Oasis of Foam and Blankets

I am in my bed and it is as soft as one hundred bottles of bubbles. It's an island of mohair, sheets, mostly clean laundry, a few belts, my one attempt at a quilted duvet, and a spider that jumps sideways and is the size of a quarter that was smashed on the tracks. It's all splendid, true luxury.

I've been spending a fair amount of my sleep time in a hammock, at the studio, drinking micro-batch coffee, reading, painting, dreaming. It's domain; and it's mine, I want to say hungrily, only that would be fibbing as it is not mine. Nothing really is, not even these bones are really mine. I come from and return to a concept I cannot comprehend. This in the contemporary manifests in building something with someone. Together, we are an odd mix of perfection that I does not cease to amaze me. So I've been a bit absent and timid (here, of all places. ).

In the meantime, I am sleeping in a hammock, showering as infrequently as the public allows, living off hints, hunches, and hope. That's the real kicker that last one there. It's the one that lets me be gracious and fall in love with the simplicity of all of it. I have never been happier than this morning when the outside sink got a stand built for it. It utilizes a garden hose and two five-gallon buckets. This means capturing a small amount of grey water after I wash my hands, teeth, mug. This means civilized. It's a different sort of thing than I ever done before. Fall in love with someone, having known them well first. I find myself terrified to speak, at times, as I am.

I strap on my skates, I step my leg over the bar of my bicycle, I feel my body in motion, become more specifically aware of gravity's influence. I like the feeling of supported free fall. Like a bike down a steep hill, you've got powerful legs and years of experience; it is nothing; wind and whir and confidence combine into a moment of transparent awareness before back in here down here.

May Hope Keep

Without even a small window I can still see the stars when I shut my eyes

Radical Means Root

I did it again: heated a horseshoe nail on the electric stove, cozier between the base and the coils, the meat between the bread, and grasping the tiny dagger with a pair of wire-handled pliers held the brand in my left hand heating the air that sits all over my flesh like a second skin. 

And I felt my flesh stir. I can't say if it was toward or away from it; that's so simplistic and binary. I have often found myself outside the hegemony, observing and synthesizing simultaioniously. 

That, at least is what I tell myself. 

Current History

The boxes of history are being packed
Books, sorted and boxed by genre: art, to the studio; healing, horses, herbs; journals and sketchbooks, of which there are two

I am a loss for memories

I have been so many things in this lifetime, the thread of similarities run deep
looking, longing, expressing the hidden knowing

I am a being without beginning

***

I want these days, nothing more than to put all of it right, in order, logically and methodically buttress myself against the chaos of life

The refrigerator's hum is constant

Small Gods

I have had many sleepless nights

Pushed my brain to wrung

Held my breath against a deep inhale

Shallow, he said, just skim the surface of the pool

Naked pale against the sky, flesh pimpled with cold as water drips off my legs, puddling around my feet

I look to the stars: Draco, Cygnus, Hercules in their familiar orbits 

am homesick for my hardly remembered prebirth planet of light and shadow 

Birds, or, perhaps crows?

After the assimilation do not expect things to be better
or any special treatment

It is not that long here anyhow, one way or another. Unless they figure out a way of keeping my soul tied to this planet. Which the devil may do if they have their will. It's to me no bother. Not a big one.

I lie. It is the nightmare. Imagining being stuck on this fucking rock with troglodytes who don't know how pristine their utopia is as they are hell bent for destroying it.

I've read a few books and seen some pictures. I know what happens. I remember how this story ends and you do to.

I seem to have an allegiance with an entity that is non-national but rather human and planet centered. I believe in water, shelter, the right not to be raped, hunted, slaughtered for pleasure; I believe in a language beyond words that we are more than we have been taught that we are. I believe that in each and every one of us we are ourselves, good by nature and circumstance, without a doubt possessing enough wherewithal to survive another half century without causing too much harm.

I decided years ago not to have children. There are simply enough here. I believe that all human beings are intrinsically disgustingly close  relatives, being 99.99% genetically identical, I chose not to commit incest and adopt. It's simple. We're not precious.

You of course are precious to me my beloved.
I mean simply that all humans are so human, which is lovely but temporary.

Anticipatory hurrah

I am not trendy

The wave's crest curls

into itself 

Like a waffle cone on its side

#CHA¥A

#CSL

One identity is limiting

Singular rather than plural

I've been so many things 

words with more than one meaning

sometimes words have hidden meanings
"I want you to be honest with me' translates into 'tell me what you think I deserve to know."

That comes out bizarre and what I mean is that I am honest; I tell the truth and lots of it; I expect and anticipate the same from those around me.

When I don't get that, when people lie (I thought it was cocaine, I didn't know it was speed; I never said that, or if I did it's not what I meant; I didn't want to hurt you)

it always starts with the mouth not the ears.

I've been addressing my PTSD these days or more realistically it has been addressing me. In the world of tempered fragility the foundation of respect and trust is the bedrock of relation. When I became the other woman or the other woman stepped in between me and my lover something happened.

It was not that he fucked another woman, which is what it is.
It's that at first he didn't tell me.
It's that it was the woman who I had to have trespassed from my work for flipping me off, calling me a cunt on the street, and generally harassing me.
It's that the other woman triggers my PTSD
and that the guy who was supposed to be my partner didn't seem to think that my psychological well being would be impacted; that I would be shaken to the core; that I wouldn't withdraw back into the cocoon of safety that I've built.

Because respect is knowing the person that you're with and understanding their needs. It's not that people with high levels of anxiety need to be held with velvet gloves, it's that we all have specific needs and as we're adults know how to express them. If a partner is unwilling to meet those requests or steps over those boundaries it's hard to come back.

Because, TRUST. It happens until it's gone and then there's no going back. No amount of texts, phone calls, boxes of chocolate make up for the fact that someone whom I am supposed to trust to be on my side, on my team, just pushed me down hard and that their actions are an icy cold bath of feelings that I don't really have words for.

So I grow into all of that. I am simultaneously vulnerable and in retreat; I am gathering my stores.

Sometimes to teach, we leave. Sometimes in order for the general public to understand what it means when someone says "this is my boundary, if you cross it there will be a consequence" there has to be a consequence otherwise the passive aggressive molasses blooded neophobic think that they have a full deck of cards.

tonight in the bathroom

she has long hair and was wearing a short white dress
her vagina felt like a chrlysanthim under my finger  

Dream Money

I'll dance alone in blue cowboy boots
and denim fits right in all the best places

****

Picnics, ponies, long days, longer nights: summer and I can't seem to shake it.


****

I am mad about my tits and ass
in the basic ways of they tell lies about the way I think from the inside out

Feeling top forty country these days and wondering if it's time for me to dip out of life for the wilderness, BBQs, cold beer, snake bite kits.

***

I believe in that kind of love
sunsets
these dreams

I've cultivated
(let them grow, grow, grow; they take time to germinate, bear fruit)

**

wanting at times the quick release (hot metal, fresh angry scars)
but would settle for dream money
or a motorbike of the German variety

**

afternoon and evenings dripping with food cooked on a grill, eaten outside, cold beverages taste better when they're drank in the shade. I am thinking that next weekend or the weekend after is the father's day picnic down in Sonoma County. I'd like to go. It's father's day weekend and damn have I always had nothing but good times there.

I have been thinking about Aaron these days and the parts of me that have changed, that had to change. This is a during, just after, now reflection on myself. The strange way that I needed him to be here now. I mean I needed that experience, those hands wrapped around my throat, tight; I needed him to distrust my every word; to show me how fragile the foundation of my being was.

That fragment that catches the edge of your peripheral vision that's me now. I am all shook up and the water is deep.

*

Last Hold

It's the frontier and whirl-birds are hot tonight. We're strapped; no one's holding, not this late.

The ac rattles, I lean back into myself and think about bad lighting, what an affront it is to every sensibility. The noise of the day's doesn't seem to wash clean.

Dry lighting strikes southbound. I wonder about all of it. The entrapments, entanglements, enchantments coconspire and leave me flaberghatsed.

Write them out all of them and think about them daily: the manifestos the constitutions, the proclamations; dreams, glimpses, knowings.

What is this human thing? This having a body and being here, now of all times, all about?

I listen to effervescent bubbles against a glass of sparkling white wine and thunder.

Ask better questions; answers are less significant.

Right now I am wondering if the house of cards I've crafted is stable. And the thunder rolls.

It's dawn, past dawn, rain is falling, my heart is revived.