new and old, young and worn

There are so many good things in that diary that I don't keep. Time to revisit, time to recreate, recreation. Time time. Give give.

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, thirst that is unquenchable? - The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

C'era una volta

The sun travels beyond the mountains, I am inside

Be knotty

Oh, it turns out that if you draw a squiggly line, loop it around and to and fro, and then close it (stop back at the point where you started), then you can shade it three dimensionally while switching "over" and "under" and it will end up perfect. I definitely did an outstanding job of describing that. And I definitely didn't create a run-on sentence.

Dispossessed

pinched

was my computer — not the first time. One of these days I will learn to reevaluate what makes for a safe place. Struck from the safe list:

• my kitchen table, overnight, while home, doors locked
• an office space, after a kids' circus performance, doors locked, security on duty

It is still hard to swallow. Someone see to it that I'm 

pinched.

On a lighter note, my favorite book excerpt for the day (or week):

You've read me this far, then? Even this far? For what discreditable motive? How is it you don't go to a movie, watch TV, stare at a wall, play tennis with a friend, make amorous advances to the person who comes to your mind when I speak of amorous advances?

Lost in the Funhouse, John Barth

How the soul of man is transformed according to the climate...

Do our dreamselves unwake, and share their bizarre visions of mundane life with eachother? While trimming the clouds with tools made from antlers?

Try to see how easy it is to imagine...

the little snow hut

This past week was a coloring book of subtle lines filled in with the vibrancy and saturation of the following things/events: the train, snowshoes, hotsprings, skinny dipping, snowstorm, twister, revelry, yoga, tacos, puppetry, and climbing. Also, I over-ate, for sure. And I am, at this moment, famished.

Overheard on the Railrunner, or atop a hill at sunset:
Lady says, "I think that ___ has been tanning too much, don't you?"
Meet with a shrug from the listener. "He's outside..." says Guy.
Lady, gazing out the window, "I mean, I know he has more tannin in his skin than..."
[fades out]

Three elderly ladies engaged in chatter. All three roughly the same body type, shorter, heavier, with rather short gray hair. Each wearing a sweater that was probably bought at the same place that the other two were purchased. All three with hands full of glinting jewelry and stones. Two of them wearing very sporty sunglasses, Bolle and Oakley. They rap about "the little old lady across the street," saw her? "You know the type." One reads out loud to the others from a book about how Obama is against veterans. The author writing something to the effect of "Obama voted against legislation (introduced by McCain?) that would have guaranteed college monies to veterans blah blah — I can't believe that Obama thinks that higher education is too good for our vets." The ladies nod in accordance with disgust and frowns that never leave their faces even when smiling. And then this, from the woman on the left, slightly hushed, "the next time we pass those pillars, try to see how easy it is to imagine them as erect penises!" They choke laughter out, "Oh dear!" and "Only you!" Hahaha.

Large, "good-looking" guy, talking rather loudly into his phone: "ya know what service I wanna do? I wanna start a speed dating service in Santa Fe." [pause] "Ya get 30 men and 30 women together who wanna speed date ... blah blah ... 3 minutes ... a buzzer ... see if there's a love connection ... blah." [pause] "People like you! You need exposure ... blah ... then there are guys like me that just ..." [trails off]

Here are some visual recordings of recent events —

You drop off to sleep

A couple of poems culled from a larger series by Tachibana Akemi, a japanese poet of the early 1800s:

Happiness is when
you're talking in bed
with the covers pulled up
and while you're talking
you drop off to sleep

Happiness is when
you get up in the morning
and see a flower
that wasn't there
yesterday

Read them again. Good. Unlinked to the poems, other than through my own recent experiences: did you know that it wasn't until 1973 that the APA removed homosexuality from the DSM? Prior to that, homosexuality was categorized as a psychosis. Do you understand the breadth of the consequences of that? Anyone could lose their job, or be denied a position, based solely on their sexual orientation as a mental illness until the 70s. It was in the books as "crazy." That's fucked. The episode of This American Life on the topic brought tears to my eyes. Let's hear it for the GayPA.

1973? Seriously. Also, I watched Milk the other night. That was very worthwhile.

The other day, I was told that I'm brave. Less true than the "fit as a mountain goat" thing — especially when compared to this little toaster. Brave, nonetheless, is a great word.

I thought I felt an earthquake for the first time in my life the other day. The couch seemed to lurch in a strange way. A scan of the USGS site though suggests I made it up. Or that a very large truck must have cruised by. Possibly related, possibly not: the sky of Albuquerque is the loudest sky I can ever remember experiencing. Anywhere. There is an airport not far out of the city — but I can hardly understand how that could account for some of the daily rumblings that tumble from the sky above. Windows shake. Things rattle on shelves. It was definitely something that I noticed right away when I first got here (like the iron bars over all the windows, our jails) but then I became accustomed to it over the course of a few months. Visitors comment on it often, though (same with the iron bars).

The point is, the sky of ABQ rumbles somethin' fierce. And it can't simply be the airplanes, which certainly take off hourly. This massive rumble happens just a couple times a day. My hypothesis is that ABQ is located in the gut of a world with indigestion. That said, the planes are sometimes quite loud, too.

The next place I live will have no quaking sky. And no iron bars.