Around Here

August 20, 2011

Back where I’m meant to be making meaning make sense of all the split paths I’m on. Twilight picnics, dawn wanderings, birds on the sill, coons hissing goodnight topside of the ceiling panels, bats in the hall, moths in my bed, working on work and ideas to push words over into other media.

Living weird no lack of wonderful, where Eyelanders make magic from debris, make worlds that move us into liminal drift:

Raft by Joshua Brandt

;where punctuation is determined by where we anchor and where we rift

the guide the shore, the shore a road riddled with unridable paths we cannot help but cross: thanks to friends who don’t hold out, who hold us up, who hold us, who hold open everything. Who are on the same ride, even if it’s off kilter.

Magic Bus by Manuel Cappel

And we are itching to be smitten with a biting obsession over an idea that has to be written in beams and blood. Culling nightmares for ambition and forlonging. Is the hardest part parting from familiar or embracing the terrifying to ignite the rough draft?

Mouth by Dream

There are no sides, only damp sheets or refrains in minor keys while we struggle to record the day’s score, keep the flowers flowering on the garden vegetables, the dishes clean, breathebodydon’tmove while the cat preens in the courtyard and looks you in the eye with wild.

How to feral and corral at once. How to paddle and motor, anchor and swim, problematize, let go. How to light the bonfire, dive off the old intake valve, shed, clothe, send postcards, get bills, dance in the sand and demand that your other life meets you halfway around here.

To strange expectation. To banjo a mountain, ferry a dune, scrawl on sawblade.

To howl.

PS> Music to read my post to:

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