. belong[♥][→] a loyalty of cranes II III

[13 Feb 2712:53pm] he showed where the incandescence had brushed him I am a drop of gold he would say I am molten matter returned from the core of the earth to tell you interior things [mostly ; ask to be added. i like new friends, but please don't steal.] 00213 &sed non satiata

[_+heaven kaleidescope_] [3 Feb 1012:51am] floating lily pad floating rose petals dull knife scarlet ibis feather stuck in the leaves of a tree near a sloth eying me softly some kind of painfully- colored and long-extinct bird speaking to me from long-slid mineral cliffs of clay gold chains silver chains dahlias dahlias all around except i only think about you most of the time, most of the time, lovebirds, maple leaves, almost free is never was free at all any of you all of you line of tall feathers taped to my wall with the scarlet one between the blue and yellows the ghost hand reaching for the ghost neck the ghost glass the birds with the cords in their claws fly ahead with my head, with my head on strings and never tied down the deep soundsong that shakes in the air like white dust kicked up from masses of people crying in the gilded gold silent ground kicked up all around and in our mouths fine, thin, unnoticed what do you hold, still? what do you carry and tucked where, now in the dream when you rode on the back of the bird, what did the river say how did the wings come off do you still have the scars from where the net cut you even as it saved you down towards everything that snakes easy through the earth string the bow again, girl walk archangelic through the gold citadels bedimmed in the morning light join the lynx-eyed priests of the dawn walking in white through the middle of the fire sed non satiata

[_+Portland-Haiti Relief Effort_] [19 Jan 108:29am] Me and about twenty other people helped sort and pack donations for Haiti yesterday. A Portland man, Jeff, had rented a 40-foot semi-truck trailer with the goal of filling it to the brim with food and clothes. I had never felt bonded to "strangers" so quickly; because we were rallied around the trailer to show that we care about people hundreds of miles away, how could we not care for each other? There was laughing and crying and hugging and speeches and a couple from Haiti came by to thank us and say hello. I was on the verge of crying for two hours straight, around people I'd never met before. By the end, we all didn't want to leave- we made plans to come back the next day, and tried to coordinate our returns so we could all see each other. I've never felt this kind of connection except with my Burning Man family. I urge all of you to find somewhere to help out. !!! More later... sed non satiata

[10 Jan 108:49pm] I got a new computer, a holy-shit-that's-fast computer, with a screen as big as my bike tires. Consequently I've been spending a ton of time on the internet, not wasting time, but reading about other people's new year's resolutions and advice. This is my favorite: Incomplete Manifesto for Growth. There's 43 tidbits of advice, but most of them boil down to fail. Fail. Fail. Fall on your face until gravel is your best friend. You can't grow without being open, you can't be open without taking in some good with the bad. Have you ever regretted going big, going all in? Three of my favorites: Forget about good. Good is a known quantity. Good is what we all agree on. Growth is not necessarily good. As long as you stick to good you'll never have real growth. & Process is more important than outcome. When the outcome drives the process we will only ever go to where we've already been. If process drives outcome we may not know where we’re going, but we will know we want to be there. & Begin anywhere. John Cage tells us that not knowing where to begin is a common form of paralysis. His advice: begin anywhere. 004 &sed non satiata

[8 Jan 1010:39am] You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light.- Whitman Even fire is gradual, spontaneous and ravenous as it seems. Some things take so long to burn, burning being a state we work up to, gradually, choosing carefully our kindling for weight, for size and for dryness. Burning is not fast, nor easy, little ones, you must work hard to burn. I'm reading Whitman in the mornings, the way I used to read my Bible in the mornings when I was religious. It's powerful. I come away each time with something to think about through the day, something like there will never be any more perfection than there is now and I resist anything better than my own diversity and the most life-changing yet, Why should I pray? Why should I venerate and be ceremonious? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counselled with doctors, and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than stick to my own bones. Seriously. You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light. We all want the simple, the feather-weight, the bright and shining. But we're not accustomed to it when it comes. We've been mining. We've been crawling through the deep dark tunnels that sometimes we must in order to connect to our desires. We've been walking on our knees through the mud toward our own personal mecca, whatever and wherever that is. We've been eating fruit from trees and scavenging bread. And then: light? Light? We're curious, but we're fearful. We don't know how to be happy. But it is our work, our most true and original occupation. We must learn how to be happy, to live in the light, to accept the light when it comes. When we can do that, live in the light, not by containing the light but living in it and shining it forward and embodying it, we will never again be below ground, never again try to match candle to flame in the dark pits where fear lives. 002 &sed non satiata

[_+I'm not the only one reposting this._] [5 Jan 1011:21pm] Strawberry | Paisley Rekdal I am going to fail. I'm going to fail cartilage and plastic, camera and arrow. I'm going to fail binoculars and conjugations, all the accompanying musics: I am failing, I must fail, I can fail, I have failed the way some women throw themselves into lover's arms or out trains, fingers crossed and skirts billowing behind them. I'm going to fail the way strawberry plants fail, have dug down hard to fail, shooting brown runners out into silt, into dry gray beds, into tissue and rock. I'm going to fail the way their several hundred hearts below surface have failed, thick, soft stumps desiccating to tumors; the way roots wizen in the cold and cloud black, knotty as spark plugs, cystic synapses. I'm going to fail light and stars and tears. I'm going to fail the way cowards only wish they could fail, the way the brave refuse to fail or the vain fear to, believing that to stray even once from perfection is to be permanently cast out, Wandering Jew of failure, Adam of failure, Sita of failure; that's the way I'm going to fail, bud and creosote and cloud. I'm failing pet and parent. I'm failing the food in strangers' stomachs, the slender inchoate rings of distant planets. I'm going to fail these words and the next and the next. I'm going to fail them, I'm going to fail her-- trust me, I've already failed him-- and the possibility of a we is going to sink me like a bad boat. I'm going to fail the way this strawberry plant has failed, alive without bud, without fruit, without tenderness, hugging itself to privation and ridiculous want. I'm going to fail simply by standing in front of you, waving my arms in your face as if hailing a taxi: I'm here, I'm here, please don't forget me, though you already have, I smell it, even cloaked with soil, sending out my slender fingers for you, sending out all my hair and tongue and brain. I'm going to fail you just as you're going to fail me, urging yourself further down to sediment and the tiny, trickling filaments of damp; thirsty, thirsty, desperate to drown if even for a little while, if even for once: to succumb, to be destroyed, to die completely, to fail the way I've failed in every particular sense of myself, in every new and beautiful light. 001 &sed non satiata

get the led out. ♥ stairway to heaven. ←