layered reality
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(For more than a year I poured myself into a portfolio for art school. Only the pieces that felt closest to my truth made it in, and even then I wasn’t sure any of them were good enough. A panel of professionals would decide if I was worthy of a seat. I remember pacing the…
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(It was February of ’93 when I caught White Zombie at Saratoga Winners, long before anyone knew their name. The mosh pit cracked open, and somehow there I was—penny loafers and all—throwing myself into it like I belonged there. I broke my toe that night, but it felt worth it. Then came “More Human Than…
