change l'air

get angry

be angry, burn everything

grieve in your toes and fingertips

get stung by scorpions in your dreams

talk to people who say the right things, people who say the wrong things, people who say no thing

be kind to yourself

learn and remember, remember again to listen when people tell you who they are

open the windows, abre la puerta

be better

let the new air in

In his dreams God was much occupied. Spoken to He did not answer. Called to did not hear. The man could see Him bent at his own work. As if through a glass. Seated solely in the light of his own presence. Weaving the world. In his hands it flowed out of nothing and in his hands it vanished into nothing once again. Endlessly. Endlessly. . . . And somewhere in that tapestry that was the world in its making and in its unmaking was a thread that was he and he woke weeping (149).

There is but one world and everything that is imaginable is necessary to it. . . . Every least thing. This is the hard lesson. Nothing can be dispensed with. Nothing despised. Because the seams are hid from us, you see. The joinery. The way in which the world is made (143).

Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing

you change all the lead / sleepin in my head / to gold

blah

things have been blah for awhile now. for no real reason b/c there's no excuse, my life is easy and good.

our water was off for a bit yesterday and came back on yellow, and then less yellow, and then cloudy, so I'm worried about the coffee.

I fall down the stairs on my way out to get coffee.

And ___ ___ ____ ___ ___ ______ ____ __ fuck.

but the music is full and sweet. thank god.

no longer do we wonder

mr o sent me this video this morning. overwhelmed with love and gratitude and belonging and faith and hope and love.

hey jude

refrain.

take a sad song, and make it better.

na na na nananana nananana

steps

be kinder.

forgive my faults when I encounter them in others.

distance.

talked to one of my survivor friends again yesterday. we need the same things.

talked to mr o about survival again. he gets it. i ask him ridiculous questions. need to be assured of ridiculous things, over and over again. asked him, did i lie when i told all those people x, when i named it x? was x x? over and over. his patience is unfathomable.

whilst needing to edit my paper on survivor knowledge. figures.

journal

1/5/2009: Survival used to mean drawing inward, shutting down and waiting for things--the ____, the words, the ______---to pass, and sometimes still does mean shutting down and means again and again surviving my own coping mechanisms, breaking open the home I never stopped living inside of, cracking it open and letting life ^back in.

5 am resolution

To make my mistakes much more loudly.

s

Holding the memory in my bones still, though time has worked its traces out of most of my cells, time and words and partners and breathing and practice dislodges it.