ARTICLES

I think about my cottage a lot. Not like a Santa Barbara-style "cottagecore" backyard studio with exposed beams and lemon trees. No—my cottage is deep in the valley floor of what I’ve decided is probably Switzerland. Or maybe Austria. Or just a very green, very quiet place that lives in my head rent-free with a goat or a cow.  There are mountains that curve around me. There’s a garden in bloom out the back wooden door.  Herbs hang unevenly from the ceiling, and the farmhouse

It’s been a minute since I frequented my own website and posted some of my innermost feelings for the world (although only likely 20 people) to see. What’s funny is, in the last six months, I have written more than I ever have in my entire life. Yet I feel like my voice is mute. In the last half-year, I have been cosplaying as a news reporter. Scratch that—I forget this is truly my life. In the last six months, I have been a staff writer for the Santa Barbara Independent. I h

"Normality is a paved road. It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow." This line was originally uttered by a Mr. Vincent Van Gogh. ...

*Prior to reading my poem, here is a little more contextual information about me: My mother hails from Atlanta, Georgia; my father from...

Year 1: Excursion Club Since I've been at UC Santa Barbara, I have had one group of people, one club, dominate most of my time. It's been...

Birthday kiss from Oat, the lamb The day I turned 20 I tramped through grassy fields in search for dead baby sheep… never would I have...