break the rules

Apparently if you cup your hands under cold water running from the faucet in the sink and then plunge your face into the cold water you caught in your hands and then inhale slightly through your nose so you’ve almost snorted water up your nose, your body activates something called the “mammalian diving response,” which tricks your nervous system into a state of alertness because, get this, your brain is under the impression that you are under water, so it has to keep you from fucking drowning. It slows down your heart, your breathing. It calms you down enough to think.

This is everything to me.

It’s also like the entire first half of my skincare routine anymore

“Break me down and put me back together
I surrender, I surrender now
And hold me in the promise of forever
I surrender, I surrender now…”

Mumford & Sons. “Surrender.” Track 8 from the album RUSHMERE. March 28th, 2025.

“To hear, ‘I’m wrong, you’re right,’ press three…”

neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring

“welcome to the Mommy Issues helpline. To hear ‘I’m proud of you,’ press one. To hear ‘you’re perfect just the way you are,’ press two…”

“From childhoods hour I have not been

As others were – I have not seen

As others saw – I could not bring

My passions from a common spring

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I lov’d, I lov’d alone…”

From “Alone” by Edgar Allen Poe, 1903.

Discovered via an excerpt of the poem that was quoted in Stone Butch Blues, by Leslie Feinberg.

I gave away the leather jacket to a butch dyke with green eyes. The jacket never suited me, but it fits them perfectly. It goes nicely with the cargo pants and combat boots and the belt with the red stripe and the hair cut short on the sides and then pulled back away from their face at the front.

The first time I saw them at the café, I thought – is that a boy or a girl? and then I decided the answer was probably yes, so I gave them a free beer.

We went clubbing.

I painted everybody’s nails in black and red.

They hit a pen outside on the patio and then drank piña coladas on the dance floor with a blonde femme we know from work. Both of them were smiling and dancing and having a good time. The music was loud and you could feel the vibrations through the floor and the light show was stunning and the crowd was safe and the bartenders were kind. Steve opened a tab and got me a shot of whiskey at the bar. I made eye contact with an older masc who had their arms around their partner and then got shy and couldn’t look at them for the rest of the evening. This is one of the first settings where I have looked across the room and witnessed two men together and in love in a place where it was undoubtedly safe enough to relax and show that publically. We swayed back and forth in the crowd on dance floor and held out cash for the drag queens dancing on the stage (talented). Danced a two step and left no room for jesus whatsoever until like one in the morning.

When we left, our ears were ringing from the volume of the music.

Said hello to the bouncer, who I also know from work. He asked that we text him when we made it home safely, and we did.

KING OF ALL BIRDS

“A wizard is never late. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

~ from The Fellowship of the Ring. May be attributable to Tolkien or Jackson, unsure which, but the line was Gandalf’s in any case.

A collection of friends has arrived and has been welcomed into the home.

I have a home of my own to welcome people into, now.

The cat took to each of them right away. She was more than content to receive plenty of affection, but she left a few scratches on several different arms.

Went out and got sushi and discussed stories, some of which were from the Ulster Cycle. Drove to a café listening to Hozier and RÓIS.

Sat in a café and read some truly emotionally devestating fiction. The writer, who was sitting right next to me, was immensely pleased with himself when I was *properly emotionally devastated* in response to reading the story. You could tell because of the misgevious grin.

Experienced bouldering and auto belaying at a local climbing gym. Was excellent fun.

Later we said “sláinte,” raising glencairnes with shots of something called Nobel Oak Double Bourbon Whiskey in a toast and clinking them together. Listened to IMLÉ and Picture This and The East Pointers and Sarah Jaroz. Should have remembered to put on some Riverdance or Aoife O’Donovan. Stayed up late into the night swapping stories and discussing some of the geopolitical history and anthropology and linguistics local to Ireland.

I mostly listened – got out my knitting. Am working on a scarf that’s pale blue and gray.

Woke up the next morning, worked on a jigsaw puzzle, had coffee and breakfast. Put on a vinyl record of Foy Vance’s Joy of Nothing. Discussed paintings and also catholicism.

Went to the park and walked through the woods. It was a nice day. Learned some things about tree identification. Saw a doe. As we walked back we stopped in the shade and talked about the importance of community access to libraries. We considered the dangers of censorship and book burning and the influence of reading about dark and interesting subjects as a small child. We also talked about poetry. The words of Yates made an appearance.

Created and refined characters for a game, then studied some basic things about how to play. There are colorful and satisfyingly tactile dice involved which make an enjoyable clattering sound when they are rolled across a table. While there are some numerical calculations involved in the game, they aren’t terribly difficult to work with.

Drove there and back again listening to Capercaille.

After the first to leave had left the first to arrive fell asleep on the couch, and when she woke up we had tea and studied more about the game and listened to a podcast. Early in the morning her wife arrived with hashbrowns for everybody.

And then we said goodbye.

“Slan go fóill.”

Dear child of the near future,
here is what I know—hawks

soar on the updraft and sparrows always
return to the seed source until they spot

the circling hawk. Then they disappear
for days and return, a full flock,

ready. I think we all have the power
to do what we must to survive.

One day, I hope to set a table, invite you
to draw up a chair. Greens steaming garlic.

Slices of bread, still warm. Honey flecked with wax,
and a pitcher of clear water. Sustenance for acts

of survival, for incantations
stirring across our tongues. Can we climb

out of this greedy mouth,
disappear, and then return in force?

My stars are tucked in my pocket,
ready for battle. If we flood

the streets with salt water, we can
flood the sky with wings.

Tamiko Beyer

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

W.B. Yates. “The Lake Isle of Innisfree.” From The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems. Kagan Paul, Trench & Co., London. 1889.

Public domain.

the difficultly of having a body that often gets tired and shuts down and stops working properly as well as a mind that often gets tired and shuts down and stops working properly never really stops, does it

when you look across the room at someone and make eye contact and it’s a mutually stabilizing experience

when you’re laying back to back under a quilt and you can feel their warmth

when you know their regular order at a restaurant and the names of every pet they’ve ever had and the lyrics of some of the songs that meant something to them and which fictional characters they are totally normal about

when you talk about interesting thoughts and ideas for like five consecutive hours

when you’re too tired to socialize much but you still get their notification on your screen

when you don’t say much, but you send them a song

when you’re marching side by side or standing arm in arm at a protest taking turns holding a sign you made together and then bickering afterwards about whether or not to take it home and frame it and put it on the wall

when you give them a free beer at the end of a long day

when you ask them to hold the ball of yarn for you when you’re knitting

when they tell you about which girl’s heart they broke this week

when you’re singing harmony

when you’re sharing garlic bread

when you’re dancing and you spin them around but then you catch them

when you’re having a sword fight

when you’re working together in the middle of a rush and fall into an easy, repetitive rhythm of coordination with each other for a while and you’re greatful you don’t have to do this alone

when you’re talking shit and laughing in that sacred space that is the dishroom

when your to-be-read pile of books and shows is mostly attributable to them

when you’re holding the door

when you’re hiking up a hill and stop to rest

when you’re picking up groceries and walking in to the store from the parking lot or standing in the checkout line

when you’re sitting perfectly still in the meditation hall or working at the coffee stop and your eyes are facing forward but you can feel their presence in the room next to you anyhow

when you’re cleaning up the kitchen together after a meal

when you’re drinking tea

when you’re together

“We are always getting ready to live and never living” well I am living, been doing a lot of that recently, and today I needed to sleep in until like 3PM and then eat butter noodles

You are not unloved

“So how long have you been in love with her?”

“Who said anything about love?”

“Coop – you just tried to tell her a joke.”

“This is what democracy looks like.”

“We are always getting ready to live, but never living.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I would like to publically apologize in advance for the person I am about to become when Chappell Roan releases her new song “the giver” on March 13th 2025

Where do I turn to when there’s no choice to make?
And how do I presume when there’s so much at stake?
I was so sure of it all

But what if I need you in my darkest hour?
And what if it turns out there is no other?
If this is our last hope
We would see a sign, oh
We would see a sign

Well I’ve been running from the ashes we left
Forgiveness fends for itself but how can I forget
When there’s a stain on it all

But what if I need you in my darkest hour?
And what if it turns out there is no other?
We had it all
If this is our time now
We wanna see a sign, oh
We would see a sign

So give us a sign
I need some guiding light
Children of darkness…”

Lyrics from their song called “42” which is the first track on the Delta album by Mumford & Sons.

not to cling too tightly to this fleeting temporary life or anything but every day that passes is one less day on earth left to look forward to living and it all goes by so fast

“God I hate being told what to do.”

Ducky, getting kind of desperate: “okay but could you pretend, for like a grand total of the next five minutes? thank you -“

some days I think the invention of the smartphone was a mistake.

Got up early to go to the Zen Center with Steve. The zendo was cold and smelled like incense and the room was lit softly by sunlight from the windows and a candle on an alter opposite the doors. We were among the few not wearing their traditional brown robes. I haven’t sat for a meditation in forever, but kneeling with support from the zafu and zabuton wasn’t too uncomfortable. My legs only fell asleep twice.

Halfway through the 50 minute session there was the sound of a bell, a moment to move around and strech. Twice in fifty minutes there was a monitor walking around with a kyosaku, striking people twice on each shoulder upon request. It helps.

I discovered afterwards from Steve that I was doing something much closer to a metta meditation than the recommended practice – where you keep bringing your mind back to your breath and count to ten over and over again to stay mindful and stay in the present.

At the end of the 50 minutes there was kinhin, a few minutes of walking around the zendo and then out into the kitchen and back again. Then there was chanting and a teisho from the sensei, which was as strict and stern as it was was funny and insightful. I remember themes about fear and the way we are distracted by technology and very distinctly the statement, here paraphrased – “What are you going to put your trust in? Your thoughts and feelings? How’s that working for you? This practice is the only thing that helps.”

M____ says the people here are good and the community is lovely but also nobody goes to the hospital because they’re healthy.

And then there was breakfast. Bagels and vegan butter and jam and tea and coffee taken from a busy, crowded kitchen into a well lit room with a window overlooking a garden. We sat on the floor or on zafus around a table that was close to the floor.

I told Ducky about this later and he started making fun of us, joking around, chanting “ommmmm bagel bagel bagel…”

After bagels, we went to a local tea shop with a friend. M_____ poured oolong tea over a tiny tea pet shaped like a water buffalo. I tried a matcha. Steve tried a masala chai and enjoyed it very much.

We almost didn’t go to see the orchestra because we were tired. Offered the tickets to other people, none of whom wanted to attend. Ultimately summoned the energy to go out for the evening. The change of set and setting helped.

This time I actually did attend the orchestra in a sweatshirt – otherwise jeans and boots and overcoats, scarves and hats and gloves.

Steve Rogers drove us to the parking garage. On the road on the way there and back again I played a few songs from a band called the Bleachers, of which I am growing fond. The walk from the parking garage to the concert hall was bitterly windy and cold. As we sat inside the hall by the window in the café and sipped on a glass of wine, we watched people march by on the sidewalk outside carrying the Palestinian flag with cardboard signs. I think it takes a certain kind of dedication to march in weather like this, but the discomfort of walking home in winter in this city is probably nothing compared to what many of the people of Gaza have endured.

At the next table, an elderly man talked politics with his friend. Their words droned out a worn out tune of discontent and disapproval and of what might have been. Tonight I didn’t have the energy to listen. I guess maybe I just wanted to be present.

“Tell me what you know about Beethoven,” I said. And Steve obliged with the story of the composer who lost his ability to hear, but kept on making lovely music anyhow, who could hear music for an entire orchestra in his mind before it was even written down.

Tonight the Philharmonic Orchestra performed Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4, in G major, Op. 58 (among other things). According to the notes in the program, this concerto is said to have been inspired by the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

The hall itself never fails to be impressive. It’s beautiful. The chandelier, the murals on the walls, the art, the busts of Bach and Beethoven on opposite sides of the stage, the masonry, the light reflecting off the brsss and the cellos and the upright bass, the red curtains reminiscent of that one motif running through Twin Peaks.

I let my head rest on Steve’s shoulder and hold his hand and listen to the piano. His fingers twitch in time with the music as he listens. I close my eyes and listen to the strings, then tilt my head back and let my eyes trace the patterns on the ceiling and listen to the melody from the keys.

We walked back through the parking garage to stay out of the cold. It was like finding our way through a maze, like a dream. It was cold.

We got home safe.