Oh! Also

No gods no kings no genocidal dictators 🙂

Climbed Mt. Vesuvius, at the recommendation of a friend.

Looked down into the crator of a volcano which has not erupted since the middle of the second World War. Long ago, this same volcano brought the city of Pompeii to ruin.

We had walked through some of those the day before – an archeological excavation. There were cats.

Thought of all those people, looking up at the sky darkened with ashes, wondering which god was angry with them specifically.

Looked out across the hills towards the Gulf of Napoli and the Tyrrhenian sea. There were pink wildflowers. A vaugely translucent quality in the air obscured visibility – to look across a distance was to look through a white haze.

The hike up the mountain to the crator was not difficult. The heat was intense. Earned some of the worst sunburns of my life. Aloe Vera is helping.

Made it back to a B&B – a wooden cabin on the side of the hill, in the foothills of Vesuvius. You had to walk up stone steps through a garden to get to the cabin. Looking back over our shoulders was the view of Napoli – during the day a city along a coastline, at night the sparkling lights of the city in the dark. It was beautiful.

I left my shoes outside the door of the host’s house when she offered us some coffee and she smiled approvingly at me. She said she was the architect, she had built and designed her home and the cabin and the gardens herself. She said her designs respected the land. She asked if I was married and I showed her the ring on my hand and she got so excited.

Later she looked at Steve and said “marry that woman.”

I think she might actually have been a godess. I am serious. She said goodbye with kisses. I got shy.

When we left we made our way down to a beach. Was lovely. Sat on the rocks on the shore and watched saltwater waves.

Making our way back to Rome.

I went down to the river

But the river was dry

I went down to the sea

But it was not the place to be

So I climbed the highest mountain

But the mountain was too high

Girl, I’ve found me a home

And I don’t have to roam

Au bord de la riviére
Mais la riviére était sèche
Au bord de la mer gras
n’était pas la place pour moi
Je trouve la plus haute montagne
Mais la montagne était trop haute
Oh j’ai trouvé mon foyer
Il faut plus me promener

Well I went down to the river
But the river was dry
I went down to the sea
But it was not the place to be
So I climbed the highest mountain
And I climbed to the mountaintop
Girl, I found me a home
And you know I can’t stop

Oh je chante ma p’tit chanson
Avec l’esprit de la Louisiane
Oh je viens des grandes prairies
Les grandes prairies de Manitoba
Oh la langue est tout la même
Mais la culture un p’tit peu différent
Oh c’est toute une grande famille
Je chante pour toi, je chante por moi!

Lyrics to a Louisiana Zydeco song called Down to the River. Recorded by the Duhks and often performed by Preston Frank and also his son Keith Frank. Have to do some more research to find out who originally wrote this.

Helps to visit churches and museums when it’s hot out during the day because it’s cooler inside and then walk around the city when it’s cooled down outside in the evening.

Skipped a walking tour in favor of the museum featuring the history of Dante’s life, plus a church that houses a tomb (or at least a shrine) of Beatrice.

I’ve never read past the first canto of The Divine Comedy but I think I would like to try to read it again.

Feeling nostalgic for staying in youth hostels alone with one (1) backpack and walking every day until my feet hurt.

At a homestead in Tuscany they gave us a four course meal. Cheese and bread, pasta and sauce, vegetables and chicken, bite of pastry for dessert. There was also a tour of the house (old and expensive), a mention of the history of people visiting to hunt wild boar on the grounds, a lesson on how to make pasta from scratch, and a wine tasting. Tasted four different red wines from their vinyard and winery.

I felt hot and overstuffed and out of place among a different class of people and unfortunately kind of tipsy. Have sobered up now.

Lots of time spent on the road in a bus full of other people. Have been trying to read.

The hills are pretty.

I don’t have a chef’s knife.

The place where we’re staying is lovely. The kitchen was actually furnished well when we got here – soap, towels, pots and pans, plates and bowls, glasses, mugs, cutlery, a wooden spoon, even a moka pot for coffee. But they didn’t have a cutting board or a chef’s knife or a sponge. Managed to pick up three out of four of those things at the public market across the street.

I’ve been using a sarrated steak knife. Not easy to mince garlic with those things.

I made fettuccine with garlic, asparagus and parmesan for lunch. Wanted mushrooms or spinach. Didn’t have those. Also wanted this carbonated lemonade drink that’s popular here but didn’t have the motivation to walk over to get it from the café across the street.

greatful for

• somewhere to rest in the shade when it’s too hot outside. the room with the electric fan. the crossbreeze between open windows.
• cold water
• espresso
• something good to read
• a cool place to lay down and take a nap
• waking up from pleasant enough dreams after a rough night

my mind’s been doing that thing it does, again

when that feeling of knowing that every good, safe, loving connection is real and solid kind of – withers.

I have been spiraling at night, unable to sleep

trying to stay numb during the day

thinking theyhatemetheyhatemetheyhateme

for no good reason

every time any miniscule thing goes wrong during my day.

I am smart enough now to try and maintain a hermeneutic of suspicion

re: the crooked reasoning based on evidence cherry picked to support this one specific conclusion to which the pathways between thoughts and emotions have grown attatched over the years.

why does it do that

why do I do that

for what purpose.

I know that my mind returns to this mood, this place, when I am tired.

and I am tired.

I try to concentrate on the good memories

of everyone. of all of them.

the other familiar mood to which I have been returning lately has to do with, like –

wanting to run away.

wanting to crumple up the paper with the shoddy work in progress with all of the mistakes on it and start over

(even if it was actually rather good.)

this one is more difficult to describe.

no matter how good my life is, I keep thinking –

I could have had a different life.

one where I was slightly more free, or independent, or adventurous, or lonely, or any of the things that I always wanted to be or knew that I was but hadn’t fully gotten around to becoming yet because those things take time and what if I miss out on all of it because of the specific direction that my life appears to be going, now

and is this just what it’s like to be in my 20s?

I try to focus on the things that I like about the way my life is.

I try to remember that there’s time. and I’m not trapped. and none of it’s ever going to stop changing whether I like it or not.

after all this time writing still helps me.

I so appreciate finding somewhere to rest in the shade on a day when it’s hotter than blazes outside. Even better when there’s a breeze.

I am realizing that I was not built for sight seeing, for standing in lines, for tourism. Spending all day walking on crowded pavement in hot and sunny weather is a test of endurance for me. Maybe it would be easier in a cooler climate, or in the winter.

Nevertheless saw the Vatican, Saint Peter’s Basilica, the Pantheon, the Capitoline Museum, the Colosseum and the Roman Forum, the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, the Ara Pacus. Walked along the Tiber River. It’s been like a marathon effort to see all the places worth seeing, all the places that aren’t to be missed.

They’re impressively beautiful places to see and I understand why crowds of people travel such a long way to see them.

Could do without the crowds, though.

When I was probably like eleven or twelve or so I used to read about Greek and Roman history and mythology all the time. Twelve year old me would have found all of this completely delightful. Even now I’m still content to look at marble statues of Minerva and Diana and Venus all day long.

I’m not an expert on art history but I’ve picked up enough knowledge to be impressed by the paintings, sculpture, architecture, old ruins.

My personal preference when traveling is just to wander until I find something interesting. Give me a place to get coffee and a public market, maybe a park, and I’m content. Museums are good too.

I’ve only ever really traveled alone until now. Traveling in company is different. There are things that are nicer this way – when I’m crashing out or lost and upset, when I need anything at all, there’s someone there trying to help me. There are things about traveling in company which are difficult – like when I am crashing out or lost and upset, there is someone there who has to witness me when I am struggling, and I’m always kind of worried that being witnessed at my worst too much will eventually mean that I’ll find myself traveling alone permanently. I’ve been told this is not something I have to worry about. Still.

The other thing about traveling in company is the always making sure to look out for what he needs and how he is doing. This is actually fine, most of the time, unless we end up needing wildly different things. At that point, usually the thing to do is to find some sort of compromise.

And I suppose the other nice thing is, like – there is someone who is there to share in the experience, which changes everything somewhat.

Concluding that traveling alone and traveling in company are both lovely but they are lovely in different ways.

Thinking I might spend the twilight years of my life traveling alone again. Might see the world at the end of my life, when everyone else is gone.

Only packed black jeans and t-shirts – among the most unwise things I’ve ever done. Quickly realized once we got here that this was a mistake. Remedied this with a pack of white t-shirts from an affordable clothing outlet and a pair of scissors to the knees of the black jeans.

Been cooking a lot with groceries and ingredients from the public market. In the first week the meal was variations on pasta and vegetables. Think garlic, basil, parmesan. Caprese salads also.

Thinking about getting tiramisu very soon.

Have been reading home cooked fiction from the archives constantly.

have been going to sleep at night with the windows open. no screens, just a rectangle of the night sky and fresh air and a slight breeze. peaceful.

not me walking to the cafe, standing at the bar and drinking a shot of espresso, walking home through the local farmer’s market, sitting outside in the shade on the balcony, reading a sad story, and listening to the only two Melissa Etheridge songs I know while my future husband is away at work

Staying in an apartment building in a residential area of Rome. We can open the windows and lean out over a courtyard full of stray cats and magpies. It’s nice here.

There is a fitness center within about one minute’s walk. It has a rowing machine. Consistent weight lifting is keeping me sane. I’ve also been walking a lot more than usual because everything is within walking distance. This is good for me, though the summer heat is putting me in something of a fight or flight response I think. Therefore it is better to walk in the evening after it cools down outside.

We are able to walk to the nearest grocery store which is about a ten minute walk. Been cooking at home often. Pasta, bread, vegetables, parm, caprese salads.

There is a café across the street – which, incidentally, is paved with cobblestones. The routine is to have a cappuccino and croissant there in the morning. The people who work there are friendly and kind. Patrons sit outside and smoke and drink coffee.

Also across the street is a public market which is open every day. Stalls covered in street art and graffiti. People selling vegetables, bread, wine, fish, clothes, household items.

We have a good place to stay.

you were busy making jokes about how such and such natural phenomena resembles the human form, i was reflecting on how the human form resembles so much else in the natural world because we are ourselves a part of the natural world, so the resemblance makes perfect sense. which was helping.

to be fair i was also making jokes about how so much in the world does in fact resemble the human form. latte art and vegetables mostly. fiancé thinks my jokes are soooo hilarious

the first thing we did when we got settled here was hit up a grocery store.

rome smells like cigarette smoke,

tastes like espresso,

feels like cobblestones under the soles of our shoes,

sounds like a motorcycle,

looks like the past.

hey would you look at that I survived to see another year

Ever had a moment when you realize that you love someone?

Not, like – *god their eyes are pretty, I can’t stop thinking about inviting them on dates.* There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing at all, but that’s not what I mean.

It’s like – when you’re late and in a bad rush and you are both stressing, you’re halfway out the door when you realize they’ve almost left having forgotten the Thing They Use To Cope When They Are Stressed and you think, wait, I know you’ll be useless without your one specific brand of notecards that you have been using to make your objectively excessive number of to-do lists etc every day for probably like the last twenty odd years, since long before I knew you, but I do know you well enough to know that you are going to need these in your travels.

So you go and get the notecards and you push them into your loved ones hands and say “wait, you almost forgot these.” And they just look greatful.

And you just know.

And it hurts so much.

It’s nice enough outside now that I can sit outside on the porch outside of the coffee house down the road from us. There’s a lilac bush in full blossom, scent carried over on the breeze. There’s the creaking of the rafters of the porch roof. There’s the rustle of leaves on the trees overhead. Sounds of a highway nearby, the thrum of a motorcycle, cars passing. The air smells clean and earthy after rain. Petrichor. Someone inside the next house is practicing at the piano, probably taking a piano lesson.

We’re just sitting here in companionable silence. Steve’s reading a paperback. I’m enjoying access to a digital library.

And do you know how some artists used to have, like, a muse? Something or someone that inspires them, fuels them up with creative energy, gives them the impulse to make something new?

When I read a good story it does that for me. When I spend time enjoying things that other people write, it helps focus the energy towards wanting to write again for myself. Like getting a letter from a friend and wanting to write back.

And there are so many good stories. It’s so good.

And anyway I like spending time with the written word. It’s lovely.

Got my blundstone boots. Got my carhartt bomber jacket. Got my darn tough socks. Got high waisted curvy black skinny jeans from Walmart. Got the shirts that you can get in a six pack for like $20 from the men’s section of Walmart. Got a black hoodie, from you’ll never guess where. Got a binder. Got the earrings from a friend that I still haven’t taken off since I got them. Got a ring on. Got a charm for a necklace from a vendor on Etsy. Got my woxers. Got my wrist tattoo. Got my faded dollar store brand box dye hair color. Got my muscles from the gym.

Got a lethal face card from my grandma and some sparkly highlighter also.

Got my wallet phone water coffee snacks and keys.

Got the things the keys unlock also.

Got my games and books and music on my phone. Got my tablet and keyboard. Got access to a library account. Got my headphones.

Got my backpack. Got my notebook.

Got almost 26 years.

Got the world – the rain, the oat milk lattes, the sidewalks, the stories, the characters, the people, the songs, the sky, the trees, the birds, the cats and dogs, the hugs, the memories, the lights, the sounds the smells the scents the sensations. Got the words.

Got a little time. Got friends.

Got tomorrow.

“Look out, look out
Here I come now, fists out
I’m a fighter bird
I’m a Harrier hawk, a wild flock
I keep time by the city clock
When the moon is steady, I’ll find you
I’m not lucky and I’m not scared
There could be goldmine anywhere

Anyone that I ever loved in this world
They’re asleep in the arms of another girl
Who will they be when the lights come up?
Everyone that I ever loved in my life
Now calls somebody else their wife
Who am I to you?

Get up, get up
Get it together and climb on up
To the top of the tree
I’m an owl now, a lonely owl
Who, who, where, what, why, when?
How the hell did I get this far without you?
Pull my feathers one by one
Put ’em in your pocket when I’m gone

Anyone that I might want in this world
They’re asleep in the arms of another girl
Who will they be when the lights come up?
Everyone that I’ve ever loved in my life
Now calls somebody else their wife
Who am I to you?

Who am I to you? Am I just anyone?
Who am I to you? Am I just anyone?
Am I the only one?

Come on, come on
Put me back together, let me soldier on
I’m the king of it all
I’m a little wren, I’m happiest when
I hitch a ride on the wing of a friend
Looking down on everything then
When the road gets weary, love
Remember who I’m dreaming of.”

“King of All Birds.” Aoife O’Donovan. The Magic Hour. 2016.

If I ever get words permanently tattooed on me they are going to be Bruce Springsteen lyrics. No lie.

Me, taking both of my friend’s hands in mine: “Look at me. Look at me. Do not get in a car and drive until you’ve sobered up. I love you.”

M____, proud owner of a pickup truck from 2001 that is older than they are, who has been drinking heavily from probably the time they woke up yesterday morning until several hours past sunset tonight, and the night is young: “of course not. I love you. Drive safe.”

M___, completely sober for like two years, on his third redbull energy drink of the evening, lost in a haze of vape juice, deep scar gouged across the space above his left eyebrow from the time he got wasted and tried to drive home and then turned the wrong way onto an expressway off ramp and very nearly died: “haha yeah.”

Me: “okay! you two have a lovely evening. don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”

ah! that seems to have worked

we are so fucking back

Looks like my blog needs some kind of software maintenance, not entirely sure how to fix it but none of the normal functions are working as they should. Checking to see if this works

“What I would say is not a dogma of faith, but my personal thought: I like to think hell is empty; I hope it is.”

Pope Francis

“What other people think of me is none of my business.”

Forbidden worlds do exist and there are doors that allow you to walk from this world through to the others. Some of the doors are locked.

There are people who will open the doors to the other worlds from the inside but won’t step back across the threshold to this one. There are people who will open the doors from the outside, but won’t ever step across the threshold to the other worlds again. There are people who will tell you the doors are there, but won’t open them. There are people who will tell you the doors are there, open them for you, hold the door to let you through, and follow you into the next world to show you around, guiding you, maybe letting you explore on your own for a while, making sure you know your way back through the door to the old world if you aren’t having a good time. There are people who walked across a threshold once and never came back. There are people who only return from other worlds once in a great while on special occasions.

There are people who only visit the other worlds on special occasions.

There’s always some random guy who will give you a set of keys but won’t tell you what it’s supposed to unlock.

There’s probably somebody trying to bypass the doors altogether and sneak in through the bathroom window.

There are people who know the doors are there and can no longer get through.

Most people, if they even know about the doors, won’t admit the doors are there.

And then there are the people who walk back and forth among many different worlds, all the damn time. And it shows.

Some of the worlds bad. Others aren’t, but a lot of people say they are.

Some of the worlds seem bad at first but turn out to be worth a visit.

Some of the worlds seem just fine at first glance.

“Ugly ducklings don’t turn into swans
Glide off down the lake
Whether your sunglasses are off or on
You only see the world you make…”

Magnolias.

Drifting off to sleep. Jaw nestled into the crook of Steve’s elbow.

“So what were you like, when you were the same age as I am now?”

Pause.

“Um – weirder. Much weirder.”

“How so?”

“It’s difficult to describe.”

(Cannot fathom what he means by this.

How could he ever have been weirder than he is now? Not possible.

I say this with love.)

Staring up at the ceiling in the dark, murmering aloud –

“I wish I could meet him.”

No answer.

On the brink of sleep.

“All day permanent red
The glaze on my eyes
When I heard your voice
The distance caught me by surprise again
And I know you claim
That you’re alright

But fix your eyes on me
I guess I’m all you have
And I swear you’ll see the dawn again

Well I know I had it all on the line
But don’t just sit with folded hands
And become blind
‘Cause even when there is no star in sight
You’ll always be my only guiding light

Relate to my youth
Well I’m still in awe of you

Discover some new truth
Now is always wrapped around you
But don’t just slip away
In the night
Don’t just hurl
Your words from on high
Well I know I had it all on the line
But don’t just sit with folded hands
And become blind
‘Cause even when there is no star in sight
You’ll always be my only guiding light

If we come back and we’re broken
Unworthy and ashamed
Give us something to believe in
And you know we’ll go your way

‘Cause I know I had it all on the line
But don’t just sit with folded hands
And become blind
‘Cause even when there is no star in sight
You’ll always be my only guiding light.”

Mumford & Sons. “Guiding Light.” Second track on the Delta album. November 16th, 2018.

Discovered via the dedication in one of Steve’s books, published in 2021.

Sitting in a coffee shop close to home, reading a novel. There’s a tired looking mother here with her two kids. The younger daughter – long blonde curles, big brown eyes, probably like four or five years old – discovers a chess set in a box at a table with a surface that has been carved into a chessboard design. She doesn’t fully understand how to play the game, but she admires the chess pieces in her tiny hands and then arranges them vaugely on each side of the board. She wants to know which pieces are the king and queen, and which is which. At first her mother is too tired and busy to play, and keeps asking her daughter to keep her voice down. Nobody here gives a flying fuck if her daughter’s voice is too loud.  The child’s laugher shimmers; her voice carries across the room like ripples on a pond. It’s a cozy little space, only a few people here – working, visiting. The playlist in the background is all Lighthouse and the Dave Matthews Band and the Goo Goo Dolls and U2 and the Verve. I am startled by the realization that this woman who is here with her children can’t be more than a couple of years older than me.

Eventually she gives in and plays a game of chess with her daughter, letting the child take all of the bronze colored pieces from her side off the board one at a time even if that isn’t how any of this works. The child gleefully enjoys winning.

Sat here watching this out of the corner of my eye, carefully not looking at them. Pretending to read a book. Definitely not tearing up, not even a little bit, because why would I do that? It’s only an endearingly cute scene in a coffee shop.

The mother puts away the chess pieces in the box, holding each of them in her hand, admiring them quietly, cleaning up after child as though she is embarrassed. I don’t know her and I’m so shy and I don’t know what to say but I want to tell her not to feel as though her children’s voices are too loud.

I left home when I was seventeen
I just grew tired of falling down
And I’m sure I was told
The allure of the road
Would be all I found

And all the answers that I started with
Turned out questions in the end
So years roll on by
And just like the sky
The road never ends

And the people who love me still ask me
When are you coming back to town
And I answer quite frankly
When they stop building roads
And all God needs is gravity to hold me down

Alison Krauss. “Gravity.” Lonely Runs Both Ways. 2004.

“So are you ready for this thing called love?
Don’t come from you and me, it comes from up above
I ain’t no porcupine, take off your kid gloves
And are you ready for this thing called love?”

Been stuck in my head all day

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.

Stevie: So, just to be clear, um, I’m a red wine drinker.

David: That’s fine.

Stevie: Okay, cool. But, uh, I only drink red wine.

David: Okay.

Stevie: And up until last night I was under the impression that you, too… only drank red wine. But I guess I was wrong?

David: I see where you’re going with this. Um, I do drink red wine. But I also drink white wine.

Stevie: Oh.

David: And I’ve been known to sample the occasional Rosé. And a couple summers back I tried a Merlot, that used to be a Chardonnay…

Stevie: Uh, okay.

David: Which got a bit complicated.

Stevie: Yeah, so, you’re just really open to all wines.

David: I like the wine and not the label. Does that make sense?

This is an excerpt from a script for a sitcom unfortunately called Schitt’s Creek, s1e6, “Wine and Roses.” 2015. Written and directed by Dan Levy.

to watch: https://youtu.be/gdcmhvLaNUs?feature=shared

• On The Road, by Jack Kerouac
• House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski
• Meet Me in the Bathroom: Rebirth and Rock and Roll in New York City 2001-2011, by Lizzy Goodman
• Six of Crows, by Leigh Bardugo
• Why Are People Into That? A Cultural Investigation of Kink, by Tina Horn
• Metal From Heaven, by August Clarke
• From Dictatorship to Democracy: A Conceptual Framework for Liberation, by Gene Sharp

with a courtesy mention of some TV shows/films:

• The X Files
• Twin Peaks
• Star Trek: The Original Series
• Doctor Who
• The Karate Kid, and its contemporary sequal television series, Cobra Kai
• Rocky
• Les Miserable

Leaving work

“Okay, that’s everything. I’m gonna get myself home, I’m much too late already.”

“Oh, so you don’t even care about me? You hate me and want me to die?”

“…Uh-huh. Have a good night.”

Arriving home

“Hey honey I’m home.”

“And what sort of time do you call this?!”

hey, don’t cry. get some white miso paste, vegetable broth, green onions, and some dried seaweed. dissolve the miso paste in hot water and set aside. bring the broth to a boil on the stove. chop up the green onions and the seaweed, add to the broth, and cook for a few minutes. then stir in the miso and water mixture. you now have miso soup.

the ratio is about 1 TBSP of miso paste to 1 cup of broth, okay?

God what i would give for a clawhammer banjo

Well I’m still out here
With the pills and the dogs

If you need me, dear
I’m the same as I was, it’s all okay
There ain’t a drop of bad blood

It’s all my love
You got all my love

It’s still out here

With the pills and the dogs

Wind chill this year

Stole the words from my tongue

It’s all okay

There ain’t a drop of bad blood

It’s all my love

You got all my love…

“All My Love.” Noah Kahan. We’ll All Be Here Forever. 2022.

Travel safely everybody

You know that death come knockin’ on my brother’s door
Singin’, “Come on, brother, ain’t you ready to go?”
And my brother stooped down, buckled up his shoes
And he moved on down by the Jordan stream
And then he shout, “Hallelujah, done, done my duty
Got on my travelin’ shoes…

.

From “Death came a-knockin.’”

.

O, death

O, death

Won’t you spare me over

For another year?

.

From “O Death,” a traditional Appalachian folk song.

.

for our Sam, whose death came much too early and whose body was found in a field that was much too close to home.

Be at peace now.

Just asked Steve how to burn a CD and he said “well, first you have to light it on fire…”

Sometimes – not all the time, but sometimes – it takes a lot of energy for me to parse out what people actually mean when they’re talking to me.

For whatever reason, people often don’t say what they mean. They say one thing when they actually mean something else.

[To be clear, this is not some backwards incel notion of “she said no, but actually, I know she meant yes.” Unless y’all have sat down together and explicitly picked a safe word that stands in for the word “no,” that’s generally a really good time to take someone at their word.]

This difficulty with saying one thing when you really mean something else is not a matter of honesty or lies, it’s about directness. I am thinking more and more that directness in communication is more about a sense of safety than anything else.

And, like. I can almost always understand what’s being said to me. I can translate the words that people are saying out loud to what they actually mean. There is nothing wrong with my comprehension skills. Those work fine. This is partly because words aren’t the only way that people communicate, and the thing that most often tells me that more interpretative work needs to be done is the mismatch between body language or tone of voice and the meaning of words.

(i.e., someone saying “I’m fine” when it’s very clear from the way they’re hyperventilating that they are really not fine.)

But sorting through that much, ah – ambiguity is almost the right word here? – I don’t know, this interpretative work takes a certain amount of effort. It takes energy for me. And then, you know – especially when it seems like a person has gone out of their way not to say what they actually mean, burying it like a shameful secret under layers of clues and hints like a game where you’re meant to connect the dots and wake up in a cold sweat at three in the morning when comprehension dawns – what do I do then? Do I nod and smile and wink and respond to the literal meaning of what they’ve just said out loud, just to be safe? Or do I respond to what I can tell they actually mean?

This is not to say that I am always capable of saying exactly what I mean, either. That takes energy, too, plus a sense of safety that traumatized, shell-shocked people like me often struggle to access.

This is also not to say that I’m an infallible interpretation machine. I don’t think anyone is.

I think the kindest thing to do is work towards making a space where speaking directly is a safe thing for everybody. I don’t know for sure how to do that. I’m good at some of them, like listening carefully when people talk without judgement and trying to be respectful of boundaries once I know where they are. I know I’m not perfect.

I just know that having a space where it’s okay and safe to just say what you mean – not just between two people, but also in the world surrounding that connection – is something that helps me and is worth it.

“Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

from Matthew 25:40-45

“The Revolution ‘Bout To Be Televised.”

Kendrick Lamar, live at the beginning of his Superbowl LIX Halftime Show in New Orleans, Louisiana. Broadcast on live television worldwide on Sunday, February 9th, 2025.

The Philadelphia Eagles beat the Kansas City Cheifs with a score of 40 to 22.

Gosh, I wish I had access to a good quality copy machine that could make color and black and white duplicates of personal documents – medical prescriptions, birth certificate, drivers license, passport, contact information for people in my community, important photographs. Just in case I ever needed those for any reason.

I wish I had a copy of the Constitution of the United States.

I wish I had two extra pairs of afforable up to date prescription glasses kicking around in case one of them was ever lost or damaged.

I also wish I had an unlimited supply of coffee, toothpaste, ibuprofen, feminine hygiene products, and non-perishable food items whose long term storage does not depend on electricity in my home.

And boy wouldn’t it be nice to have a way to safely remove the risk of unwanted pregnancy for up to two presidential terms with minimal side effects that did not depend on a prescription medication, in case I ever wanted to have any agency whatsoever in the timing of the birth of a future generation of my family or the size of the next generation of my family line. I wish I had a way to do this which depended on nobody else’s decision making but my own, no matter how much I trust my partner.

I wish I had a solar panel, maybe even some portable chargers, and a tent and sleeping bag system.

I wish I had a really good quality USB memory drive.

I wish I had multiple methods for recording information which are not digital or anywhere on the internet, such as a notebook.

I wish I had a car whose repairs were up to date and taken care of, with an extra tank of gasoline in the back.

And I wish I had somewhere safe and remote and difficult to access where I could run away and hide if I ever needed to do that which I knew how to get to without using a map.

“I don’t know you, but I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can’t react

And games that never amount
To more than they’re meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You’ve made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
And moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black

Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you had a choice
You’ve made it now

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you had a choice
You’ve made it now

Falling slowly, sing your melody
I’ll sing it loud

Only love survive the fall.”

.

“Falling Slowly,” a song from this random old musical called Once. Sung by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglova. 2006.

—

I used to sing this all the time back in the day. I almost remember the accompanying chords on the guitar and I would genuinely like to sing it with the band but, like – I don’t know if I could actually do that without ugly crying in front of people? Anyway. The players at the café tonight did this number near the end of the set and I was not expecting that and it kinda got me good

“I understood that reference.”

“This machine kills fascists”

~ Woody Guthrie, in reference to his guitar.

Alright lads where is the tea and which harbor are we throwing it into

“Dearest, I beg of you, sleep properly and go for walks.”

~ Franz Kafka

“The scenery’s changing and it warms my soul
I’m 200 miles down and a long way yet to go
So, get your boots on and your walking coat
And we’ll together leave our footprints upon a virgin snow

That ancient sunrise will soon descend
And we’ll be left here pondering on the things which you cannot change
So, let’s start over with no means to an end
Just in love and out of hope and a closed hand, full of friends

Yeah, well, livin’ was alright, but I was dead in the water
Couldn’t see it in its light, I couldn’t kneel in its altar
All I wanted was to tear it right down to the ground
But I’m feeling alright now, yeah, I’m feeling alright

Every morning when the coffee’s on
And I rediscover that color in your eyes, in its gold and its bronze
And in the moonlight go get the camera, just go
With the recitations of the parish poets popping on our scrolls

Yeah, well, I was alright but I was dead in the water
Couldn’t see its light, I couldn’t kneel at its altar
All I wanted was to tear it right down to the ground

Through this fleeting culture
And hide away from wolves and the vultures
All they wanted was to tear me right down to the ground
Oh, I’m feeling alright, I am now, yeah, I’m feeling alright

In the recitations of the parish poets
In the buildings, in the burrows, in the locked boats
I will find my means to an end
With an open hearted hope and a closed hand, full of friends.”

Foy Vance. “Closed Hand Full Of Friends.” Joy of Nothing. 2013.

I painted my nails with clear nail polish and let them grow out ever so slightly longer than the shorter length I usually maintain because I have been too tired to do maintenance tasks like cut my fingernails. They look kind of pretty. Painted Steve’s nails too, which he let me do because the clear coat doesn’t look particularly incriminating.

Everything hurts right now.

I made a mistake and drank a chai latte with a shot of espresso at like 9pm last night at work. It was so, so good and it got me through the shift. Didn’t sleep a wink or like blink at all for many hours. Ended up in a kind of panicked rumination spiral in the very early morning before sunrise. Steve held me through the worst of this. Wondered what the hell was in that chai mix but honestly my body has a certain way of responding to substances so it could really have just been the stress and sugar and caffeine.

To distract myself I am entertaining a hyperfixation on genealogy. Calling in the grandmothers, one might say.

I am still in an absurd amount of pain.

The safest place to be away from home, after the local coffee house, is inevitably the library. Out of necessity I am not at home. Outside of the library window, there is a blizzard. I am at the library in front of the fireplace with my books and my layers of coats and my knitting and my Chinese takeout. Said “happy new year” to the man behind the counter at the family restaurant – across the street from the waterfall – that burned down shortly after the pandemic hit. They had to rebuild and it is so, so beautiful on the inside now. When I said “happy new year” the man behind the counter smiled.

Hospitals and churches are no longer safe sanctuaries from the icecream trucks which are making their way through my city. We’re still shipping billions of dollars in weapons across oceans; may the ceasefire endure. There is no foreign aid being sent anywhere, including to the places that desperately need it. This administration is aggressively going after access to medicine and inclusive care. They are also withdrawing support from programs meant to tend to public health and ameliorate the effects of climate change. My two primary sources of information right now, aside from word of mouth, are National Public Radio and The New York Times.

A friend quotes the saying “when people tell you who they are, believe them.”

Certain elements of the press are cultivating an atmosphere of fear – this is not difficult, in many cases it is simply accurate reporting.

With “an open hearted hope and a closed hand full of friends” (Foy Vance) I am digging my heels in against the way I would usually respond to being afraid. I would usually freeze up and shut down, unable to think or do anything, and get stuck in a cloudy haze of dread. Or I might flee and literally run away and hide and stay hidden under a kind of seige. Or I may even fawn and fall over myself to try to please everyone and let people say bigoted and empirically false things in my vicinity without speaking up because it too much of a risk. Or I could fight. God, sometimes I would love to be able to fight. Yell and scream and dig my nails into the flesh of the problem and hit it with my fists and kick and bite and scratch and go for the eyes like an animal backed into a corner.

But none of these will do, not really.

The kindest thing to do is to stay informed without feeding into the fear.

It occurs to me that if I have ever needed a backbone it is probably now. If I have ever needed a stiff upper lip and a chin held high, it is now.

Even in the midst of all of this grief and worry I still feel safer than I do almost anywhere else in this beautiful sanctuary that is the local public library. A librarian tells me they don’t close for hours and I can stay as long as I need.

A mother walks in with her daughter and is afriad she owes money in late fees. She is told that she doesn’t owe them for late fees on her library card because the library doesn’t do things that way anymore, and they would like the books back. Her daughter is maybe three years old, long hair, dressed in primary colors. She can’t stop looking at the fishtank. Later she doesn’t want to go home and when they have to leave she cries. I cannot turn off the instinct to look across the room and make sure she is okay.

It’s all feeling dystopian and apocalyptic right now

something tells me it might be time to go back to burning CDs and putting them in those huge CD booklets that gather dust on the bookshelf under the desk as a backup copy in case your original ever gets scratched and stops working and keeping a notebook with all the songs you love and making mix tapes with tape recorders and buying tickets to go see live music at these local indie places and buying merchandise to support the band with real cash money from the tip jar at the café gig and putting it right back in the tip jar for the band and going to the public library and using their interlibrary loan service to request and receive exactly what you’re looking for and borrowing audiobooks on tape and playing them in the CD player in the car radio and anyway musicians don’t make a fair amount of money from streaming platforms and while buying music digitally from sources that do pay musicians fairly is fine and totally fair it’s also nowhere near as sexy as owning physical media forever okay thanks for not ratting me out to the cops mmmwah bye

As I hear the news of bad decisions being made in the government of the nation where I live – when I imagine the way these decisions are being received by some – I experience grief and anger and disappointment. But the first and loudest emotion is concern.

I am worried for my friends who live in a society where so many people voted for promises of these decisions. Because these decisions treat so many of us with a kind of blatent overbearing contempt and disregard which I view as obscene.

The decisions that are being made are antithetical to the way people should treat each other, live in community with each other.

A basic expectation for the individual person living in community with other people is at least an attempt at understanding for others, even when they seem different from you, and from this a respect for the dignity and safety and autonomy of other people. If you cannot handle these expectations then you need to grow up and learn how or I am personally going to bite you.

The apparent fact that so many people wanted this to happen is making me dread the way ordinary people will feel comfortable treating each other now, in our every day lives where we have to get along beside one another.

Maybe I should have more faith in ordinary people but right now I feel scared for my friends.

One thing I am trying to remember is that we are not alone in this, not really, even when it feels that way. There are so many people, however discouraged, who even now are working to show up and repair the damage done by these decisions.

We will take this wildly degrading, dangerous, and unnecessary experience one day at a time. And we will be there for each other when we can.

If you don’t already have some, stop by a grocery store and pick up some soy sauce and seasoned rice vinegar and maybe toasted sesame seed oil if you can find some. Sriracha mayo is good. And sesame seeds. Possibly also wasabi paste and pickled ginger. Chili oil if you like spicy flavors.

Get some jasmine rice – if you have time and energy to cook rice, get a large bag of rice and put in a big glass jar for storage in the kitchen cabinet. But if you don’t have the energy to cook rice, consider comprising on your morals and your ego and get a few packages of the pre cooked stuff you can throw in the microwave for two minutes and then it’s ready. Why? Because it will immediately cure your depression.

Okay now to to the produce section of the grocery store and aquire an avacado and some cucumbers. If you want to get extremely fancy, then green onions or shallots or both even. Garlic, inevitably. Mushrooms. Maybe pickled red onions.

If you eat chicken eggs, try making Mayak Gyeran – Korean marinated eggs. You have to forget them in the fridge for a few days in order for them to turn out right.

Having all of this near you when you are at home will make your life better. Trust me.

“And when you became Denise,

I told all of your colleagues

Those clown comics

To fix their hearts or die.”

~ David Lynch

“Would you believe me now
If I told you I got caught up in a wave?
Almost gave it away
Would you hear me out
If I told you I was terrified for days?
Thought I was gonna break

Oh, I couldn’t stop it
Tried to slow it all down
Crying in the bathroom
Had to figure it out
With everyone around me saying
“You must be so happy now”

Oh, if you keep reachin’ out
Then I’ll keep comin’ back
And if you’re gone for good
Then I’m okay with that
If you leave the light on
Then I’ll leave the light on
And I am findin’ out
There’s just no other way
That I’m still dancin’
At the end of the day
If you leave the light on
Then I’ll leave the light on

And do you believe me now
That I always had the best intentions, babe?
Always wanted to stay
And can you feel me now
That I’m vulnerable in oh-so many ways?
Oh, and I’ll never change

Oh, I couldn’t stop it
Tried to figure it out
But everything kept moving
And the noise got too loud
With everyone around me saying
“You should be so happy now”

Oh, if you keep reachin’ out
Then I’ll keep comin’ back
And if you’re gone for good
Then I’m okay with that
But if you leave the light on
Then I’ll leave the light on
And I am findin’ out
There’s just no other way
That I’m still dancin’
At the end of the day
And if you leave the light on
Then I’ll leave the light on

Oh, leave the light on
Oh, would you leave the light on?”

“Light On.” Maggie Rogers. Heard It In A Past Life. 2019.

“A husband waits outside
A crying child pushes a child into the night
She was told he would come this time
Without leaving so much as a feather behind
To enact at last the perfect plan
One more sweet boy to be butchered by man

But the gateway to the world
Was still outside the reach of him
Would never belong to angels
Had never belonged to men
The swan upon Leda
Empire upon Jerusalem

A grandmother smuggling meds
Past where the god child-soldier Setanta stood dead
Our graceful turner of heads
Weaves through the checkpoints like a needle and thread
Someone’s frightened boy waves her on
She offers a mother’s smile, and soon she’s gone

The gateway to the world
The gun in a trembling hand
Where nature unmakes the boundary
The pillar of myth still stands
The swan upon Leda
Occupier upon ancient land

The gateway to the world
Was still outside the reach of him
Would never belong to angels
Had never belonged to men.”

Hozier. “Swan Upon Leda.” October 2022.

Conditioned by the weirdness of society to spend an exorbitant amount of time and emotional energy obsessing over your own appearance? Experiencing the distressing external pressure to hate yourself and ruthlessly judge your image, to stop at nothing to correct your perceived flaws? Measuring your own desirability against weird arbitrary standards which don’t actually have anything to do with you, or for that matter the preferences of people who are fond of you specifically?

Have you ever considered getting really fucking angry about that

this one time – just to say hi – I dropped by one of Steve’s classes as he was trying to explain some intricate philosophical concept about the reliability of testimony as justification for belief, especially popular beliefs among large groups of people that may or may not actually be true, and so I looked at him and went “have you ever seen this old Monty Python movie called Life of Brian” and he kind of kicked at the rungs of his desk and beamed and went “oh, yeah! it’s about me” which was obviously followed by a collective facepalm but yeah I think that contribution to the discussion might have won him over somewhat

“What are you, some kind of caterpillar or something?”

This was meant as an insult, or at least as a joke. The speaker seems alarmed when I don’t laugh it off, or cringe, or take offense.

“Maybe,” I tell him.

More attunement to one’s partner in every relationship no matter what kind of relationship exists. More attention paid to what is okay with them and what is not okay with them. More curtosey. More attentive listening to all forms of communication from the other and from the self, be it tone of voice or body language cues or spoken words… from the subtle hint that is afraid to offend to the kind of clear and direct communication which can’t afford to care how it will affect the other. More checking in. More reaching out and being brave and asking for what you’d like without insisting upon a particular response. More remembering small things. More taking ownership of desires. More smart decisions about when to indulge desires and when not to do that. More trust. More respect for other people’s autonomy, their sacred capacity for self governance. More consideration for the liberty of people who are not clearly autonomous yet or anymore. More connection that doesn’t break the instant you can’t give someone what they appear to want from you. More connection strong enough to withstand rejection or different expectations. More repairing beloved connections when they get damaged instead of throwing them away. More showing up for the ones you care for whenever you can. More showing up for yourself. More clear discernment between when it’s time to walk away and when it’s worth staying. More feeling safe to speak up; more knowing when it isn’t. More connections where speaking up is safe. More concern for the safety and comfort of other people. More stopping to check in with the person who is with you if they appear to be upset. More quiet forgiveness and letting it go and moving on. More knowing what not to ever, ever forgive. More slowing down or stopping or changing what you’re doing if and when it appears that a boundary has been crossed (which is probably an inevitable thing that happens in many relationships, but it’s not about never making a mistake it’s about how you respond in the aftermath). More understanding for the other person. More understanding of yourself. More not needing to understand. More willingness to risk upsetting people by telling them no. More receiving a no without needing to make it about you. More of the truth. More respect for privacy and dignity and sovereinty. More vulnerability. More grief. More healing and recovery. More access to the resources necessary to heal so that there can be more healing. More attentive love.

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I don’t write explicitly about experiences of interpersonal violation on this blog. This is not up for debate. Probably never going to elaborate as to why because I don’t want to talk about it.

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maybe it helps me to focus on how to love well or what I wish love could be instead of ruminating over instances where there was no love at all

Free Palestine.

“In my mind, in a future five years from now
I’m a hundred and twenty pounds
And I never get hung over, because I
Will be the picture of discipline
Never minding what state I’m in
And I will be someone I admire

And it’s funny how I imagined
That I would be that person now
But it does not seem to have happened
Maybe I’ve just forgotten how to see
That I’m not exactly the person that I thought I’d be

And in my mind, in the faraway here and now
I’ve become in control somehow
And I never lose my wallet, because I
Will be the picture of discipline
Never fucking up anything
And I’ll be a good defensive driver

And it’s funny how I imagined
That I would be that person now
But it does not seem to have happened
Maybe I’ve just forgotten how to see
That I’ll never be the person that I thought I’d be

And in my mind, when I’m old I am beautiful
Planting tulips and vegetables
Which I will mindfully watch over, not like me now
I’m so busy with everything
That I don’t look at anything
But I’m sure I’ll look when I am older

And it’s funny how I imagined that I could be that person now
But that’s not what I want, but that’s what I wanted
And I’d be giving up somehow, how strange to see
That I don’t wanna be the person that I want to be

And in my mind
I imagine so many things
Things that aren’t really happening
And when they put me in the ground, I’ll start
Pounding the lid
Saying I haven’t finished yet
I still have a tattoo to get
That says I’m living in the moment

And it’s funny how I imagined that I could win this, win this fight
But maybe it isn’t all that funny
That I’ve been fighting all my life
But maybe I have to think it’s funny
If I wanna live before I die
And maybe it’s funniest of all
To think I’ll die before I actually see
That I am exactly the person that I’d want to be

Fuck yes
I am exactly the person that I want to be…”

Amanda Palmer. “In my mind.” Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under. January 21, 2011.

Bandcamp link: https://amandapalmer.bandcamp.com/track/in-my-mind-feat-brian-viglione

Home. Made the autonomous decision to have a helpful but also extremely painful medical procedure done this morning. Hurt like a son of a gun. Felt more than a little invasive and vulnerable, but the medical practitioners were respectful and kind towards me. Still in a lot of pain.

Currently being treated like a prince because I have earned that. Distracting myself with treats – iced latte, lemon danish for tomorrow, truly absurd but wonderful amount of sushi – alaska roll, salmon nigiri, kiwi king salmon roll. It’s helping.

Am curled up on the couch in sweatpants and a bathrobe, cradling a hot water bottle. The pain sharpens the mental state significantly, I think because the pain is keeping me stuck in the present moment – it’s so loud I can’t focus on my own thoughts enough to get swept up in the spirals, which has the interesting effect of helping me stay calm. But I already knew about this.

Hoping I can focus enough to read a book or watch a show. Might honestly be easier to distract myself with a podcast and a video game.

Then again the pain is making me so tired that I might be able to sleep.

Wearing moss agate earrings and listening to Maggie Rogers.

Took a ride in the back of a taxi cab. Got drunk on a martini in a hotel bar.

Attended a philosophy conference – listened, asked questions, discussed the strength of arguments or the implications of claims. Topics of colloquiums and symposiums included autonomy (especially temporal), personal identity and survival, what we owe the dead, pacifism as war abolition, political philosophy of social movements, the political epistemology network (with talks on epistemic encroachment on political normativity, and also hidden content moderation), buddhist illusionism, epistemology and social identity (which included an inquiry as to whether experiencing oppression can provide a unique epistemic advantage), the epistemology of resistance, the language of queer hookups – including a careful analysis of the definitions of words in the vocabulary surrounding sexual orientation and a bright and colorful and sexy presentation called “how to fuck with words.”

Mingled and engaged in shameless people watching among a crowd of drunk philosophers from all over the world in a hotel ballroom in the evening. Caught a glimpse of a well known author of a textbook for philosophy of mind, agreed he was very good looking in person. There were people here from all over the world. Steve was shamelessly checked out by a good looking guy who walked by our table like three times before he finally asked if he could sit down and then pretended to read a book so he could eavesdrop on our conversation. He then proceeded to turn up at the “top, switch, bottom” symposium and then like lean against the doorframe and try really hard not to look at Steve. It was cute. I get it.

Listened to street musicians in a subway station and accidentally got on the wrong train. Visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Could have spent days in the Ancient Egyptian exhibit. Took the bus when it was too cold to walk. Strolled down a street adjacent to Central Park. Navigated the streets of Manhattan via NYC’s useful coordinate numbering system but still felt overwhelmed and turned around and like it would be so easy to get lost. Stood in Times Square and looked up. Enjoyed live musical theater on Broadway. Bought a magnet featuring Van Gogh’s Starry Night from the gift shop at the Museum of Modern Art. Invited friends we hadn’t seen in way too long back to the hotel room and had the chance to visit and talk and sing. May have smuggled them into the conference for a session or two. Ate a bagel and drank an iced coffee in the café and talked about ideas. Picked up some naan and falafel and rice from the Halal Guys food truck. Ate fried noodles and steamed buns and a tea egg and scallion pancakes from “Real Kung Fu Little Steamed Buns Ramen” but also later on we tried just “Kung Fu Little Steamed Buns Ramen,” just to see if there was a difference.

Got ourselves some pizza in New York.

After a long day of sitting still and listening to other people speak, and then spending time being social – both of which were lovely, and both of which take energy in their own way – it felt nice to walk down to the fitness center and get a workout in. If I lived within walking distance of a fitness center it would really change my life. I would be there all the time. I would quickly become the strongest person you know.

It was just some exploratory weight lifting followed by some time on the bike and some time on a rowing machine. But it helped me.

I needed that.