Sunlit faceted grass, shimmers in the mist as I slough off my past, like a python sheds her skin. Eucalyptus columns enchant over the backdrop of clouds, spilled over sprawling hills. Like a mast catching wind, like my hair, I'm ready to set sail away from this land, but not from my people, whose spirit will burn on in the deepest part of my heart. This desolate beautiful place made me crazy, and very polite. I really like it like that.
This is about growing up in a farm town with a whole Lotta nothing to do growing up. It makes you crazy for better (musicians and artists) or worse (lots of drugs) Moving back to where I'm from,Β Β Santa Cruz and realizing being raised in a town whose population is more than half Latin makes you a have better manners with more feeling and support within the community. People aren't so out of touch with themselves. I bring my small town vibes to the heart of San Francisco, the cold part with the lawyers and bankers. I keep my cool, or rather my warm.