A Personal and Anti-Personal Blog
Agathos Canon This is an ongoing retelling of the Bible.
Stands to Reason
I appear incredibly gullible. I appear easily duped or born into any belief of another person in the exact moment “it” is presented to me. Like a baby bird emerging from an egg. However, I am different from a baby bird in that I have priors that lead me to pattern match actions and outcome and predict accordingly. Soon the baby bird will learn the same, but for the moment, as it emerges from the egg, it is innocent, or unknowing. To know or have supposed knowledge of anything is the destruction of innocence. One can think of the supposed innocence of children, or the always contentious virginal innocence, or the presumption of innocence in law. To proscribe innocence to a thing is to dissolve a being or thing of sentience, which is defined loosely as having the power to exercise or characterize sense-perception. To this end, because there are so many things to “know” or become “aware” of there are always flowers of innocence thrown amongst the ecosystem of responsibility.
When determining acts of innocence versus culpability in any result to any action, people often, with an empathetic mind or voice, try to find motivation or a reason for that result/action. There are varying lengths that a person or group of people may go to to find the answer with the implicit and explicit information that they have learned in their experience. Phrases like “nature versus nurture” may be used to describe behavioral patterns - these respectively imply that which is genetically predisposed versus that which is practiced and learned during the biotic life. “Nature” seems to be considered a state of innocence and “nurture” allows for a time based length of innocence during the beginning of life, until some unknown boundary is erected which moves a person’s action into the sphere of “knowingness” and responsibility. The assumption of behaviors of “nature” are often considered innocent and unknowing within the modern human frame of reference. I think the idea for some early (>1000 AD) religious or scientific thinkers is that animals and plants lack reasonable, rational, or emotional thought and are primarily instinctual. This has not been considered true for all of human history, and amongst many human groups is not true scientifically and spiritually now.
The emotional response of the larger group determines responsibility for any one action and is followed by social majority’s determined reward or punishment. Here, reward and punishment are, at its base, part of the constant flow of actions that lead to more consequences. If an agent appears ignorant or innocent for whatever infraction before them, the group will punish them by stripping them of their competence usually with words like “insanity” or “brokenness” or “trauma”. This stripping of social status is in a modern sense a seemingly more humane and ethical response than shunning or killing. Though some are in support of the more extreme reactions to infractions. If an agent takes responsibility for something there is often greater punishment. This is often called “justice” in accordance to the set of rules fabricated in early group efforts to maintain social control and procreate successfully. These ideas of justice are then reinforced and eventually accepted as the moral boundaries of the group. A step up from those two simplified terms, in the biological sense, “reward” and “punishment” mean either survival or death, which is, according to my image of the universe, neither good nor bad, but a feature of constant change. However, for an individual or group of individuals, very inherently important to their own proliferation and success, and for this reason “reward” appears good to be a good consequence and “punishment” appears to be a bad consequence.
So there is a built-in motive to appear innocent and unknowing if one feels that the larger group or whoever is being answered to could “void” your chances at survival. Socially, however, there is moral brownie points for accepting and taking responsibility as one becomes less innocent about the world. We often say these people have integrity or honor because they will take blame and punishment away from people who live in a state of being “acted against” or victims or, for consistency’s sake, innocents. One website I looked at that provided 13 features of people who are responsible, who knows if they are qualified or whatever, states the following list- they admit when they’ve made a mistake, they are consistent with themselves and with others, they are never late, they get to work, they don’t let their emotions get in the way, they are welcoming of others, they don’t complain, they look for solutions, they are organized, they are proactive, they stick to their values, they have a hold on their finances, they watch themselves. I don’t agree with all of these because there is a certain social and moral weight that I don’t think is natural to the innocent or responsible frame, but themes that I do see are acknowledgement of knowing, self accountability, and propulsion.
It can be argued that beings of all material phases - solids, liquids, and gases - have a responsibility inherited by the universe and are never innocent. These responsibilities are limited by function and ability to evolve. Example, an atom is made up of neutrons, protons, and electrons (which can only be described in a mathematical function, according to atomic physicist Paul Dirac) and they have a seemingly predictable outcome despite having several avenues that it may take to achieve whatever it is moving toward next, be it wave or particle behavior. An atom may go from a ground state to an excited state with the input of energy and then change into something else, or visa versa, and from these states energy can create atoms that behave different from one another and serve different purposes in the universe as they “evolve” and change. These atoms don’t think like humans, its more likely that humans have features that think like atoms, although they don’t have as much variety on an individual level (seemingly). However, atoms still experience or have experienced ingenuity, change, result, and pattern building and therefore hold responsibility of a sorts. As the “laws of physics” are adhered to and solidified as “knowledge” or “truth”, features of those laws become less innocent. Now, humans, because we are composed of -illions of atoms, also have lost much innocence on their way to existence. I say this without any moral weight.
If I step out of the abstract and look back at the initial statement of this brief essay, I have never been a baby bird in the proverbial “eye” of the universe. In the course of my, and perhaps most peoples’, reality, our contemporary and ancestral subatomic and atomic particles have forged ways to suss out or trick one another into pattern continuance. Here, in one way, I use my previously described gullibility as a child to learn patterns around me that are hidden to my body. Gullibility at some unknown point was then used to gain knowledge that I may not have been able to acquire in a state of suspicion. Even though, of course, being “of doubt” and/or suspicious is an avenue for trial and testing of a belief or action against prior lessons. These lessons should, as all lessons are, be used to move forward and expand and endure. These tricks that have been created for us to endure and stretch as far as possible into the expanding universe can often also lead to being cut out by another expanding body. Since the royal “we” of everything are all mimicking one another to find the best ways to survive, we practice sucking energy from others as well as giving energy to better prop up our obvious or unobvious agendas. A river flows down hill and carries the rocks and sediment with it to the ocean even without knowing its carrying additional burden. If the river didn’t have the rocks creating friction it would flow much faster into the ocean, but it also wouldn’t be able to grow wider and deeper by incising the riverbed and land around it.
So it seems that to come closer to “the truth” of the universe, which is, by one definition, that which is in accordance with fact or reality, one needs to be both gullible and suspicious in tandem. They are, by broad definitions, antithetical to one another, but essential to playing the ongoing battle of “what comes next”. Here, in the place of learning/innocence and the learned/responsibility we attempt to find truth through trial and tribulation which is also known as experimentation or suspicion. Truth’s only goal, if there is one, which I am currently of mind to think their is one, is to be like the atom and gain more valence shells through energy absorption or like the river and dredge the river until it is scarred for a billion years after the water has run dry.
The thing about smart people being smart is that they try to out smart and take part and become the hunters that they had read about from the start. They want to become the animal within the alien body donning the tech that will set the stage for the upcoming tribunal where leaders stand head fast in the sun. I wonder if these facaded men and women will see these moments as climatically as those that looked on from the future. I feel like every time something supposedly stupendous happens to me I am notably indifferent about it. Move and flow and lets get on with it. Sometimes I am trying to navigate the various ways that a person might go about becoming advanced beyond the most rigid neural behaviors of their youth. How can we become intentional about the ways we want to behave in front of people? I think this has to do with the way that we maintain consistency within our selves. Consistency being values that do not conflict and give energy. It feels like it’s not merely enough to delve into being … i just got distracted by tiktok… anyway.. delve into being joyous with the world and its people. Its like rigidity both grants a narrow passage of existence but also provides (when believed) immediate directional adherence that allows self confidence to thrive. I saying that being an entirely inconsistent person who thrives on dependability who somehow feels more pleased with themselves than most. This is hard to actually measure. I can’t actually measure a persons agony or joy or rage. duh. I need to make a list on things I want to be consistent about, things I want to change, predicted fall out from that change and how those new changes need to find ways to be consistent with the things that didn’t change before. Next, it would be helpful to figure out how to kill morality all together.. but before that happens figure out the senses of morality I have left and figure out why they are there and what they are serving. Once these things are tethered down I think there should be more honesty with the self, unless a prerequisite of the changes were to dampen one’s energy and ability to act on ones truth. hmmm. maybe I should do some kind of practice where I do the exact opposite of where my body wants to move.
Pity Party Favors
Wake up, 5:30, wish I could be feeling dirty and flirty, but I lay there worrying about money. Today, I recognized, not for the first time, just how scared I actually am to fall out of the “good” line. How to crawl back to the comfortable spot just in the nick of time before I am left out to dry.. to die. To keep beating on myself until I form a black eye. To be numb to all the things around me until the little things creep inside to say “good morning” and “we are still here”. Well you may be still here, but I believe myself through the fear, then it seems to fade, but the fear doesn’t go away it just reappears in the open field when I am feeling farcical and my belly feels a little queer. I think some would call me pretty. But its easy to let go of when your waiting for someone to show you how to do something. Your hands are so busy but you’re not directing your own play. So you’re spinning and spinning alone and into a new day. And it’s hard to focus when you want attention from bae, but you don’t want to complain that you wish we could roll in the hay more. And you don’t want to complain that its hard to feel sexy when people around you just seem to lean into that sensuality.. I’m an easy O but its hard to get past that fear that I am just a chore, just a bore… that serving people is what I am for. That I am a peasant. Full of an unspecial set of specs, that’s really not that good at the conduction of worth while sex. I keep wanting to get pregnant but that leads me to a deep sadness, month after month, I am leaning into a bit more madness. There are things to do and wants pulling me all around, but I have family that needs me outside of this high elevation town. And I’m sad because I’m a busy body who does best with people, because they mean something to me especially when they are feeble. Its feasible to expect that I will feel differently tomorrow, but I will have buried that fat girl at the dawn of the morrow. In the morning, my eyes opening will be painful, but I am not planning on paying attention to the stain of my loneliness. The lonesome draw of running and abandonment, I can’t tell until I start rolling which stasis will be my last. I am exhilarated by life when it really gets going, but it’s the getting going that throws wrenches and wretches on my tracks.. its sucks that you have to suffer more to have a clearer plan of attack. Meanwhile, the lines in my forehead get deeper and the groceries get steeper and i tend to weep more because where have I left all of my people?
Today is India’s independence day. There are flags all over the place. Much like American Independence Day, people get all swollen and grateful for the sacrifices and efforts of their people (or who they qualify as their people) to get to where they have gotten now. Even though it seems like most people constantly strive to suffer less, there is such gratitude for those who suffer “more” in or out of their own control. Especially for those who seem to be charged with picking up responsibility for a peoples. Leaders, I suppose. Martyrs too. I assume it has to do with some kind of making suffering worth it. Which is strange to think that anything can be abided as long as there is some reward in the end, even if the reward of those whose bodies were the bricks of this gratitude were death. A realistic outcome. Waves of people respectfully stepping on other people to get a leg up on power and some kind of tiny version of choice.
My throat is constricted today. I am in a transition zone trying to set myself and others free, but it’s not going to look like that to those I am breaking old bonds with. It was helpful talking with R about things I want and don’t want. But as all things do, wants change in a flash and are acted upon over a painful gradient of time. Of which there is so little of.. I don’t want to blame anyone. I do want to be free to act without weighing in other people’s desires for me. I do not want to be sold a life anymore and I don’t want to try and work around emotionally and therefore physically difficult relationships. I want freedom to move around the world without my own anxieties of “how will they feel about this”, as if I needed to check in. I only want to check in with myself and my blood family. I have a hard time letting things like this sit and boil because I would rather chop the head off the snake quick without letting it suffer by my indecision further. There are alot of snakes that need cut. Snakes that I have chosen to feed and domesticate. Snakes are good creatures.
If I am sure of myself I should be able to be emotionally present/empathetic but resolved in any decision I make. But how to say it? It is difficult to come up with jargon that is both efficient, gentle, and “unyoked”. Practice: “I want to talk to you about something that I feel is an expecation that I no longer feel compelled to follow. Right now no longer wants to be a stabilizing or dependent force for anyone else except myself and the things that move me. I am not stable and/or reliable to act the same way on a daily, monthly, or yearly basis. I don’t want to be followed or negotiate with others about how or where or with whom I want to live at any one time. I feel as though I am in a state of transition and while I can understand that people want a concrete plan or hope for community going forward, I do not feel like I want to put my energy into that. My priorities at this time are to myself and having a child and figuring out what I want to spend my life doing, but I don’t want to try to make people feel safe or wanted or taken care of or happy. This is always liable to change, and because I perceive that there is some commitment expected, I need to free myself and others from including me in their decisions. I feel that it is your expectation and others that we are going to plan our lives to somehow include each other in it by negotiating where we want to be and how we can get there together.”
I’ve determined all rage comes from restlessness. Which comes from stagnation. Which is remedied by movement. Duh.
Late night, can’t sleep. Mind is reeling. I steep and I steep. Restless. Uninspired. Untouchable. Unreachable. Underestimated. Overheated. Fat. Fucking dramatic. My head hurts in that same little spot. I get so annoyed at myself for getting wrapped up in these feelings. Why don’t you want to touch me? Why does it seem like we are on two different tragectories? What is it about stasis that makes me so unsatisfied? Why do I hate the sound of my own thoughts to the point of wanting crippling silence? I can’t articulate. Can’t properly gesticulate. I think I must be an idiot. Or just terrified all the time to show something I can’t take back. I think everyone must be this way. I think everything is the same. And because I think this, I don’t have to be surprised or disappointed. But I am all of these things, and it makes me mad to have to know surprise or annoyance. I do feel that I am better than my feelings. That I can beat them. That I have never been out of control. That I have never trusted anyone, save a few instances of outburst, to be actually unhinged. And because I have great restraint, I believe that everyone must. And yet, people say that they don’t have control , and I don’t know that part of myself. And I hate being told that I don’t or I do have the capacity for something. Capacity for X is always possible if you change other variables. But it can be surprising how strong some variables are in generalized behavior. Even if there is no rules. I guess I doubt myself.
It’s so easy to give something a face and a single reason and call it good for the analysis and justification. But the thing that is named is still there and it doesn’t go away. Calling it out doesn’t change its nature. Once the feeling is felt or the experience is had, it is there forever. And no amount of healing makes it not there. And no amount of integration makes it less painful. I guess for tonight, my pain gets me to the gym at 5 am.
I just finished American Gods. I’m not disappointed, but the whole book kind of felt like a snapshot to nothing. Here is a man who is dead in all other terms but in flesh and then he feels the need to be loyal to someone he is working for because it is a value system to hold on to.. Then just accepts that the world is strange enought that ancient gods are real, the dead don’t stay dead, and the fabrics of reality are contrived. That is all fine, but then he becomes inspired to live by dying and then the author gives Shadow this wonderfully portrayed death and casually deals big plot blows (ex. Wednesday/Odin is Shadow’s dad) which get completely swallowed up by the end of the story (i.e. the battle between old gods and constantly born new gods). The construction of Shadows’ character was so blasé. Overall, I enjoyed, but was definitely meant for the wave of its cultural time.
The raven slickens along
so fucking slick
singing to me from its
the family must protect itself
we can win this
you fucking herding herder
I always forget to write. Especially when I’m feeling like what I think happens to a body in a time warp or a machine or universe portal that fractalizes all your thoughts and body parts and pretends to make you appear to have showed up in some distant space, but in fact has scrambled everything and randomly and gravitationallly made your limbs and neurons reconnect again… as if it never happened. As if it always happens and we never know.
My arms are long, and far reaching and they have been growing out.. wider and stonger - and they cry. Out from my finger tips - they wail. In silent rooms they advance forward and tickle that forward arrow of movement. And yet.. they fear and they remain fixed at their backside. ignoring their tethers. bindings. contractions. they find solace in them too. stay busy and bustling and the art will come when the rivers merge together and all of a sudden there doesn’t seem to be enough words to help me along. constraint. the bodily injury i suffer myself brings more attention to myself, which i must crave and feel shameful for wanting. and yet i can pass that by too. it is all before me and i need just take it and set myself free. set myself free.
You are so full of shit. Some things you do. How you keep yourself out of dodge and keep yourself silent. Bobbing and weaving between your emotions and flipping it back to other people. It’s upsetting. What’s upsetting? … How much you abuse yourself and tell yourself you can’t do this or that because of what it will do to the rest of you and the extensions of you. Which is also bullshit. It’s just an excuse for the fear you feel towards other humans. What they might do to you. How you might feel. How might you feel unseen by them. You stop your music everyday and babble amongst yourself to what words mean and why they are too small. and who can you tell if everything you utter is too small and yett you have so many little things to utter that are incomprehensible yet there. STOP TALKING DAMMIT.
The world is as large as it can be and as small as the head of a thumb tack. THe sun rises beyond the Kmart that closed down years ago and opens in the drive thru of the Taco Bell, with its bright colors and slushy shakes reminding me of the neon stripes on a videogame that passed its prime years ago. 20 years actually. Which is many years ago now.. Moments pass as though they never existed and years are mere minutes in the minds of technology, and my life may be 10 years at most in the end. The things that are focused on are gone in fractals, just as they always were and as they always will be.. The leaps that have been recently deduced as insurmountable are now cheesy and styleless, and I blinked and it was gone. Shucks, I will have lead thousands of more lives than any of the grandparents I held dear. I am more like a tree now… Remembering the silk worms of the spring and cooing to the rhythm of the loudest auctioneer of the day, spewing his clout. My and your head whips about wildly… sending signals to the front lines that there is no target other than that target that keeps us playing musical chairs with our attention. Even this computer runs slower than my train of thought. And here I must wait for it to catch up to me.
Today, I have felt on top of the world in the most mundane way. The comings and goings and non-commital somethings.. the best i can do all things.. and this and that… and rest. Today everything excited me and hurt me too. I’ve kissed my simple self and resigned her to her glory. She won’t be resigned long, I imagine. I want to be kissed more. I don’t think I’ve said that outloud. I want to kiss more. I want to make love with food in my mouth.
How long have I been staring at your shoes
as I lie on the floor where you sat a few days ago
looking at your studies
your list of words
bones, tendons, muscle, skin
materialize before me
I have watched
and observed enough to grant me hallucinations
in those shoesies
Creative things I need to get done:
Podcast episodes - get collaborators to recite for me, The Maharathi’s Journey Script, put together screen printer - print stuff on stuff
Research things I need to get done:
Dumb/anti-dumb glacier paper
Misc things I need to get done:
Get the stuff sorted and cleaned out in my room
I can’t believe it’s been this long since I have updated this blog. Time seems to pass without me even noticing. Nothing unusual to report. Ace is on his last day visiting. Life is beautiful and painful and full.
A dull reveal
I lied on accident
When I said I was clamming up
I fibbed on purpose
When I was sure I could hold my chess pieces high
I bent the truth
When I smiled at you this morning
I am convinced
When you look at me,
I need not speak on
How I am..
For as I create a perverse calamity
The foundational rupture has already initiated
So to avoid the masked verbs
where my skin twitches
My eyebrows furrowing as you sleep
The disconnected electricity between my retina and my teeth
My dwindling nails on my ashen hands
my irritations at the mailbox’s emptiness
My physical disarray
EVERYTHING but my words
There you will find the Blitz
There will be your answer
Mr. Worm Bowstein
Sir, your twitch is unbearably visible
to the naked eye
the fluttering of your elongate body
not at all balanced or conceived the way a worm should
Sir, it’s poor manners to cough here
even if you are passing by
snacking on your dirt and leaving it in your wake
not at all as dexterous and elegant in the the way a worm should
Sir, perform your dance in my right eye
but I needn’t give you permissive words
you will do it anyway without abusive intent
not at all as determined to sway the way a worm should
Sir, the way you writhe about happily
surely you are part of a larger formation
churning and stirring across the soils gravitation
not at all, and yet, entire …. the way a worm should
Keep pumping to your epicenters
Keep pumping to your limbs
Don’t don a garish facade
Provoking a balanced whim
The air is thin up here
Expect not a careless pace
Your hands are withering friend
and so is our pretty face
All things die before you
bleeding and conjured magnificently
to never stop from the shrouding
protected from all matters munificently
As necessary as perspiration
Secondary only to food and thirst
A canned longing left shelved
Perhaps the pining is over-rehearsed
Break and hold the beholden sigh
As that which is love’s beckoning
Passing you by just so
Reckoning, Reckoning, Reckoning
But hold nothing too tightly
Drink wine and regret not beer
Kiss them even without their love
For forever is the greatest lie taught here
Feeling like a wombman
there’s a light cold upon my back, you sweet crested dandelion. taking me through willowy branches, like the spitting snap of a leaf in the wind. beaten upon my exfoliated young, and yet youngening face. the fog crawling up my tender neck. flicking up spindles of water upon my face. frosting upon my lips a nucleated measure of sustenance. i am hear and supping upon the complex coronary of my anguish. crawling down my throat i pack the churned soil on top of my skin. covering my form from the world. moss. peat. slugs. they camouflage me.
Deciding to be my own therapist
What do I beat myself up most for
THE NO: causing disappointment in an expectation of me, not being able to hold it together, not being able to communicate and responding by shutting down, failing in localized emotional durability, not being able to solve or mediate a puzzle/problem, not being able to brush all things off, lack of focus, believing that I have to shoulder things alone
THE KINDER YES: often times people care more about your well-being than there own, be kind enough to welcome their care and do not be deceived by your own precocious pride, people are willing to let you not hold it all together… in fact they may prefer it.. even if you’ve convinced yourself that they can’t handle it, when you shut down you are in processing… do not be so hard on yourself to have the answers right then, do not put so much pressure on this pedestal you hold yourself on… everything is a Titanic, puzzles can solve themselves and mediation is your own choice… so choose, you aren’t a hair brush so stop trying to be one, when you lack focus is when you are the most imaginitive, being alone is fun.. but being able to trust someone with the burden is also fun.
If you’ve ever seen a beetle create a burrow, it will charge forward repeatedly, kick the rubble that it encounters with its back legs, and go so far into the substrate as to fully submerge itself. Hereby becoming unseen and invisible to passers by. Most beetles take care to always drag the debris to the outside of their caves, they take the extra step to build a fort, like a glacial moraine, protecting the most vunerable section of their dwelling. My kind of beetle seems to allow the the debris they encounter to block the escape or start point of their burrow. Here the beetle is left in the darkness and safety of the den. They breathe stagnating air and are unable to to charge much further, lest they continue piling rocks and dirt in front of what use to be the entrance.. perhaps they do not know the direction they came from. It’s more likely that they never cared in the first place what they left in their wake.
This organ is so full.. it drowns itself
i hold you closely,
desperately inhaling the scent of you
the scent of this moment
gone as quickly as it came
but i remember it
my mom’s smell and voice
my nana’s smell… much like my own
my dad’s polyester BO, so rich it crinkles my nose
they don’t ooze that kind of sweat out here
that kind of pattern of familiar joy
that kind of tattered togetherness
but i still know your bouquet, my local sweet beasties
i suppose i must go my own way
but your cries do not go unheard
they blow roughly against my skin
soaking my armour in roughened thick sand
rubbing me raw
my cup runneth over
Things that are strong in me right now (in order)
Completion of contractual obligations (job(s), lease, paper, etc.)
- However, two of these help me avoid things further down in the list. An umbrella feeling to cover a less strong or more strong feeling.
Desire to be around bio-family (this combines with number 3 intimately)
Escapism (of? my current socio-political-living-relationship space in Moscow/Pullman)
Ignoring the paths of those around me, as I see them likely not aligning with me for the short-term (1 - 2 years)
Desire for isolationist behavior/not being a team player
Detachment of feelings from individuals to protect myself
I wonder, how many snowflakes would be equivalent to the number of living organisms over the course of Earth’s lifespan? And then what can be considered an organism… really. All life is composed of the non-living atom. But how does that work. Why does that work? One day you are an element and the next day you are a bunch of chemicals sending signals to one another. Peacocking. The self. The next thing. The actions that give us orders to eat creep and evolve. The same that can see the patterns in the frosted flakes as they cover the world. Each one, amiss and floating about stoicastically.. We do much of the same… But even the thickest blizzard will leave you with a smooth, patterned blanket. Even millions of snowflakes, each identical… will fall into the same woolen textile. The self the sun for the signature sign that there ARE more triangles inside the box.
I have three friends
They sway in the wind beside one another
They are constantly looking in my window
and they gaze at me deeply
or I like to think they do
with their frigid arms
laden with cones and needles and frost
so much warmer to me than the rafters of the house
that shelter my scalp from the rain
keeping me truly warm
micromovements remind me of the tension within them
a vertical face standing firm against a horizontal gust
occasionally protecting the other
depending on the flow direction of the impudent paroxysms
maybe one day they will be plucked from their roots
and separated from one another
to be spread to the four winds
and grow again
to look deeply at someone else
through a thin pane of glass
moonbeams of times passed
Nobody sees the blind grow old. Why can’t I talk and why can’t I see? Necromancers have more of a voice than the poor bastards they work with. Elegant woman with elegant eels for legs.. slithering and sashaying around with ther mane in the clouds far from me. You hug me close to put the Dragonball Z poster out to show all the kids with glasses full of beer at school. You are a caterpillar in a world full of shiny baubles. That show you saw with your grandma reminds me of tomato soup with chili’s and pieces of Parmesan from my old man’s dick cheese. It’s his papa’s recipe. I gotta tell you the version of me that wants to fill you with roses and cover you in mud… also wants to be fartin at the prime minister of pedestrianism. Do you want a million dollars? What do you want, fame? Fortune five-hundread company merchandise? You are a fish in a sandbox full of other pretty fishes. I tell you a secret about the color lilac. You should always be wearing lilac. if you want to attack people you love secretly posed as a bush. Timber falls as an orchestra of tambourines caress you in music. Jump into the waters. Jump. Be free… to not be free to freedom. Harvest your eggs wisely. Who are you? Serve. Me. Mac. N. Cheese… in your happy trail.
moonbeam stream saga
The feathery hands clasp over the river’s mouth. Joining the woes and the wannabes to their channel.. filing them down into the water.. around and around they become the cataclysm at the surface, but if thesee jabberwocks were to dive below the rocks and sand they might find peace in their bludgeoning. Beetles skirt the surface of the tide pools, hungry for a bit of the action, but hesitant to test their cohesion. Each step they don’t take is an opportunity missed. They don’t get to kiss one another on the banks, because they are looking at the whirlpool before them. Betwixt them. Beneath them. Not to mention that their little beetle body is as rigid as the surface of a piece of paper (if you look hard enough or use an scanning electron microscope (SEM)). There are 4 beings before me and a million beings within me.. and they all have their own little channel meandering around many little trees. Eggs roll. Bass lines heed my warning blood pressure spike. My chest is a neutron star and there is no avail when I look directly at it.
When people feel the need to constantly talk about things they’ve done as a validation of individual coolness and worth. Self-deprication. When people say, “I don’t know, man. I’m just trying to do (insert here).” which shuts me down when I am desiring a specific explanation. Needs to have ownership over identities and appreciation of specific “things”. When people want to dig into my feelings when I haven’t seen my way through them yet. When people don’t show up on time. Choking when I am trying to communicate. Failing at explicitness. My own stubbornness. The withdraw I feels like it’s translating into disbelief. My desire to escape being so strong. Not living with a romantic partner. Struggle to decide a 1 year path. Any form of extremism. The phrase “I am all alone in X,Y,Z”. Competition outside of gaming. Split communities. Restricting community food consumption because of government protocol when we all interact together. to be cont.
A flailing flail
I am a full human, and this is why I grieve. A constantly illustrated and meditated over experience…over and over and over and over and again.. are you exhausted yet? I am a being loved too well. Where others may deteriorate from loneliness, I agonize over not being able to maintain my fractionized space. My desire is fed by their pain and their life blood pouring into me. I am a constant amputee. And here I flail. One arm holding the other in longpoint guard. Make your move. Given the choice, which I have, I suppose I wouldn’t change where I am. I am confident as everyone else was/is… that I will lose you… mom.. dad.. nana.. papa.. tabby.. ray… danica.. ace… katie.. luigi.. e… moose.. chinzo.. t.. l… stephen.. olga… brandon.. alicia.. aisha.. chris.. anna.. to name only a few and in no particular but also a particular order.
Unfortunately and fortunately, the handicap you give me makes me stronger but leaves me partially resolved. Again truncated in both mind and spirit.
I want to use beautiful worlds and colorful descriptions to project my woe. But I feel shut off. Unaware, discontinuous color comes to me. Just broken iridecent glass resting upon my skin.. refracting my thoughts and people inside me in different directions. A kaleidoscopic amputee full of love. How lucky I am.
It’s the thing you will always bleed over
Power. Welcome to the ring. It unlikely that you are immune to its alluring gaze. We all have it. And we want more. Over and over you will see them try to prove that they are big enough to change the world. Knowing all the odds are out of their favor. Believing with the same amount of certainty that the odds are also forever in their favor. You will stare into every cultural, religious, gastronomical, astronomical, or world spirit to gain recognition for knowing it piece by piece… knowing it simply… then exploiting it entirely. Men most of all. Women most of all. Bondage wars in its true form. How can I bind you to be unbound? How can I free you from the tyrany of _________?
Everyone wants their piece. Small pieces = commodities. Medium pieces = hearts, land, space. Large pieces = nations of creatures, the ocean. I have my fair share of small and medium pieces. I am a piece of a larger piece and my spaces, fractions of a whole. The larger pieces have ripples of insurgence within them. Tumors. Lights. Tomorrow/s unpromised promise of change and mutation and adaptation and conquered pieces.
I’m not ashamed of other’s power as long as it serves me and my power. This is an egregious, mundane reaction. I exercise power through careful and careless thought and I believe the outcome is largely the same on the medium and large scales. It is in medium scales that we have the most impact on the individual. It is in the small scales that we have most grief with ourselves and strangers. It is on the large scales where we find our way into a book probably.. the last pages of the story leading to an untimely demise… the dream/curiosity stolen/shattered by others who want their big idea to be the large scale’s driving force.
I’ll tell you what. Shooting for the large piece of power leaves you in excess or absence of anything in a category below it. You will lose your autonomy. You will likely lose your medium pieces (given that they are hearts) – because these people have their own power to wield. What you gain must be worth it in your head.. what you’re sacrificing must be worth it in your head.. But predictive behavior of most human beings show that they would rather have medium pieces (small communities) over a larger piece (social control).
Each time I tell myself of my plan, while I whole-heartedly believe in my ability to stay true to vous, I crumble a little inside knowing that there will be unforseen circumstances that lead to my schedule’s general distruction. Which I suppose can be solved by not affording a schedule at all. But this is near impossible because I don’t have spatial convenience or a declarative home.. other than the fact everywhere is my home. I feel this tug to sit still for a while… but I also feel this tug to sit for a month, then jump off a building, then sit, then leap, then sit, then emerse myself in unfamiliarity.. then whatever. Being without you feels like a misery.
Modes of Survival
I didn’t have to be alone,
and I wasn’t.
It didn’t have to be rigorous,
but it was.
I can remember a time before,
but I shouldn’t.
Because I am brawnier NOW,
all in all.
Four Principles of Stoicism to Cultivate an Iron Will
Find wise people to emulate.
Review the implications of your day.
Your distractions are your own doing.
Every day is a new life.
Mesopotamian religious phases and affluent deities
Phase 1 (4000 BC) - deities mainly focus on basic human needs for survival.
Phase 2 (3000 BC) - the divine hierarchy became more structured.
Phase 3 (2000 BC) - the gods worshipped by an individual person and gods associated with peasants became more prevalent.
Phase 4 (1000 BC) - gods became closely associated with specific human empires and rulers.
Most important gods during all periods
An/Anu (Sumerian/Akkadian): Sky-god whose major roles were alloting functions to other gods, being a decision-maker and progenitor. His decisions are unalterable. Later gods inherited his power as Enil and then Marduk. Longest worshipped. Color: Luludanitu, red, white, and black –> Uraš is his consort, later taken by Ki(Sumerian)/Antu(Akkadian) (personification of earth)
Enlil (Sumerian): God of wind, air, and earth and was a fractal transcendence of Anu. Seen as a benevolent, fatherly deity. Color: Lapis lazuli/blue
Enki/Enu: God of the subterranean freshwater, wisdom, magic, incantations, arts, and crafts. Color : Jasper/green
Seven gods who decree
Utu/Shamash: Sun god and god of truth, justic, and morality. Color: Gold, yellow
Nanna-Suen(Sumerian)/Suen or Sin (Akkadian): God of the Moon and symbolyses the pleroma (i.e. the sum of all the gods powers (Anu himself). Color: Silver, green
Nergal: God associated with the underworld and forest fires, fevers, plagues, and war. Color : Iron, red
Nabu: God of scribes and writing and later associated with wisdom and agriculture. Associated with Mercury. Color : Orange
Marduk: National god of the Babylonians and eventually parallelled the renound and respect of Enlil as the chief of the gods. Color : Tin, white
Inanna/Ishtar: Sumerian goddess of love, sexuality, prostitution, and war. Associated with Venus, the morning and evening star. The Sumerians had more myths about her than any other deity.Her most famous myth is the story of her descent into the Underworld, in which she attempts to conquer the Underworld, the domain of her older sister Ereshkigal, but is instead struck dead by the seven judges of the Underworld. She is only revived due to Enki’s intervention and her husband Dumuzid is forced to take her place in the Underworld.Alongside her twin brother Utu, Inanna was the enforcer of divine justice. Color : Copper, blue
Ninurta: Warrior deity worshipped in Sumer in the earliest of times. He was the champion of the gods against the Anzû bird after it stole the Tablet of Destinies from his father Enlil and, in a myth that is alluded to in many works but never fully preserved, he killed a group of warriors known as the “Slain Heroes”. Ninurta was also an agricultural deity and the patron god of farmers. In the epic poem Lugal-e, he slays the demon Asag and uses stones to build the Tigris and Euphrates rivers to make them useful for irrigation. His major symbols were a perched bird and a plow. Color : Lead, black
Q & A
If I were a super villian what be my motive for villany? What would tempt me to that path? (If I believed in villanous acts)
Q & A
How were failures treated in my upbringing?
I grew up in a lower middle class household, or at least that was my perception. We constantly struggled for money, but I never really got to see that directly.. I just knew that I couldn’t and wouldn’t ask for money, even if it was for lunch. I knew that I would be given money if I asked, but I think without knowing the details, that we were living above our means.. therefore we lived in debt. When you live in a blue collar, slightly conservative, quasi-rural family, as I did/do, the most important or valued character traits are as follows: hardwork, loyalty, mental and spatial flexibility/resilience, dependability, and hypervigilance. This makes sense if you know me. Even now, as I look at the prefered merits of my mother, my father, and my grandparents, but not my friends, it is surprising to me that I am still fundamentally the same as them at my core. Even though the last few years of my life, I have had vastly different life experiences from them, I still am a hyperaware ride-or-die, family-oriented workaholic (despite the laziness of 2020).
Because of this, failure in my upbringing looked like not doing anything to bettering yourself or your loved ones through the use of your back and heart. There would always be and always is a baseline love and acceptance, but disappointment in lack of individual performance was met with underhanded or blatant derision… followed by encouragement to get back on the ball. The real failure is not getting on the train again. I have never failed.
It’s in an airplane that I find my mind disrupted by micro-absurdities. That I find myself annoyed and convulsing on our, your, and my horse shit. I believe conception of meaning holds the meaning and lack of belief. It’s hard for me to find importance in these mind games when life is at stake. Perhaps it’s been too comfortable. Perhaps that’s why you writhe so. Perhaps every piece of you that is on the ground continues to float on slowly morphing and not fast enough for my impatience. Perhaps my regression is baleful and full and inward. As you move forward without me. A usual secondary thought. Even though it’s not true. The pout feels true. I feel disadvantaged because we don’t have that ease, just the acceptance.
Can you see the theater and the bloodiness of my heart that you laugh at? Forgive me if I don’t laugh back. I think most things are unimportant except the representation of the human experience that the theater brings to life. Somehow better and more true than any interaction you and I may have on any passing day… any day that we continue to piss our time away being less than brilliant and expressive and severe.
Q & A
What do I lose track of time doing?
It’s actually really hard for me to lose track of time. Talking late in the night during a sleepover with my mom. Dealing with anxiety. Being stoney. Making love. Being with my people in a group setting. Walking anywhere and everywhere with my headphones in. Living and blooming during karaoke. Staring into someones eyes who I can reach in that way. Sitting in a hot shower. Watching fish swim. Having a dissociative attack. Shavasana. Tracing lines. Painting. Thinking about death.
When I am feeling blue,
and it’s about you.
I need to witness your motion
and hear your voice. Even for a moment.
I’d take any words to avoid…
the Assyrian battering ram clouting my heart.
Again and again.
My Babylonian flesh ripples as each resounding parapet falls,
and is half-hazardously restored by foot soldiers and slaves.
And yet we are disjointed and I still breath. But barely.
I sleep to get away from the hummingbird beating wildly about my rib cage.
I believe you feel my dangerous grief,
and if you do not, you do not see.
And Assyria will fall.
The Stout Part
The smell of your skins.
So comforting to me.
Your hand gently touching mine.
So secure to me.
Your breathing and spinning.
Captivating my heavily laden heart.
What and who can emboss me with more?
Than that which sees through me, into me, and amongst me.
Look at me out here.
Bask upon my tragedy.
One tear. Two tears. More.
Desolate and estranged.
Trying to have no hard feelings.
To be loved as well as I have
but has been responsible for the nebula of my spirit.
Three lines of you on my face
and a fourth streak just for me.
Mourn your perfection and your anti-perfection.
Playing with all of the senses
A distant violin in my north left space of ear. A small, singular string that dances along my nerves back and forth in stoichastic, windy caverns. Wood explodes in on itself as it is burned to a crisp by the sustainer of man. Fire.. Fire… Burn through me. Burn within me. Soft yellow light plays tricks with me and by creating a chiaroscuro effect I am transfixed by my home. Soft burgundy petting my eyes with a treasury of caresses. Hard corners drawing lines in the sand of our world. Architecturally damaging the shapes of indeterminate foreverness. Structuring our minds to fit a collection of others like us. The orchestra conductor pulls all of our strings with is index fingers.. he calls them.. the brass coming in softly from the top of the ceiling and pouring along the gilded walls. Then Prince sexes me with God from Purple Rain and leaves me in a hot, drunken state. I divorce him for jazz club Brad.. unfortunately. I would rather hear the symphony of my life, cackling along with the fire I must tend to. Heated, thirsty, hellbent.
The fury of competition
You impose on me and I can feel your poaching presence, and I feel an insignificant shift of my own ego trying to step down to let something pass by me… like parting the sea for Moses. This will not do. I will not lay down and feel the wave of your transcendence and feigned ignorance. I will not let you come before me in anything. I will not come before you either, fear not. I do not seek to dethrone you. I want to be equals. Not as if there were truly different or unequal, I’m just “wasting” my talents on sleep, sex, and the latter. I need to perpetuate the being I begrudgingly admire. Getting out of my own way and off of my own ass. Bogged down be damned. Damn you and damn me. Madness. Madness.
Opera songs for a mezzo soprano / contralto
Must Winter Come so Soon from Vanessa (Barber)
Voi che Sapete from Figaro
Una Voce Poco Fa from The Barber of Seville
Contralto Voices -
When I am laid in earth (Purcell)
Q & A
What gives me a deep and profound sense of joy?
Seeing my grandparents laugh together and at each other. Seeing how proud and strong my mother looks when she cries. The smell of my sex. Aggravating you. Doing the opposite of what is expected of me. Doing the exact thing that is expected of me. Becoming as emotionally destitute as theatre actors emersing themselves in Oedipus Rex during song. Eating pine needles and finding the best flavor. Hearing you quake beneath me. Knowing the tiny details/movements about people without them knowing that I know information they never directly told me. Inventing a feeling that I associate with colors or an order of events that create that feeling at any point in time. Watching the reaction of someone who is about to die as they die in another character’s arms on television. Being a monotone sass-monster back and forth with my dad. Holding my grandfather’s hand. Sleeping next to my grandmother and having her tell me about her life’s regrets, pain, happinesses, and triumphs. Smelling the wet earth clogging my nose as I squirm around in the mud like a bloody piglet fresh to the slaughter. Leftover Thanksgiving oyster dressing, mash taters, turkey, and most importantly cranberry sauce two days after the holiday. When Mr.Darcy asks Elizabeth to marry him in every Pride and Prejudice movie or series. Raisin Bran. Laughing maniackly without control. Sleeping outside and waking up to the crispness of a sore muscle and frost kissed toes. Taking an outside shower at the beachside rental with the sun beating down on me after sweating and absorbing the sun’s fury for a few hours. Stepping outside of my mind and losing my humanity.
They is we,
we is they,
and we start again tomorrow.
Can it be so?
… that those fingerlings of wheat braided along the trellis
were no more than an illusion
when i write I feel silly
I have an idea!
I know how to take them down
Thank you for the data
In spite of ourselves
I have the most magical spirits that cover me in light. What have I to say that can appeal to the soft giving nature of your hand? Passionate, bloody, and gentle cereal sighs drive my heartbeat for you. Marveling my new ability to instantly be in love just because you do. And because of this.. I want to show you how unhappily happy i am. I am not at peace with the treaturous heart betwixt by breasts. I am boiling outward, becoming a noxious tomb. How can I leave vous here? How can I be myself by staying?
Kilkenny Cat Plan (in progress)
I do not ask why
It is enough to simply
I do not ask why
For that breaks the common, continuous step
I do not ask why
Lest diastasis set into every muscle and not just
I must not ask why
But to “must” is to push against form
I do not ask
In the name of infinite possibility
thIs jaw pain is hard to manage
still grinding at night
can’t realLy get up in the morning
don’t really want tO ever be awake
unless we are all together
i need a bit of help
man, i hate that
i can feel this slippery slope
this imaginary angle
boxing me in
accosting me ever so slightly
its easy to withdraw inside
but then Vous knows i’m hiding
and i’m trying not to hidE
i lay mYself in embers
and still i try to nOt be bUrnt.
The four and two
German Expressionists (late 19th and early 20th century)
basic motto : to produce art of the emotions, of frankness and intensity of feeling, and of the deeply personal and spiritual.
–> Expressionists were in general opposition of the romanticism of society and disgusted by realism and literal representation. They prefered to address and create art and drama that was born out of viseral, emotional responses to a specific experience and not focus on the “subject” of that experience themselves. In drama/theater this created an evolved stage that seemed like broken fractals of thoughts and bursts of juxaposed tones. As is the experiences within my/vous mind, flitting from one thought to the other unceremoniously. Often times expressionist, formally naturalist, and futuristically surrealist, art was/is dense, primal, exaggerated, simplified and unrefined.
Before WWI German Expressionist wanted to revitalize the world of its stagnant academics and bourgeoisie expectations and make sense of the newly mechanised world. It is no surprise that after WWI the art would depict horrific stories of these artists’ experience. Apocolyptic energies and harems of political allegory would push forward additional societal unrest throughout Europe and the world.
Where oh where did my (insert here) go?
When I don’t find your eyes on mine in a fashion that speaks of longing and want, I feel no relief. Why? The chain of events must’ve been: 1) I seek no refuge in anyone. I do not need someone to confirm my worth or validate me. Born from a specific kind of independance via upbringing. 2) All of a sudden, I have a space where I can explore dependancy and trust and distribute unconditionality. In addition, I am around new people whom I do not have locationally cultural similarity and I am easily influenced by their idealogies and emotions. As we all are. 3) I fall in love with them and bare my ever-changing soul to them. Then the cages around that person/energy become rusty and are put away.. I either start reacting like the people around me or become their essence… or did I become more comfortable… or have I always been this way? I can’t remember… I suppose prior understandings, no matter what they are, no longer exist. While experience is a good predictor, events are not actually a good representation of the here and now and later of micromoments.. macromoments, sure.
I believe it all to be whimsical, transient, loud and then gone. Do I prefer this to the whimsical, transient, quiet and then steady-state rigidity that is my understood default (at least formerly)?
I feel it in my diaphram, in my lower back, in my lungs. I feel it in my hands as they continue to open and close and I lose awareness of the sensations of that actual movement. I clench my jaw tighter and let it quiver beneath the weight of the rest of my skull. I hurt and the extensions of me hurt too. This is ideal. To feel anything is to be alive. Yet, slowly the numbness closes in, telling me to windmill in every direction within the confines of my shell. A breath in. A breath out. A knife in. A knife out. A double edged sword. Commit to one path or the next and be resolved in it. Be and do exactly what you want. Confinement is good for no soul.. even if a soul exists, the more you control or doubt or plan, the more inevidible disappointment becomes. Like holding a dog on a leash, you and the dog are both burdened and enslaved. Let go of the leash. Hit yourself not with the metal clasp.
Meeting you and you meeting me was always unforeseen. And this happens over and over. We happen over and over. How can it be that the same things that give me joy, that make me feel good, that lift me up… across time and space. 8822 miles. I continually gather my people and they turn into proverbial gold so quickly. Its disproportionate and unrare that I feel that love from another, yet it surprises me so. I will see you soon my friend, for we were meant to be vast trees of structure and Light.
Nachos and Kosher Wine
Really strict rules and incredibly bland foods. Its cute to think about bringing things together and make them connect, but my favorite thing to see… the plot that really grinds my gears. Peppers my pot. Sprinkles my cupcake. Tickles my inflinitely wiggling pickles. Seeing two vastly opposing ideals or items or cultural phenomenon come together in an awkward and beautiful hodgepodge. A delicate surprise you never would have surmised that brought out the utmost delight in you. The stroke of their thighs. The blight in its eyes. Proving that its never too much to be everything at the exact birth of nothing.
What if that wasn’t the case?
Let’s invite new possibility. What if it is okay to feel love? Lets bring those two bits together so they close. At the time I would have a front face. A sock puppet that pops out for me. Integrate it. Tiny subtle movements that shows the twisting and creates awareness. Nimitta.
there’s a light cold upon my back, you sweet crested dandelion. taking me through willowy branches, like the spitting snap of a leaf in the wind. beaten upon my exfoliated young, and yet youngening face. the fog crawling up my tender neck. flicking up spindles of water upon my countanence. frosting upon my lips a nucleated measure of sustenance. i am here and supping upon the complex coronary of my anguish. crawling down my throat i pack the churned soil on top of my skin. covering my form from the world. moss. peat. slugs. they camouflage me.
By and by,
I chew my thumb.
Why oh why,
do I chew my thumb?
I sigh and sigh,
still I chew my thumb,
and little by little I die.
How can I grasp at that lingering sound of the implication that pleasuring me is taxing. I am a job. Not your words, but all of the generalized actions. That I am a performance to be seized. I feel this tearing of my eyes, the ripe persimmon that is my heart, and the cementation of my loins. My passion instantly cremated at nobodies feet. When you ask me if it’s okay or that you feel pressure to cum for me.. to perform for me… resolved to me is the true nature of us. My turgid fingers that quaked beneath you, crinkling into myself. You hate see me hurting.. you love me… it is not a reflection of your horniness.. my bashfulness shrivels with each moment. I cannot brighten my eyes or sigh with honesty or gyrate without thought.. not when you reject me thus. And yet, I love you still. Enough to crumple next time and bloom your way tomorrow.
Do i do a good job as i sit down and sob.. Do i sob for me or do i shatter for you.. How can i see that tattered umbrellla, a old red flag sitting in your work shop next too your tool box. The box is next to a pile of gold you carry within yourself. You manifest it onto your floor and keep it clear of dust and grime. And yet it is still on the floor. Every so often a girl in white comes through and takes a coin and tucks it safely under her breast in a little zipper that holds her disposable heart. Too bad that it is all worth it for the candied acorns they bring you in the coldest breath of winter dawns. Damp and shivering you stare into the frothing flames licking the sky. You can keep watching forever as it falls away. Sighing deeply you gather yourself at our lap, tapering inward at the middle but the husks on your mouth are still sharper than any knife. Every second, i can’t stand to see you falling, there’s not a next time. Musical dadaisms play on your limber and lithe mouth as you bark into the earth and the smallest critters come in mass to your aria. A small caterpillar molts in the corner and larger larvae crystallize and labor on. Crusts on the ground penetrated with the tidal wave of worms continually eating and re-eating their own shit. Where can I hide from your heart’s jealous pyre?
What you teach me
R: Vous are infinite
D: Above all be a passionate fluid. Be adaptable and willing to see the good, bad, and middle ground in everyone.
L: Caring and experiencing the beauty and luxury of life is both a micro and macroscopic concept.
E: Intent and decisions are your responsibility. Every action has an equal an opposite reaction. Clarity, empathy, and decisiveness are qualities to strive for.
A: Compassion and sanctity for life and children. Statue of growth.
A: Goodness can be found anywhere by anyone.
J: Service and sacrifice for family comes above everything. Protector.
B: Simplicity is as beautiful as a cornucopia of colors.
A: Being part of something can be as big or as small as you want it to be. Once your part of me, there is no limit to that love and care on this two way messy road.
A: In the end you can just do the best you can every day, growing, smiling, and snacking.
A Far Place
O: Sympathy and humor. Emotions are here and we can handle them together. We are in this together.
O: Follow through, trust, and action lead to connection. Communication and belief is shown through presence and beyond that is infinity.
The Furthest Place
If I was Huntan
The ultimate middle ground, the transitory state of being that allows you to go back and forth between the living and the idea of the end is becoming a reaper. Embodying a boatman who gives you coin to move on. By ferrying, you can ferry yourself. The balance of comfort and being a rigid fixture in the life of others. Prestige.
Wild Bill helped me skin a coyote that New Light and I found in the desert. What and experience. I don’t think I can adequately describe it in words. So I guess I can just hope to remember it. I got blood all over the rental truck. A hunter shot the coyote and just left it for dead, and we just happened to find it. So I skinned the thing and threw its carcass in the desert. Brutal. Then we went to Grubstake down the road and I was still covered in coyote blood and smelled to high heaven. There were so many cowboys and country locals. The inquisitiveness about where we were from and our reason for being there were questioned, but then quickly we got invited to karaoke at the bar down the road. Old country music blared in the background with “Crazy Woman Ranch” swinging above the bathroom.
I ran home with the galaxy and the sagey air and the wind at my back. I felt at home.
My nostrils sting and the rest of the skin around that peaked and exposed flesh is also on fire. I walked four full lines today, which is a major success in my book. The first two days were a series of mistakes and lost GPS Signal. For breakfast Bill and Carmila made French Toast and told us these amazing stories of them hunting and trapping beaver and Bill wrestling a beaver in the river. They seem like really hospitable people, though they are definitely set in their conservative and generations of western frontier traditionalism. They show no mercy to rule breaking and poorly behaved grandchildren. In Meemaw’s country, her rules are the only rules… no asking why, just do it. I think I really want to learn how to hunt and catch my own game. Seems more honest, as Danica said. I keep getting in bed by like 8:00 pm, my shoulders are dying. Just like all those antelope during the current hunting season. Ouch, my face. Again, the galaxy shines gayly above.
Today, I thought about much ado about nothing. I walked back and forth and up and down the 1 km lines for magnetism. They think that there is gold in that there hill. I think I want to take up hunting. I wonder, tehe, if any of my partners would like to join me? I’m not really keen on learning from people though, at least not with intension. I would much rather just figure it out along the way. I’m sure that I learn a lot less because of this stubbornness. I am a sunburnt lobster with wobbly knees and a wobbly disposition. I like that I don’t get service out here. This is one of the rare occurrences where I have talked to myself and had really no body else to transfix on and interrogate. I’ve had songs weaving in my head. I’ve been dealt a boon pair of new balances from a generous woman named Miss Carmilla. She is the matriarch of this hotel and her and Wild Bills’ hospitality has no bounds. I’m envious of their set up. I guess I better start investigating land since there is now room for negotiation… This I am excited for… mountain towns might be on the top of my list now. I am more immediately excited to hold my beloveds and sniff their pits.
I think it is possible to be content in the middle of nowhere, assuming that there is a plan for survival. Nearly 8 miles of walking across brush and metamorphic batholith affected rock and coming across the bodies of recently and long passed creatures and creatures that have not extinguished from their earthly frame. I imagined, among other things, that we could build a house with this stone.. at first meager, but over time would become strong and resolved. Enough to withstand the Wind River. My face is raw and gnashed from the wilderness’ gusts which containing grains of sand, sage, and the like. I thought about trying to achieve minimal satisfaction and found that the easiest way seems to be boredom and absence of thought… or some form of distain for comfort, but it’s not like I don’t want to be comfortable. It’s that I don’t want to notice one way or the other. I just want to be. But then my toes started to hurt and as the miles passed on, I could only think of how far until the end of the line and until I can feel parched enough to be desperate for water. Desperation for water is one of my favorite things. The singularity of the need is transfixing. I want to thirst for other things in this way. Soon I was in that zone of singing a song to myself, as per usual, and in pain and… oh look, a snake skin… and a rabbit whom I paid no mind other than to watch it watching me… o’ hark, the machine is beeping incessantly.. I need water. How far away from the car am I? Am I that desperate? Yes. Sit down and more sand in my eyes. Blood in my shoes. Stank in my crotch. The swirling cyan colors of the sky and dusky brown and green and oranges of the ground rob me of care. I resigned to the comfort of the desert or at least the anticipation of its gifts. Will need different shoes though.
You have to be fanatic about everything and nothing. To be fanatic and empty and to get others to believe you, love you and want to move with you, you have to be active and accountable but allow for all outcomes. The failure of man however is then inability to see past structure and repetition… which is why nothingness is called to. Moment to moment variation is the actual rule and no creed beyond the responsibility of the body and laws of nature are dictitious (new word) to every interaction. Which federal laws are bendable enough to allow all advances lawful, and will the start of a new community need to begin with repression and then slowly ease out of it so it’s not immediately suppressed by larger regimes? If from the start there is fanatical repression, how does one make sure that the body moves away from that template to create the real order of chaos? Or is there even a need to start docile and then ease into truth and hostility?
C’mon baby, c’mon darlin, let me steal this moment with you now. Today has been an immense day of personal reflection into my willingness into fanaticism and what I believe I must do to become jewish and Japanese and “intense” to believe in “something” or “nothing” completely. To give in to those endorphins of the moment. To not simply observe one’s self it its distracted and selfishly placated state but to pour… pour into the moment you bite into that apple, the moment you smell them walk by and the world narrows into a fine boney straw, the shear thrill of the crackling of your teeth as someone’s hand collides with your face. I want that. I want to work on that. To do that I need to be silent to hear myself and not just the script I puke around my art piece. To do that I will need to wallow in my ego and hubris as well as set fire to my disgusts orbiting those traits. To do that I will need to swell into my paralysis when I feel intensely. To do that I must train myself to associate paralysis with severe discontentment and want it to change. And to do that I must push myself to the cliff of discomfort and pleasantries and cleverness and trick myself into committing compartmentalization suicide. Drain my swamp of shame, regret, analysis, control… and keep draining without recharge. Like our aquifer. The clams will die and so will “the before”, but I guess then I will have it all. Like I’ve always wanted.
there’s a bittersweet and yet not quite bitter and not quite sweet notion that revolves around the end of me.
My restriction is my perception that any other moment than this one exists. I stare out the plane and think… what if I died… what does that make me feel? I want to feel neutrally about it or even content… but I’m not. I’m dissatisfied because of what I believe I will miss. Something that doesn’t exists yet. An illusion where I am anticipating this wonderful thing that literally doesn’t exist, and neither does everything before it. My life before and my life after is neither here nor there… it’s not biological to be disappointed beyond the fact that I am no longer able to reproduce.. that is the singular reason to be at loss in this moment. When all I see is gray. Am I dead or dying or already at the space in between where the “you” that I am missing, as my plane goes down, doesn’t even know that you don’t exist either.
If it’s not this it’s something else. This is not a charity. We’ve all gone through something… everyone of us. And we are here to give you the extra of what we do have. Now I know you didn’t have the foolish idea that things are going to get better, because they aren’t. That’s not the lords way.
What does the dark say?
You are not alone,
But because of this you must be (alone).
Nothing is equal,
And because of this you must choose.
Love can be boundless,
But because of this you must become
comfortable with solitude.
You will never lose anything you hold close,
And because of this you will always hurt.
The air is moist and sweet and it feels as though I’ve never been here before. Everything feels familiar, but is so different. Simpler, directed. Even food is comprised of a few elements without much variation from day to day.
You’re either going to leave me now, or leave me in death. Either way it’s happening.
blue gills and nunya
my feet are glossed with decay and excrement of that which grows
i keep my back toward the man-made gruff that turns and churns and plays with old fauna
in an attempt to see and touch something ancient
i behold something anew and more distant from me than i like to believe
murky mud metastasizes upon my shins as I sway with the low drawl of the water
stroking my little hairs and pushing against the inside of my thighs
currents and currents of life swirl about me
gangrenous, lake kelp getting caught in its own rhythm
as i kick my way through its home
gripping my ankles as to say, “You don’t belong here.”
letting me go as to say, “Come back soon.”
everything outside of this membrane is bright and rigid and hard
everything inside is upturned and settled and upturned again
relax upright in the water
looking down into the forest of blackened aqua,
flecks of silver rain and sappy, bruised green play against my pupils
i open my eyes
hoping to see some conflict
i am the conflict,
the fire that insights fear
you swim up to me as to say, “I’ve seen you a thousand times before.”
never been so close and felt so comforted by curiosity
encircling me with inquisitive eyes,
glossing over my dull, fleshy skin
you must think me ugly
in comparison to you
lithe, quick, and a symphony of
gold and silver
sunlight refracting and reflecting off of you
and onto me
you’re making me beautiful
feasting on and
supping upon my flaky bits
much more tender than your scales
much less tender than your mind
i am the predator
but i am the one who is pierced