Latest Blog Posts for A Series of Lucky and Particular Mistakes

• on Aug 25, 2009
  “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” Winston Churchill © 2008 Eating Dust...
• again
  on Mar 22, 2009
  gather them upfrom all the placesthey’ve goneand pull them backfrom yesterdaystuffed in my pocketcarry them aroundheart aching fullwith love unspokencome homecome home © 2008 Eating Dust...
• on Mar 18, 2009
  There is something more inside of methan i know what to do with. Its stirring and powerful.I wont be afraid, this time. © 2008 Eating Dust...
• It is going to break your heart
  on Feb 9, 2009
  "Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo. © 2008 Eating Dust...
• It is going to break your heart
  on Feb 9, 2009
  "Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo. © 2008 Eating Dust...
• Warm Sand
  on Jan 25, 2009
  When I was little there was nothing better than to get wet in the cold ocean and then roll in the hot white sand. I am sure I was a sand-spraying menace to my sister and her cool friend that lived up the lane. I remember my mom asking if I wanted t...
• Warm Sand
  on Jan 25, 2009
  When I was little there was nothing better than to get wet in the cold ocean and then roll in the hot white sand. I am sure I was a sand-spraying menace to my sister and her cool friend that lived up the lane. I remember my mom asking if I wanted t...
• We Did.
  on Jan 20, 2009
  "On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too lon
• We Did.
  on Jan 20, 2009
  "On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too lon
• Hurry
  on Jan 19, 2009 in memories
  I remember my father’s yellow truck and how I would race to meet him at the front door before he left at dawn. I remember missing him a few times and hanging on the screen door that tasted like my tears. I remember the pink nightgown that I wore...

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