? and that despite your inner disquietude, perhaps the one rationale for you being present at-ALL in the first place… was maybe as an alleged, possible, though thoroughly failed source of support, of empathy, someone to just be-there, to maybe i dunno… to listen, to simply be kind, and ultimately, to be there as that one real trooper of an all-weather, good-times to hard-knocks FRIEND, maybe? perhaps?

and! lastly! if ANY of the above not-so-objective-criticism rang in the least bit true or felt at-all personally semi accurate, how do you feel about all your dumb feelings NOW?

…pretty awkward, huh?

finally, a totally unrelated Random trivia question: what’s the difference between empathy and compassion? Do you think, perhaps, that we’ve all just sorta conveniently forgotten the answer?

ALSO/Lastly (promise) but this bears repeating: WHAT happened to all the phone-booths?! Where are they hiding? Why all the secrecy? Why can’t we know? What aren’t they telling us?!

and finally (fo real this time): how does one differentiate between, say, the DNS records of this website, and a bunch of utterly inexplicable nonsense that may as well be an ancient series of hieroglyphics transmitted to me telepathically By space aliens?

Lastly!! in consideration of the above admission, in which i reveal a totally complete and obvious utter lack of even The most basic level of techno-internet-code-based knowledge, WHY (seriously) WHY, i ask you, Lorde Internet- are you STILL letting me FIDDLE with this stuff? Because, as i know that you know by now, i canNOT NOT fiddle. And i swear- bc I’ve done it before, and so ohh…yes, i WILL do it again; I will take those DNS codes, and those IP addresses and the SRV thingys and IPv6 whatsadoos and CNAME hullabaloo & the FTP to the SSL to the SEO buncha-hooey and i WILL repeatedly, relentlessly, and irrevocably just Fk that s@t up.

Like This One time? i was on my phone, fussing about with these very things, when suddenly, i heard this soft little sound… like a tiny baby, blowing-out a birthday candle.

Like a “puff…”

And THEN? my iphone literally impoded. (Also, my website vanished, but that happens literally ALL. The time).

Still though: True Story.

…and THAT my friends, is The Babe with the power…

What Power?

Why, The power of voodoo.

Who do?

You Do!

wait what??

who have that voodoo who-do? you-do! hoodoo-

ohmygod STOP.



oh my, i’m sorry. this has gotten confusing, Yes? allow me to clarify: ok So “voodoo,” in this case, refers to the magical ability to create digital artistic masterpieces using a basic knowledge of… whatever it is- photoshop/lightroom/FinalcutPro etc, with some equally-basic computer skills, combined with a positive attitude, willingness to learn, and ultimately, patience.

and to all these ridiculous qualities, i simply say, “HA.”

I have none of these silly qualities, Nor am i willing to learn them. So there.

Truthfully, it’s because computers, and techno-babble, and staring, slack-jawed and cow-eyed into a bright little flickering migraine-and-definitely-eventual-death-box, hour after hour, day after day, …just, speaking personally, is not-so-great for inspiring artistic-flow, but instead, makes me want to crawl into a hole, and die.

Ergo, no computers! My approach is manual, old fashioned; i’ve always been a nostalgic sort of person, i guess. Also, photoshop makes me want to cry. Not so with Scotch-tape & glue.

Maybe it’s as simple as that. Perhaps our personal style and capacity for creative expression is just like so many other “Greater” things in life – it all begins with the tiniest, most random and seemingly inconsequential aspects of our own character and brand of personal ridiculousness, my personal example being: a visceral/visual aversion to staring at computer screens.

My legitimate reason is that i have a gobbstoppingly-epic, relentlessly evil and unending case of chronic lyme disease…

(side note: and PLEASE do Pardon my “paranoia” i.e. my experientially earned and sadly quite rational, all-considering, sensitivity regarding the aforementioned topic)

but for those of you who, upon reading the words “chronic lyme disease” and instinctively rolled your eyes, for godsakes listen-up: For the Love of God, yes. chronic Lyme is Very Real and more often than not is an extremely debilitating, life-shattering perpetual hellscape of a truly tortuous, body-maiming soul-killing neurological monster of a b-cell depleting immunoparalysis inducing brain disease. so forgive-me for being so overly sensitive and reactionary but Really?!… REALLY?!!?


I guess i could leave-it at that. But i could also just keep-going, and that’s more my style. So, again we circle-back to the concluding: no computers. Instead, an affinity towards all the friendly little inanimate creative mediums- those that give me no cause to wonder whether i might be mentally-challenged.

So, thank-you scotch tape.

Bless-you, scissors.

I love you, my unconscionably toxic/ fun-smelling glue.

Paper, you rock.

And a big shout-out to all black Bic-pens !!

HEYO! Holla-back y’all!

” . . . . ”

Okay! or Don’t holler…whatever.

there’s Other stuff too. But i guess that’s my story. although “story” might be a strong-word. That’s my Tangent. Thought-Glob. Word-Spillage. Epileptic Hullabaloo. Synaptic Ballyhoo. my face was resting on the keyboard and this is what-it wrote. So actually, what you just read was a G*d damn miracle.

Perhaps this seemingly impossible display of forehead-to-keyboard typed happenstance coherency was a predestined act of synchronicity conjured just for you by Kaos itself; a serendipitous miracle sent as proof of the existence of some higher logic; a greater purpose being carried out by some unknown, omnipotent presence, whose seemingly random choices are all part of a much grander & intricately nuanced cosmic narrative that hides the truth of divine intent inside an illusory ruse of apparent chaos perceived as the arbitrary unconscious void that hovers senselessly above our totally random universe.

Think of All the above cosmic hoodwinkery… And that was just With MY FACE.

Ok. No- What i’m trying to say is… yes, i admit- this got a bit unfocused, towards the end there. My writing tends to be equal parts illustrious, unfocused and tangential…which is never a good combination.

alright, SO. around abouts here lies the critical point at which i absolutely. Must. stop. typing. otherwise things will REALLY start to unravel. cuz boy, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet…

So. this is it. “The End,” is starting (which may sound somewhat contradictory, semantically speaking. But look, it’s not. i’ve got this under control, ai’t? i GOT this.)

ok so Wait for it…

…DONE! Look! SEE?? you did it! You’re done!


Last-of-all, Thank-you all, whoever you are, which is perhaps only a precious few Or quite possibly no-one; ideally, i hope this goes-out to just one, similarly hearted, singularly unique and utterly lovely Somebody.

because it’s YOU (as-in, “you” my reasonably believable quite-possible sole body) who means more to me than ANYbody, so whether you’re real or imagined,

you’re my one real soul-buddy

so to my maybe one, or lonely some or maybe anti-sum-of one equaling “not” or un- of “one” as-in the negative, un-one or not-some, i.e. the opposite of anyone, which equals, clearly: no-one. none. not-a-one….as-in “nobody,”

it’s anyone’s guess really, whether to believe or not in the hope of another soul who’s watching and is just the same as me,

but it seems to-be in my best interest to go-on and believe, in the true that makes me happy,

so here’s to my truly one and only love’s soul-body,

thanks for looking-out for me, amidst all my wildest dreams…you’ve made me feel seen, and that, buddy, is the any the every, the one and the sum of all that is or maybe isn’t, bits of truth for the sky’s breadth of the lie, and then whatever’s left- inklings and whispers blinking back feathered hopes beheld now fallen beneath, to lie lost in the stillness unseen that is at-once not anywhere but ONLY there, and still everywhere in-between.

just another abandoned soul
quoth the raven, “(gasp) no! Lenore??!”
The Spirit of Empathy

the nights are too thick with ghosts and too deadened by sorrow to ever dare dream of tomorrow, to stay somewhat “alive” in these godless deadlands of “Desperado.”

the abandoned planet of Microscopia
these dark-nights of the soul illuminate us…

Ode to Odilon

well, thanks for seeing, for being here, for missing-it entirely- possibly because you got bored, or you started feeling nervous about me and doubtful of my capacity to be a relatively sound, reliable narrator, or because you weren’t ‘not’ here not for having-missed, but only because ‘you’ do not exist.

but regardless, for those who do exist and are miraculously still reading this gobbligook glossalialial hullabaloo, i am eminently grateful and deeply in-awe of your saint-like patience and compassion, and i promise- truly, i promise!- to make it up to you with much more coherent, dare i say eloquent! and point-directed, thesis-driven actual-real-wordage-type written content in the nearly-present, a-hair-short-of-nigh, a nose shy of NOW, but immediately forthcoming in the fast encroaching future- promise.

but thank you dear strangers for boldly venturing into this here stranger’s possibly much infinitely, wincingly, woefully much stranger labyrinthine klusterf$&k of mentally untethered tangential words-verbal-garbled stitched hem of one single loose thread’s swift mental unraveling that would be my ruinous, ending by an untimely ‘Snip!’ from fates’ restless masters of our mortal clocks, the three Furies, strung-out sisters of each life’s singular spiders’ silvery-laced dew strung sinew, each soul’s tapestral thread interwoven into the intricately stitched whole of our world’s Gaian web, each single live-wire is a life awaiting fates final cut- the scythe signaling every life’s “ahhh, now i see,” parting moments before finally bowing, exiting, gasping giving way to a moment of perfect held still– before the curtain drops, the stage darkens to black and life is left with the triumphant upwards spiral sounds of unhindered laughing.

this is the story of our eventual ephemeral fade from life to fate’s swift scissored strike to start our stitches’ counter-clockwise world-in-reverse-rewinding double-time undoing of our tapestry’s living masterpiece in its brutally swift Unraveling.

ok. okay…

oh how rude- i mean, are you okay?

ok. good, so- –

right then. so again, “Bless-You,” for indulging me, and giving-in to this straightUP outright joyous blitzkrieg of nonsensory guerrilla style wordsmith warfare mental onslaught of my shattered musings and unwound threads of the frayed loose unsound ends of my ellipsis trailing-off half thoughts that have either cone to naught or simply taper-off after a few dribbled dot-dot-dots . . .

that would either die or occasionally jolt back to life for what i gues could be described as a pseudo-compulsive Dr.Suess-like-Rhyme thing, combined with and/or sortof morphing gradually into more of a pseudo-Fugue State pontificating peppered with equal parts my own mentally exhausting smiling facade of my desperately necessary slap-shtick on-crack- happy imaginary abby in my “best of all possible worlds” of my half-hearted make-believing,

which occasionally pulls me in to its hypnagogic whirlwind and i’m caught-up in the shadow play of twilit bacchanal mayhem, and the Dionysian Dayglo wildlike glee that overtakes the hungriest souls on those rarest of nights when the celestial cheshire smilelights replace the stars with their pearly whites that shine twice as bright to flirt with a moon that’s heavy & low its belly round & perfectly full– be that’s when you know that the night will be free and full and able to feed all hungry souls with its drink and bonfire revelry and dash of debaccherous hijnks and bright eyed hoodwinks by moon and firelight and smilelights for Pan’s conjuring of soul and spirit jubilee in a pagan throwback to bacchanal revelry for those longlost spirits of earth and living souls of the needy.


that’s all i’ve got to say, you know– about… that.


p.s. Sorry if this was weird.

• •.. abby•.*