Messier 71:  a globular cluster in the northern constellation Sagitta that spans 13 light years.

I became in a family way when I was 17. My foster mother started to accuse me of sleeping with her jobless boyfriend and changed the locks, leaving me to sleep outside many nights when they went out to clubs. I reported it to services, my teachers, and my nurses. I told my health teacher that I felt the stress affecting my child. I trusted him, I had no one. He told me not to worry.

At 30 I began to explore epigenetics and the research suggesting that trauma can be passed down through generations. Epigenetics translates literally to “above genetics”, referring to external modifications to a person’s programming. I say programming because that’s how it makes sense to me. If you’re familiar with binary, how the 1’s and 0’s turn lines of code on or off, outside forces can do this to traits within us, turn them on and off.

If you’ve created a child at any time, the 1’s and 0’s within you get passed down as they exist in that moment. In short: these modifications do not change the DNA sequence, but rather, they affect how cells “read” genes. I think about the shared trauma in the world and how it’s sinister nature infects the future; contaminates quite literally the gene pool. Ignorance is certainly not bliss.

Paige Six | 2021

Source: The New Yorker

Picture this: 

It’s a rainy Spring morning in New England and you’ve got both an oversized mug and time to kill. Your mug is porcelain white, but pained a bit at the lip (from accidentally dipping a paintbrush in it a few too many times). You think the paint blends in with the coffee splotter, anyway, and tell yourself that perhaps it gives the cup some personality (happy accidents).If you hold the handle with your left hand the World might read a tiny type-face script in Peace Lily Green that says “𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚖”. But you’re a righty and you’ve purchased the mug for yourself, anyway, so the little green letters greet you happily with every fleetingly warm sip.

You are a bookworm, so you read a book. It’s the best way to spend a grey morning. You like to save the sunny days for tidying and cleaning, they don’t have the proper blue hue to offset the warm beige of a book page, and you like any excuse to fire up the heated mattress! But you never read very far, do you? How many lines do you fight down before the urge to pen a note turns into a whole notebook page of poetic expressions?

After hours of what feels like total procrastination you say to yourself, “I’m not a bookworm at all, I’m a fraud!”—The day gets away from you and you shelve that book feeling defeated, and prepare to edit that poem for your Poetizer.

You’re a slithering writer who finds relevance to yourself in every line you read that mirrors something extra-terrestrial, or ultra-cosmological, or incredibly mundane… Doesn’t matter, you’re in it, you’re there! But that’s alright!

Lately I’ve been reading a wonderful book on writing, it’s called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, and for the first time I feel the permission to write without the guilt of finishing, and of order. Sometimes (most of the time) I’m too analytical and I forget that sometimes taking divergent paths is a way to grow. 

The irony that I find these things in structured books could be a peculiarity to me but I don’t think it is. What’s most appealing to me about Goldberg’s book, so far, is that as opposed to other great books on the writing process (On Writing by Stephen King is a favorite of mine), is that Natalie speaks to the poetic process frequently.

highly recommend. (*sips cold coffee*)

Links:

I’m not an accomplished food photographer—lol

This is a New York City Punch, be careful because these delicious cocktails will have you swinging till you K.O. We call this one the Mayweather. The name was coined by my friend Melissa and I as we were enjoying a private Paint-and-Sip. The drink itself my husband invented for me on the fly at Houston’s at my 30th birthday party.

Ingredients:

  • Chambord Liqueur 1 oz.
  • Disaronno Originale 2 oz.
  • 100% Cranberry Juice 2 oz.
  • Lime wedge
  • Ice

Directions:

-In a Rocks Glass, pour over ice your Disoronno, your Chambord, and then your Cranberry Juice (cocktail works just fine and makes it even sweeter).

-Stir or Shake and add a splash of lime juice. The result is a sweet New York City punch that is a staple at every game night and party in our home.

**For an extra kick you, (or if you find this too sweet,) you can add an ounce of your favorite whiskey. We love our whiskey. Chambord is a vodka if you’d like to not mix too many liquors.

Coming Soon:

In the Summer we make a similar concoction we call the Hurricane Floyd. Because I want to get the measurements right for a recipe I’m going to do some extremely taxing experiments during these upcoming spring days.

About the Ingredients:

  • Disaronno Originale is a type of amaretto—is 28% abv—an amber-colored liqueur with a characteristic almond taste, although it does not actually contain almonds.
  • Chambord Liqueur is a 16.5% abv raspberry liqueur modelled after a liqueur produced in the Loire Valley of France during the late 17th century.



Last night I had a dream I was sitting at a potter’s wheel. Each time, when I would drift with the feeling into thoughts my pot would crack and it repeated again and again. I think it meant that attention is our strength—where you direct it is where you’ll grow and flourish.

*3.27.21


Yesterday we had friends over and we shared food, drinks, and smoke. Some of us played DnD and some of us were painting. All of us were in a state of communion, the weather was on our side and the night was perpetually young.

We ended the day with Scrabble. Everyone decided that they’d be best suited to face me in teams. I was not allowed to use a dictionary and they all got bonus points. I still won. 🙂

Paige Six | 2021

There is strength in our power, power in our pain. Not everyone can be touched, struck, and survive. Energy is worth the same; passion or pain. Those who have been through the most have the most to let go.

Make music, not excuses. Chase art, not fame. Build something lasting, the empire’s collapsing. Made of paper, and we harness fire. Don’t be afraid to ask the stars for what you desire.

{*rant inspired by good vibes and Guante, because lightning struck twice.

 

Today a piece of my heart is sewn shut, I close the door on a home that was once mine and mine alone. The only home I’ve ever owned like that. I collect whatever art I did not leave on the walls and I lock the door for good on whatever I leave behind in it.

This home held my grandmother’s refrigerator, my few intimate moments with my mother in her later life, my independence. My first ever moves towards fulfilling a life that I wanted took place in this home. My first ever mile run, my routines in general were formed here. I had moments with my daughter that were hard and that were tender. 

I collect from this place all the original art that ever meant anything to me. I collect my red astronaut concepts, the planets I painted as murals on the wall I say a goodbye to. My rainbow kitchen, and the love affairs that were shared on my purple sofa.

I say goodbye to paint on the floor. I say good bye to dishes washed by hand. To my daughter’s colorful room covered in Coro Coro advertisements and posters. The curtains hanging where doors belong. To pipes that burst and projects that challenge me to grow as an adult.

To dangerous neighbors and a neighborhood so dirty that the weeds decorate the cracked pavement with their colors because no amount of oppressions can stop the world from reclaiming her identity as an unyielding artist.

I say good bye to the home where I rolled my first joint and quit my last pack of cigarettes. I say good bye to the place where my childhood sweetheart and I drank a full bottle of red and bottle of white, then danced in the kitchen in refrigerator light before Taylor Swift ever published such romanticisms as a song, strangling the memory for so many young poets.

I say good bye to my first garden, and the one sun flower that bloomed because the soil was so dirty and the cars that parked in front of my house kept rolling over it.

I say good bye to being 10 minutes from the heart of New York City on a bus ride. I say good bye to swamp summers near the airport taking photos of the take-offs against neon globalized sunsets. I say good riddance to a trailer park, and I’ll miss you to a shanty trailer who with all of its might kept me and my child safe from elements, people, eyes, and loved us even before I knew how to love it back.

So sweetly I wish to say, now;

thank you so much, and good bye.

Paige Six | 2021

I’m not sure what to write here. I’ll probably come back and write more later, or add another post. I hate feeling pressured to write beautiful prose every time an event’s anniversary rolls around. The truth is, while there is an abundance of poetry to share about the way my life has unfolded into the arms of a strong man who holds me together like glue; that the best way I could describe what it feels like to live this life of fortune is to simply say that I know now I’m one of the lucky ones.

I didn’t plan on ever getting married. But I’m glad I had.

My wedding was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. But my marriage has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Chuck really is my better half. And he loves me the way I deserve to be loved. Who could ask for more? It’s maybe more than one person deserves. I’d be lying if I told you that it didn’t feel that way some times.

If I could go back in time, and love him longer, I would.

Here’s to a long and full life, together…

Photo: Paige Six | 2018

Recently, I’ve really been taking it easy with Poetizer. Focusing a bit more on building an audience on All Poetry, and to take some time to do some novel reading in between. However, last night I decided to revive an old poem there, (and here) with some new formatting and design implements.

It really paid off, because I’m neck and neck for the top poem of the day… I could take the top spot any minute. It’s exciting tbph! (currently I rank 35% more unique comments and only 1.07% less likes sooo… b:)

I haven’t had this much success on Poetizer in well over a year. It feels nice to get such a warm reception again.

I really do love writing poetry. And *furloughed in particular is a special piece that I think is a cut above so much of what I’ve shared up until this point.

Thanks for sharing in my joy. I hope you’re well. (:

-Paige

Paige Six | 2/25/21