Eve Rounds

365 days past…

one year ago today, i began shooting 22 shots.

with snow behind the camera, yet always at my side, “control” started it all. and with the help of SO MANY talented generous artists, every single shot had a life a personality a meaning all its own.

i had hoped to write something profound on this odd one year anniversary, but i seem to be paralyzed by the disbelief that 22 shots ever really happened…

i’ve since gone off the brutal injections witnessed by all of you. for six months my body responded well to an unassuming oral drug taken twice a day.

until an MRI revealed a new lesion in my brain stem. the horror returned. i’m now on another oral regimen, effectiveness yet to be determined. more horror.

the horror always rests in the unknown because the only way to truly know if a treatment isn’tworking, is if i end up with more brain damage while on it. and if my brain stays stable, who’s to say that the drug is doing its job or my immune system randomly decided it didn’t feel like harming my lobes again…just yet.  is isn’t what the fuck. 

until then, i wake i run i laugh i ride i love i give i eat.

until then, i’m happy.



***Note, this was originally written on MAY 21 2014, the official anniversary.

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards


what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you


sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we


It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.