Back to work
Mostly when I think about even TRYING to sit down & write fiction all I can think about is writing a semi-autobiographical work about a very sloppy, awkward & hungry monster-demon-dragon who wants to eat everything in the grocery store & is very friendly but only if it has had a nice cup of tea that day. A reoccurring dream I have had lately involves people stealing my tea: I could write a fiction about that sort of devastation I feel waking up, that sinking feeling of thinking that there is no tea to be steeped. If you know a few things about me you may know that I love tea. Please do not ever steal my tea. My conscious mind & my unconscious mind have spoken & they have agreed that if you steal my tea I will hunt you down & raid your fridge. This is my dream right now. Please do not steal my tea, and please Jesus Christ let me never allude to Christianity in my writing. Oh good Lord Almighty. This is going to be ridiculous & we are all going to have a lot of fun if I ever get around to being a little less lazy. In the meantime, I am going to continue eating food and drinking tea.
What on Earth
makes a man stay?
The gravity radiates
from a set of weak organs,
by times past.
Those men kill bees inside of me,
my work devalued
as my jars of honey become
another weapon, another force to
perpetuate the entropy that deceives
in face of fear.
What a man may forget is that blood flows
parallel to armies that mediate
and attempt not to bind what has already become, is becoming;
but to build
using the materials
The flowers would mean nothing
were it not for their understanding
that their emissions
fuel such resourceful work,
that they have travelled
across fault lines to grow roots
on a planet that will soon
shift, melt, or decay.
Last weekend staying on the Japanese coast with friends, I had fish for every meal, fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I even had fish for a bedtime snack. I had raw fish, dried fish, broiled fish and just fish fish.
I must have eaten twenty different kinds of fish and they were all delicious, but after a while i literally had fish coming out of my gills.
One morning I took a shit and it smelled just like the sea. There was no difference between the smell of my shit and walking along a beach or sitting on a wharf, staring at ships and the sun going down behind them into billions of years of water.
After that shit I understood a little more about my roots that once swam with fish and my first home under the sea where I grew slowly like a garden toward the land.
Georgia O’Keeffe- Black Mesa
"Did you ever have something to say and feel as if the whole side of the wall wouldn’t be big enough to say it on and then sit down on the floor and try to get it on a sheet of charcoal paper—and when you had put it down look at it and try to put into words what you have been trying to say with just marks—and then—wonder what it all is anyway—I’ve been crawling around on the floor till I have cramps in my feet—one creation looks too much like T.C. [Teachers College] the other too much like soft soap—Maybe the fault is with what I’m trying to say."
Opening of the Vietnamese Buddhist Temple in Salt Lake… What a lovely painting
:) the opening prayer/blessing of the temple. how humbling.
Guys, my friend Kelli (peachkellipop) PAINTED THAT MURAL. BY HAND!!!
So proud of you, gorgeous. <3
thank you, jenna! once in a lifetime experience (hopefully not, hopefully more). i’m so grateful :) proud, too, which is a lot for me to say for myself. haha.
BOOYAH! that’s ma girl!
—like a kitchen window steaming up on a very cold morning and it’s hard to see out of, then the steam slowly disappears and you can see the snow-covered mountains, 10,000 feet high, out the window, and then the window gradually steams up again, coffee on the stove and the mountains gone like a dream.
…that’s how I feel this morning.
my [old] home!