Saturday, December 25, 2010

Zeitgeber—Zeitgeist

Mytheme [or possibly, ourtheme]:

Jones had thoughts but didn't count them. Like teeth, she kept most of them out of his head, to be found, on vicarious occasion, in the rose, in the gob of a beast, and, always, so on. She was wary at times of 'animal spirits' or any talk of ancestors and bones. She didn't know what it would mean to doubt himself, betokened 'the world was here before I was born, and will remain after I die,' or, simply, 'this is my right hand.' For that reason, she never spoke of it. She took things into his hands, yet, neither gift nor given, the words in his earthly refrain.

And, with quiet antipathy, she'd kill owls in their sleep, come daybreak. And, to gainsay the sun synonymous with again, she never troubled leaving without a trace, knowing that they would be only indices of him, occluding her, lost in the count of fragments. And, the sun would be the last thing that she would toss, beating the dust out of the rug of his eyes, at dusk.

Friday, December 24, 2010

so now that i have to get up early in the morning

only been up for eighteen hours, but would've been sleeping already. plan to be up for another ten or so, reverse reverse reverse the usual schedule, operate in daylight hours. dizzy, cured of my ability to speak, biding the time. half-drunk, half-mad, stark as winter light, aching to lay down, itchy in my own skin, wearing all of my clothes at once like that'll keep me safe. can't read or can but the words make sounds but don't make sense, buzzing from patch to patch in the same cluster of rooms, waiting for this to pass. a test of will. ignore the cat's mewling, tidy up to come back to neat home and a made bed. the reptile brain wants to sleep because it knows it needs to. the floral brain breathes reset reset reset so our aura can burst forth shining instead of dimmed by vague recollections and verses of old psalms that do more to disturb than salve. dirty cigarette mouth gnawing. dirty chipped nail polish fingers crossing. last man standing nose sniffing buried in the scarf that bears up a very old very tiny crumbled dusting of weed. eyes strange neighbor watching. who are these people? their stringy hair upsets my otherwise unoccupied and addled brain. all i want is to not fall asleep as sun the comes up.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

dissonance my enemy
but not my jailer
if i feel enough of it
ill set myself free
Aho.

some of us are water people, some of us earth people, some mountain people
You are forever pure, you are forever true, and the dream of this world will never touch you. So give up your attachments and give up your blah umm blahh he bum bum badadooowopp and fly to that place thats beyond all illuzzzzzeeeeunnn.

Hello: entry into rainbow world. When's the last time I wrote?
well, check it out. I
rode through the desert of northern mexico on the bed of several trucks.
I
camped in Palenque and went waterfall walking, had some sacred mycelium journeys,
and I am in this sweet difficult transitory relationship with Mateo-- the star of three stooges monk style, star of the rainbow kitchen, star of the ballooning ego.
(the most fun thing to do in a rainbow kitchen is feed the workers. ola familia, guacamole and jicama for hardworking hippies!!!)

this morning, after the solstice/full moon journey, I went around the circle serving canteloupe to the family and my appetite disappeared, I was so full of the gratitude of each smile, of each person willing to look into your eyes, to share this experience of--- the unmanifest, pachamama, a reality beyond money, an eternal drum circle by the sacred fire.

(A: hey guys, am I a hippie yet?
M: No way. Your crust punk leanings put big sticks in your hippie wheels)

Phew?
Well, at this moment in my life I am moved by trance parties, drum jams, waterfalls, and medicine ceremonies. Don´t know how long it will last, but I am riding this wave down to Costa Rica to geo-paradise, a six day trance party that ends with a campout on the beach. Electronica mixed with workshops about sustainability and energy work-- hopefully a good place to make connections and find that idyllic jungle yoga farm where I can ground out for a minute.
We've lucked out with a ride to costa rica from a swiss rainbow brother with a golden california van. 5 hippies crossing central america.

I am learning to move slowly. To wait to be moved. To be to let be.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

your essence
is vaster than an ocean than a desert than a sigh
you can feel it when you fall in love
when you forget yourself
and when you cry

Friday, December 17, 2010

wonderbread and wonderboy go for a walk in the woods...

do you know the story of the lupin lady?

also, dwelling in history: http://alitheavenger.blogspot.com/2008/08/recount-decount.html
practicing radical inclusion of past selves....hmhhmmhm oh berlin, oh my heart. one of many.

wanting a cigarette and questioning that desire--replacing it with stretching, yogastic satisfaction

thinking of-
healing?
how have i changed in the past year?
did college make me articulate?
how do i act on my radical politics?
does something matter if i can't articulate it (that is, spread a revolutionary consciousness)?

also geez-o, it's raining like a mofo on this thin-tin roof
& i'm thinking of population decline
(http://www.windward.org/private/articles/population01.htm)
hm bleak--whaddya think?

preparing to leave safan tomorrow morning,
leaving a red-purple-gold palatial shit chamber in my wake
gold seat fit for pillow princes and size queens alike
like the swimming idea of green tomato pies
like boletes, browncapped children of the forest fairies who live in the galls,
like two goats dead in four days and we wonder and we wonder,
like business plans are deep conversations, like
if you weren't raised eating expensive air then you'll never understand the difference
like whatever---

i am not a fountain! i am a jungle-jumble-menagerie-wet-furry-paperback-wonder!

last night i dreamt that my father was elected president (everyone said, "even if he doesn't do anything, it's a great sign. he's the best president we've ever had, and he doesn't have to lift a finger.") and that i was wandering from house to house looking for someone to give me shooting lessons.

also last night, after a day of wine tasting and cheese tasting in sutter creek,
maggie and i constructed a ritual for ourselves--of celebration, gratitude, making-space, becoming-present. drew from the rituals i had done with you folks, under the full moon on the beach before the jammin, at the sky factory under a sacrificed pinata, the queer interfaith ritual at the point this spring quarter, also the masquerade and wedding parties, also more small things of ritual and symbolism...
it was really good. we ate olive-garlic-rosemary-sourdough warm bread and kombocha squash and beans and rice and mustard greens and red wine, danced in the mud under a cloudy sky and screamed and howled and sat and were quiet. i imagined my chest to be like an advent calendar, full of tiny little doors, each door opening onto a field of stars and dark matter and space. i imagined opening each of the doors. we folded pieces of paper in half and wrote-drew "things we are stuck on/that control us" and "things that bring us strength, make us present" and shared some things (our papers looked totally different)--we planned to burn the former one, but decided to hold onto it to keep it conscious, think healing instead of throwing out. ("radical inclusion of past selves" has been a theme in my thoughts since az mentioned it in willits...it's a process.) i made some small commitments to myself, small daily rituals. it left me exhausted and good-feeling last night and quiet today.

drip drop
drip drop
drip drop

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

babe
let's play this old school
rock'em, sock'em boppers
this world is to be tackled
rattled
understand the build-up
play it til all the strings snap

Thursday, December 9, 2010



read the whole thing here

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

j: posts on identity at le meme temps, mon cherie?

i am a fountain of blood
a slow fall of golden threads down the back
a treasure chest of liquid-pumping pets
i keep them inside, i feed them well

i am a warm fleshed burrow for wind
my heart, a bird
my ribs, her cage
i am a cavern to be filled
an inside and an outside
a hunger and a satisfaction
i am many colors

in the shape of a girl

just a few words

consistencies
feel like failures of to be.
i me justin
this stuff
is not one wieldable self.
when i show up at a dinner, when i wake up
i am not one person, yet am trusted to be

Sunday, December 5, 2010

things are not always as they seem

baaaah! [chirp chirrrup] [cluclucluCLLAAA] [phhhhhhhhhhh] [druh druhh druh] [flapflapflap] [breathe--in. breathe--out]
i find myself (over and over though some parts run faster than others crawl)
on a ranch out in fiddletown--
some things same old,
semi-retired corporate giant
turtlenecks and all food names in french or italian and
every story is a one-upper and he knows the best about everything
starts farm on some land with his womanfriend
then she leaves
and he invites wwoofers in to let the goats in and out to graze
to count the sheep
to feed the dogs
to wonder what the garden used to look like
to imagine artists standing on each others' shoulders to make these huge graffiti murals
at times beautiful and at times absurd among blood-vessel-manzanita trees and live oaks.

same old
community of a kind over cardune gratin and oxtail stew
some kind-of-friends over for dinner and
he's hopped up on vicodin
[he pulls me in to dance (/cuddle)]
and asks why such a beautiful girl is trying so hard not to look like a girl
and why i'm hiding my boobs
and why i cut all my hair
when i'm such a beautiful girl,
[he squeezes my knee]
halfway through dinner
he just wants to know, just one question,
do i like cock?
susan drops her fork and
shannon pours her vicodinified lover another glass of wine
trying to restore the thin veil that was pulled away from her lover's mind
and steve apologizes afterward
and swears he'll never have him over again
and i'm bored already

same old
wine-tasting in amador county and
maggie (the other wwoofer, who's a little depressed)
puts on makeup and i my suspenders and we put on our british accents
hailing all the way from sedgewick hop from red wine to red wine
all brewed in our honor
and i say in the car "you know, i find all these people quite boring"
and we're both tipsy with names of thick-skinned grapes floating in our ears

same old
i wake in the middle of the night, pry open my eyes to see if it's light
go back to sleep
start a fire in the morning that gets rained out by noon
surprise steve by trying the oxtail stew
an ox i never met raised and killed by steve's doctor who lives right up the road

same old, i start to think of moving
living on the land i start to think in seasons, years, generations, centuries,
the time it takes a tree to grow, an inch of topsoil to lie down in the forest,
my mind thinking in moments, tiny dramas, eurekas
my travelling body feeling in two- and three-day stints (it's been three here and i'm starting to itch for another life), months at the most

even after so little time here (in the scheme of a tree)
i'm leaning elsewhere, towards laughter and love and spirited vision, a new book of poetry, communities that celebrate and cook together, nourishing our foundations and not just living day-to-day,
wondering too what path i'm on, what the story is of where i'm going with bits of grass and mushroom slime on the back of my hands and a bag of zines and tinctures
when i'll meet up with my kindred (which are to be found in every tree but also today feel rather far away)--

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Planninglessly

After the bliss factor of Amma/rainbow family/spreading lovenlight, I decided to jump on that spontaneous mosquito train and hop down to Mexico. We left the farm today, are parking the car in LA tomorrow, and then off to Veracruz for the rainbow gathering. I'm traveling with Mateo...by bus/train/hitching? We'll see. Drift-time

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

and now you are and i am now

some time has passed indeed! i have been on the road, traveling mightily quick-n-slow-sometimes...i left ethan and steve (the other post-windward buddies) on an early cold morning in seattle and trekked out to federal way to pick up my first ride at a freeway ramp in federal way in the rain. [magical thing #1:] after a couple offers to take me like 10 miles a young pre-med student eager to flout her parents' authority by buying me a train ticket to portland; i got there in the pouring rain and talked to jbird on the phone and extended my ticket to eugene.

spent a couple days with alma and declan in their cozy eugenian world, town of co-ops and a sweet infoshop and freeschool and a volunteer-run foodbuying locallovefest called grower's market [magical thing #2 was being starving and wandering with alma in the rain trying to find the grower's market and stumbling upon some free incredible poppy seed onion things that led us to the market]...


eugene was wandering biking-in-the-rain, excited to make connections and follow up and find things to do, was a vegan cornbread stand and travelerpunk kids reading on the sidewalk,

[magical thing #3:] i visited the maitreya ecovillage (in eugene) and happened to run into a friend(sortof) from high school...while we weren't quite friends then, our paths converged now and wow dang what a good feeling, somehow; these days when people ask where i'm from there are so many layers of recency to pull back that i don't often get back to pittsburgh, to those days and that sphere and the people i knew then.

[magical thing #4] was shooting an email out to a rideshareperson just before leaving to hitch and hearing back from them immediately--jan jim june jed?--and then she picked me up and ended up driving me all the way to mount shasta, down through medford and mountains and trees and into a snowstorm. i rode on a mattress in the back trying not to put my smellysockfeet anywhere and listened to her and the other woman she picked up talk about amma, the hugging-guru-spiritual-leader they were both heading down to san ramon to visit.

[magical thing #5:] arriving in mount shasta, a solid foot of snow on the ground and i'm trudging through the snow with all of my stuff wrapped around me and snow peeking over the top of my rubber boots, trying to sneeze and roll a cigarette at the same time in some snowflake-free shadow of my body and someone stops a few feet away and says "hi." we end up standing in the snow for an hour talking about myths and lostness and where beauty is to be found and her name is amanda and i never see her again but she gives me her phone number and promises she'll try and find me a place to stay.


i sit outside the co-op for a couple hours with a sweet sign that reads "new travel buddy!" plus some other stuff and end up spending the night in the living room of david, this older white guy drummer who is thrilled to have someone to bounce his ideas about communism-capitalism-ascendantmasterdom-spiritualgrowth off of.

hitched down i5 to 299W across to the coast and then south on 101, thumb out
surrendering myself and hoping some friendly feelings of humanity would carry me to willits
and this process, of putting myself in a situation where i had no other way out of my situation except to rely on someone else
or some concept of a human family somehow,
(and through that discover a kind of interdependent independence--
a paradox that feels pretty alive.)

made it from shasta to willits in a day (magical things#6-10) and stayed with az (old friends! new goats! new songs! lukewarm baths and sprouted sunflower 'yogurt'! wheeee what delight...magical things abounded, probably at least up to #20) until thanksgiving we gave thanks and got in the car to go visit amma (the guru of hugging, saint of unconditional love--a rather cultish figure) down in san ramon--

san ramon to berkley to oakland (what a magical city sf/oakland/the bay is--
#21 free food in peoples' park
#22 wandering into the albany bulb artpark spectacular
#23 accidentally hitching
#24 meeting bernard from madison in berkeley
#25 unintentionally finding a place to live for a new friend
#26 happening to talk to someone kind of cool-looking who ended up becoming a fast friend and unlocking the infoshop for me
#27 glittercity and hilltops
#28-#35atleast more magic)

...to davis
and tomorrow to sacramento to fiddletown to safan ranch! i'm excited to be back in the dirt and among trees, a bit more quiet and i can unpack my stuff for the first time in a while. i dream in maps and trajectories.
doop-da-
maybe this is boring, sorry, full of small details,
moving fast singing on repeat, eschewing plans except where necessary,
making decisions from my heart and my stomach-gut region (somewhat difficult to understand sometimes).

i have been reading kirschenmann, this great farmer-philosopher-fellow
a moment where he says something like,
prayer is paying close attention to something, so closely attending that you forget yourself (your ego) for a while. not so different from coming to love, for instance, soil...really seeing all sides and processes inside & out, beyond and behind it, being in touch with the cycles of which it is a part, appreciating its past and future lives.
thinkin about that as i dig beds today and bumble around this quiet very white house...work that is a prayer, invisibly rewarding and transcendant of its mundanity. mmm.

love to all as
we are
and we are among mysteries that will never happen again,
miracles which has never happened before
and shining this our now must come to then

Saturday, November 27, 2010

psst.




hey,,



thanks you all

Friday, November 19, 2010

j meets a person on the street, cashes in a smile, wakes to a frown

in speeding cars
we learn silence,
the faults lines
between every piece of time

the night's body was my brutal brother
where i go i can't take a friend.
against the dance floor
i know how to ache
where the flesh lurches

alone and spinning because of the ideas we have
i know we try at least one kind of war.
our lips trembling questions make
such eyes have their doubt
but i do not fail at feeling
never having been in
i am not out

waking up next to you feels like november when
the last possible fruit
fat on the branch
f a l l s off and becomes something somewhere else.
cold fingers get warm on
instrument strings
more confident than ever
i have a song to play
and as always
two feet to walk
no reason to talk

who's mehitabel?

also!
this week!
z's homes nest up at the roost!
a team of windbusting frigid bxc bikers, swoop in from madtown,
via mke
and crash here
on the same day
that j.boog returns
from places east
whaaaaaaaa
t?
(also last night at dill pickle food co-op i was asked
"are you a member?"
"no but my partner might be... justin tate"
*typey typey* "are you elizabeth tate?"
"ahaaahaa, ha. no. no that's not me.")

so thanksgiving, will be a raucous pile of bodies
overwhelming for sure
definitely.
so many cooks
in a kitchenette

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

a day in the life

welcome to squareville hills forest park place, chicago.
your humble hero mr monster had an epic day down in the hills here which he'd like to share.

item: he finished his project at work. it looks like this:




item: he stole something and got away with it. for the last time...
item: he successfully navigated hell and came away with a fitted, rented, white fucking bowtie
tuxedo. speculations as to why may now commence.
item: he did the laundry. oh my gawd is there no end to the madness?
item (yes it keeps going): he paid two, not one but two bills.
item: he met with a prospective personal knife fighting trainer and secured a lesson for the morrow at a very reasonable price.
item: he finally spoke telemetrically with a dear old friend with whom a conversation was long overdue.
item: he beat starfox for the nintendo 64 in record time, he kids you not.
item: he took multiple walks.
item: he took a valium.
item: he watched an entire movie and half an episode of the daily show, all at 1.2x speed.
item: he wrote a poem. holy shit it's been a while. here it is:

twinkle toes & the life of the mind
went for a walk
swung their legs
and peacock tailbones,
winging along.
in focus! they yelled at the offal shoremen.

said twinkle toes to her
gerrymandered friend:
whatever you say, their curves are much too flat.

but i just had them done,
said the life of the mind,
what-all do you mean by that?
twinkle toes crinkled rows
cufflinks all in line
teach me how you kick your heels
toenails oh so fine.

but nicely nicely,
the life of the mind had missed the point
while twinkle toes could only laugh
and never age.

item: he posted in the damn blog! baooooooooooooooooo!

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

some windward tidbits

a day of brief brushes in seattlelands,
wandering eyes and hello's to burst open scarf-covered tunnelvisions.

here's two gems from windward, so you can see my world a bit...
farm life confessions from windward...filmed by ethan
windwardian farm life, music video edition (steve's the one playing the guitar)

Monday, November 15, 2010

I been careless.

White limo, old old old, on the corner of Kenmore and Thorndale, painted in red on the sides and back, "Stop the killing, be kind to each other." I am surrounded by white people who find the "war" between the "Wilson" and "Thorndale" gangs an amusing urban anecdote, a place to claim faux ownership over our neighborhood, joking, "We'll come out on top, of course." We will, because it won't touch us. Oh, you mean the gang you've claimed as yours! The gangs filled with faces of kids you've never met with problems you don't understand.

Well, shit. Whence the moral superiority, T'mo? You been just as careless, stamping across the landscape with feet just as light and unburdened as these false claimants. Been careless with your money, time, dreams, friendships, drinking, smoking, possessions, food, breathing, sleeping, electricity, windows and doors, locks, keys, tobacco, communication, plans, dates, words. Think yourself into a tizzy. Dream of the devil retiring to an old mansion, the pale blue paper house that appears over and over, burning it to a crisp brown and dressing up your friends as ghouls. Think yourself in circles, go ahead. But that's it, no more.
it took a while for you to find me
cuz I was hiding in the lime tree
the lime tree

the sun and the moon
yeah, watch them burn
they burn for each other
though they take their turns

and how I wonder why
the green grass grows
is it to sway
to greet and meet our toes ?

how crazy is this ?
like long-told lore
we live in heaven
yet we search for more

come meet me at the fire
in flames, we'll melt and not harden
we'll sing and we'll dance
and remember that we're in the garden

hi kids,
love from the outdoors

bug-eyes, holes in the ground, peeing on lawns

yesterday i fed the bunnies alfalfa pellets and hugged ruben from behind as he stirred mikey-the-goat-meat chili for lunch,
today i woke up in a mummybag on a white carpet of a floor of a house in columbia city in seattle in a different world.
i have not been posting much recently, though i've been reading avidly and thinking about it,
guess because relationships in my world were moving and shifting,
reading about the diggers in california in the 60s, the san francisco mime troupe and the free family setting up explosive cultural-overhaul communes left and right,
and what do i think? in any moment? and what am i doing, what are we doing?
i am full of vivid images...a winter picnic at the edge of the plateau we lived on, andrew communing with a twisting oak that leaned out over the edge. sarah and i dancing with finger puppets performing a drama of interspecial romance in high british accents as walt watched and smiled and occasionally muttered puns. the front stoop of my trailer. hands twisting in the dark, our last slumber party at windward, and where is the line between sensual and sexual. the feeling of the kitchen at night after everyone had gone to bed and i sat alone with a notebook.

driving into seattle was something
at first the lights were exciting
then i realized i couldn't look at things fast enough,
too much too fast,
so i closed my eyes and played seven with ethan.

the world is big! the universe is loving! all people are beautiful!
i am excited to set out soon (wednesday i think?) on my way down south, traversing new worlds and unknown territories, seeing how my life looks when i offer it in stories. i am excited to see my family-friends-community, thread together different worlds we live in. i am excited to walk outside and smoke a cigarette.

so hello and hello and hello...

massachusetts, the first state to make education compulsory

last night i went to a film called "waiting for superman"
it is about the american education system, in its current awfulness
gosh it is so sad to see what is happening out there, and hard to understand
it seems to have changed so much even since i was in school
so many children are being shut out and left behind
thinking life is not for them...that they wont make it.
what fear and burden to carry around at such a young age.
the main blame are the outdated teachers' unions that make it impossible to fire the bad ones.
out of history these unions arose to protect women, but now all they do is perpetuate the shit-show and protect lazy assholes
allowing no competition or innovation. i would normally say competition is bad thing but in this case it could be beautiful.
and the situation is so ridiculous, unbelievable
that we all stand by, our leaders especially, and act like our systems are stronger than we are
that we cant change what has been written down for years.
it is no wonder why america is going on in the way it is
no fresh ideas, no innovation.
im getting a real good insight right now because the friend i am staying with is training to become a teacher
and it real passionate.
there are so many
teachers getting fat and dim, texting during class, reading magazines, getting bored, getting marriend, lacking wonder
and it all gets worse as the neighborhood income drops.
every now and again a master teacher comes along and shows them how it is done
but it doesnt matter because the bad ones cant be fired
and the good ones cant be rewarded
SUCH A FUCKING JOKE
stirs me right up
adults are selfish and unwilling to change, they wont even do it for their children
they have to be right.
....i see the potential in becoming a teacher and the joy in protecting the life-force of a child
encouraging it is truly a way to change the world
im a thinking about teaching in some capacity
you have to be so many things a friend, a performer, a singer, personable, loving, one step ahead of the youngins, but also open to their wisdom, and so much more....! gosh i fear for the ones who think if they dont graduate they will be nothing,
breaks my heart

i know school sucks, but so long as it is here
and kids have to go then this crap has to stop.

i want to slam america against a wall
and yell in its face
what the fuck are you doing
if we are nothing
america is nothing

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Followed a calling and came up to Mount Shasta for a medicine circle yesterday, and am feeling comfy (sleeping in a heated home for the first time in a couple of months), domestic, and overwhelmed by this culture of dreaded california growers and rainbow songs on repeat. "Blessings, brother." Flow, healing, evolution.

I am mostly blissful, but also doubtful.
One thing that's been bothering me is the conflation of sacred cultures, e.g. medicinal plants from Peru discussed in terms of chakras. I feel this analytic anthropologic need to keep traditions pure, to go back to the sources behind all this California fluff. But why can't I simply be thankful and open towards the "new tribe" that's being created here? Sometimes I feel drawn towards Argentina to the international rainbow gathering and the gypsy horse caravan afterwards towards Bolivia. Wow. Dreamland. It's suddenly available to me, but is it me?
Mateo assures me that the rainbow gatherings are not about fluff but survival. He's been traveling the world for five years now and is one of the most in-tune people I've ever met. We had a hysterical-laugh session the the other day, yelps, giggles, howls for over ten minutes--- after which Mateo launches into a full-on kundalini awakening with full body spasms and uncontrollable orgasm-like noises. "But it's no big deal," he repeats. What is a big deal?

I had come to ceremony hoping to gain some clarity about what what what do I want to do with this life, and feel now even more uncertain. Life at no-yo gardens is all I had hoped for in so many ways, but the isolation can be hard. Once Kris, Mateo, and Yanti leave, will I want to stay? Where will I go? Should I plan or not plan? California, why do you leave a sour taste in my mouth after the organic syrupy sweetness?

Why am I so worried anyway?

Friday, November 12, 2010

a photographic response to creeper's plea

i started writing a text-post. it was boring. you can read it in the drafts if you like.
here's pictures. that's more fun. i wish i could bring back the < lj-cut > for you right now.
love,
-me

p.s. you
probably will have to open the images individually to see all of them?


self portrait in a letter
i seem to be thinking about my blood, school, anarchy, eliot, my bike, madison, and my numerous crushes.


took elz' bread recipe to heart and have been playing around with that a lot


dreaming up ideas for dinner parties and then having them


debbie is wearing julie hagan's turtleneck (???)
while enjoying house-made dosa, sambhar, and chutney


visiting home


homebodies


homebuddies
(the salad cancels out the cigarette)
(he never smokes cigarettes)


an appropriate last photo of the home i love and will miss

i don't really have a picture of my beautiful bicycle: sweet dumps,
they occupy much of my thinking
oh what a hottie
mmmbikes

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

p.s. where is everyone?? c'mon peeps -- post!

i want to love you, you young thing

this vineyard is like one giant sense of humor
i'm not sure what i've stepped into, though i learn a little everyday
move a box a few inches only to move it again
work days that don't start til noon, then get rescheduled or rethunk (redrunk?)
grapes that dry on the vine
wine rots in the barrel
a wwoof crew that snickers at the insanity but still gets gushy warm feelings
over a household that reminds of their own ass crazy family.

i've been thinking of googling "how to make wine"
and sharing that with the folks here
it could seriously help.........

the guys and i snort and whisper like naughty school kids
or some ridiculous band of brothers come together by some bizarre choice and chance
kids stay for months, often leave, then return

i'm just enjoying being a part of the show:
playing baseball with sticks and pine cones under the redwoods,
climbing live oaks,
rough housing,
conga lines,
grape fights,
laughing in the face of any organization or semblance of structure,
learning to take eeeeeverything in stride and roll with allllll the punches.

i can't ignore this really palpable feeling though
that this ranch, vineyard, project would be so much better run if it were just us kids.
i think they know it too..
there's a reason we're all here.
there's so much in these people and this place, it's almost like it just hasn't become aware of itself yet, awoken to this picture of plenty

in the mean time, we make wine like we're retarded
play music like we've just drank all the retarded wine
and i keep thinking about love
and the family i've already got
(who's got awesome skills by comparison, way)

and dreaming late at night of young things
and their guts
and their gall
sexy bodies, et al

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

back from norge

back in boston
walkin lost on streets
swarms of shoes and beeping phones
rough faces and rougher talk
brisk walk and brief cases
boston you're super practical and oh so money!
you make me want to go back to school so that i dont become
one of these invisible folks on the margins of your day
the ones walked passed forgotten and blamed
if i quit school and i become poor will i become a junkie too?
is that what you do
to them?
why do they talk to themselves--
they not only beg for a coin but for an eye and ear
so dont be mean.
in boston and its surrounding jiggle people eat ideas and news for all their meals and
pamper their guilt, a book store full of addicting liberal stuff
whole foods around every corner
a n d coffee (organic fair trade crinkly faced old jungle woman of course!)
harvard, mit, tufts, blahachusetts
all these people with umbrellas, geometric eyebrows and hungry eyes
and tense loins
little cinnamon, pumpkin, pilgrim spectres, old this old that
400 years old
our grave stones have been around long enough to have that look and be erased by the rain
that's how old we are
burp:cobble stones
norway is a very sane place i now see.

also: i must be more than all these numbers
must be more than my inbox of emails
passport number
negative bank balance
flight number
i must be more than a pair of lungs suckling a joint
a pair of eyes begging the night
and more than this always a bit too small male ass
in these crusty
dump jeans.
i gotta take a look at all these parts
so it is i have returned from a far away place as so many have etc
to reclaim a fragmented life
and scattered friends

for now
these days feel raw
i'll soften unto myself under the eaves of youth
now more fragile and precious than ever
ill dig myself into a dream

Saturday, November 6, 2010

***bliss*** reality

At burning man I had done contact improv in center camp with a robed and bearded young boy a couple of times, run into him round heebeegeebees and asked, "where are you from?"
"from everywhere."
turns out he's from here, for now at least. Back Home at the spontaneous rainbow gathering that's happening in the redwoods of mendocino county. I've found myself a new spot, a shakti-flow place where I live and work with a crew of travelers, artisans, musicians, healers, and gardeners. I'm milking goats twice a day and trying to mate Puja with Zeus (he chases after her with a painful-looking erection while she bleats and poops), clearing garden beds to plant garlic, kale, and cover crop, and getting into long psycho-spiritual discussions with Kris and Mateo where we drift through utopias and ram-dass style ruminations on breathing (all over sprouts and steamed squash). Yeah, I can see myself sticking around here for a while. Kris is all about ayuasca and soma, super-medicines from the Amazon and Himalayas that make your eyes sparkle and clear your mind. There's a make-shift temple for meditation and yoga, and all work is cosmic (no hours, no numbers). Stace sells djunn and cheesecake at different concerts in the area and seems to know everyone in mendocino.
I've been thinking about attachments- to my own desires, to friends/family, to goals of personal development-- in contrast with Mateo and Yanti's style of drifting around the earth. It's making me put to rest a lot of the questions and plans I had had floating around in my head in order to just be here until the next opportunity arises. In any case, Venus is in retrograde and it's going to be difficult to make big decisions until the last week of november. May retreat from communication for awhile.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

damn
what could be better than raw almond butter and orange blossom mountain honey??

or
running around a botanical garden featuring different habitats from across the world
now in mexican cloud forest
now in american redwoods
now in asian funny plants with funny haircuts
now rolling in the grass
wine bottle in hand
lips smeared

or
biking the sunrayed corridor of trees
to the big hungry ocean that tongues the sandy skin
over and over, and over and over
roaring, teasing to take you in with it
but you laugh
and kick it
and practice silly dance moves that involve
flying
into arms that you love

damn

what the hell are jellyfish anyway?

Saturday, October 30, 2010

biskats

hi lovebuddies, rainy day here at the farm-like-place;
coffee gets cold before i finish it,
oatmeal never stops being good,
rain boots come in handy for cleaning out pools (pool party 2010! + flannel),
today is the animal auction and tomorrow is the goats' breeding party!
and i am bloated with frustration and excitement, love and boredom. how funny.
for now, here are some baskats! for your breakfasttime pleasures.

Grandma Hagan’s Biscuits

2 cups white flour*
3 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
¾ cup or more milk OR buttermilk
¼ cup oil
(add 1/8 tsp baking soda if using buttermilk)

Mix dry ingredients. (If adding additional dry ingredients such as herbs or spices**, add now to dry ingredients.) Mix together liquid ingredients, stir to form emulsion, add all at once and stir only enough to wet dry ingredients. Roll to ~1 inch thickness and cut with biscuit cutter.***

Bake at 450 F until lightly browned.

elz' notes:
*or any mixture of cornmeal, wheat flour, and white flour you like (i often do half white half something else.)
**for savory, i like nutritional yeast and sage/basil/ROSEMARY/garlic/pepper. or for sweet biscuits molasses or brown sugar make good additions.
***or heap into cute little lumpy piles on a greased pan.

Friday, October 29, 2010

ok so i just discovered yesterday that posting a housing ad on craigslist is a
GREAT WAY
to meet people.

really..

cuz you get SWAMPED with responses from all sorts of different kindsa people
and they all wanna prove that they'd be an excellent person to live with
so they give little bios, talk about their interests,
about their pasts and ambitions,
and then you get their email address

AND then you can invite them over to see your place ;)))
cuz that's what they wanted anyway
and so did you.
haha!
(hey, it's bianca)

(teehee)

!

waking lives

Little squids, rained in across the map. Bored bunnies, yellow leaves.
The distance separating each raincloud is so much smaller than the distance separating our dirty fingernails.
And every transient farmer dreams of setting up their own place, their own friend-sparkle commune where love puddles transpire by the fireplace. I am living on one person's dreamland: hundreds of plants the first year to pay back the debt, and then a decreasing number every year. An experiment in taking raw land and turning it into abundance. I feel admiration, awe, but also yes readiness to move on. My dreamland, see, would sift out bad comedies.

"We are freaks. We follow the code of freaks." - hedwig

We fired up the sauna and hot tub Wednesday night for some deep cleansing. Lucky ducks, lucky me with a fire raging in my dome, warming my yoga-ing body, my reading body, my resting body, my warding-off-desire body. I am soaking in these last couple days of material comfort before I move on to a new farm a bit farther north (near willits), where we'll be milking goats and making djunn. Trading out a bed for a new community. We'll see how I deal with sleeping in my car for a month in the cold and rain. Lucky I'm young and undemanding. But it makes me wonder-- what, materially, do I need? The lower chakras crave sex, food, comfort--- but can't I get past that and move on up to the heart? (Then to knowledge, transcendence.) Well here's to experiments.
And here's (raising a pink lady) to friendship. And to friendship being political.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

remembering
to feel the mystery
a little bit
every
day

it's times like these i wish i had a guitar

Monday, October 25, 2010

on boredom and what ensues

the rains are here and
soft animal bodies slow down, idle hands pick up books, and
this weekend i found myself bored to be idle bored to be breathing,
losing passion and excitement for small things--
what does a body used to being busy do with all this time,
when plants are going quiet and becca-goat's milk is drying up
and the animals are thinking of fucking and sleeping quiet
and the food is getting stored away for snowed-in days.
i forgot about this!
i forgot that when things get cold bodies get quiet too,
more thinking and planning and appreciating.
i meditated on boredom for an hour. then i looked at the leaves for a while.
this time of year they are beautiful here...green and red and yellow on the white oaks.
dancing in and out of oakmoss sculptured empires.

today i made fresh ravioli with squash & collard green filling and white sauce and navy bean soup and rice pilaf! we burned a big pile of wood, railroad bits and pieces of stuff and brush--a huge bonfire that went all day and we took turns tending. the first frosts have already come and much in the garden died with it though kale and chard are still goin strong. and the rains came! bringing some cold cold misery and some delight--the ground softening and wriggling a little in its descent toward sleep. no longer having to water baby trees and strawberries and the little ginseng plants that are struggling to make it in this strange unfamiliar climate. i had a slumber party with steve and ethan and we read some lewis carroll...other relationships are flourishing too, conversations with walt about patriarchy (always) and i led/mediated a convo about the gender roles/expectations folks were raised with (became mostly a convo about family structures, but definitely breaking ground-setting stage for future conversations).

i have also been thinking of
autonomy and independence, developing and having
chest surgery, talking to my parents about
clothes in urban/rural places, wearing and having feelings about
desiring and loving, differentiating between and embracing
families, creating chosen
fear, finding and routing out
friendships, nurturing sexual and divided-by-space-or-time and intimate
gender, initiating conversations about
hate and enmity, the value or lack of value of
"natural" "law," what is, if anything
quiet, allowing myself to be
shakers, gardening practices of the
sluthood, everything about
traveling, doing-being-becoming-planning

that is something,
i am feeling glad to be in the world today
glad you are too

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

scene:

a bike shop, late afternoon, almost closing
most of the kids are gone,
chris, the dreamy mechanic i've known visually since high school,
and i, are squatting on the ground
on either side of the wheel between us,
putting our best efforts into
unscrewing a rusty hub
salt n pepa ask
"can't you hear the music's pumpin hard like i wish you would?"

he moves the wheel to a vice

Saturday, October 16, 2010

notes from the frontlines

is anyone reading the twitterfeed i linked to at the bottom right of the page? it's mine. most of it is quotes of other people though.
i had a nerdy moment earlier thinking about our global currency fiat system as a networking protocol, and how the banking + goverment "users" have effectively "hacked" it. we need better security.
yeah, where was i: it's funny being so invested in the S.Q... i never thought i'd see the day where i'm making car payments and holding down two jobs and i can accept my mom's friend request on facebook and i only play guitar drunk.
i can feel these cute little punches of anger from inside, pointing out, like i'm about to birth a revolution.
except that's silly, i don't think my body can make a baby. in other news i've decided that i want to go to mime school. i need to practice and i think a little instruction would make it better. all these years of doing the stupid box routine where you pretend you're stuck in a box that only you can see and you bang your head against it and try to look through it and you can't get out - well i suddenly realized today that i'm not very good at delineating the box with my motions, so although from my perspective i'm in a box, from the outside i just look dumb.
this is all literal. i'm almost done with lolita. the last 50 pages are taking forever because i got caught up in a new comic book called DMZ put out by DC. it was a glorious waste of 4 hours. i read 53 comics. i'm up to date on the series. i'm hooked. i'll have to start watching tv again, if only to temper my addiction with something slightly less awesome that still satisfies the same urge to be entertained.

maybe you can tell that i'm in a weird late night existential mood, which has historically been very good for me trying to put my head on paper. ooo i think i'll go play guitar (sober).
anyway i miss all the friendly squids. we're still kicking it here at baohaus 2.0 but it's not the same. in some ways it's better because i've been building things out of twobys and ply every week for 2 months and the house looks like a plywood-gaudi masterpiece, but that's for another post.
lots of love
lelz

topsoil is my prophet

"Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, Speak to us of Eating and Drinking.
And he said:
Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.
But since you must kill to eat, and rob the newly born of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship,
And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of the forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in man.

When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,
"By the same power that slays you, I too am slain; and I too shall be consumed.
For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.
Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."

And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,
"Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."

And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the winepress, say in your heart,
"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress."

from "the prophet"


i love to hear your voices from afar! what pleasure, what warm reminders of our shared and overlapping and distantly tied worlds.

i am settling into the simple pleasures here--a jar full of warm goat milk, feeding the bunnies corn husks before i sit down to my oatmeal, farmer's cheese with bee balm flowers, cold cold hands while i strain the sprouted wheat for the chickens, tucking the beans and tomatoes in at night, wandering into the woods to find baby trees to water and talk to. my relationships with each person spiralling and growing in richness and depth as we skip from bare facts of our lives to the architecture of our dreams and desire,
small consensual touches and warmths, testaments to our humanness,
always pandora in the background (now sponsored by starbucks...?)
and golden sunrises and sunsets,
i am learning always to ask for help (opalyn, i'm not ready to twist off the head of a chicken yet...but i skinned a chicken yesterday, undressed this beautiful hermaphroditic silent bird without seduction but with solemnity and love and a thankfulness for my own fragile skin, contained blood, moments to live in the world.)
i am reminding myself always of how my body and mind are interwoven...
fighting anxiety with sun salutes,
finding peace in stacking firewood, wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of poop-straw (the most valuable of the ignoble resources), chopping, plucking, clipping,
khalil says "you work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
for to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission toward the infinite.
...to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret.
...and what is it to work with love?
it is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
it is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
it is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
it is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,
and to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.
...work is love made visible."

we are redefining work!
as i move away from jobs, embrace the in-betweens of alleys, dumpsters, travelling, excess, closed loop systems, living from my labor,
i am finding my sanity and peace here in living in the service of life, flourishing in parallel to flourishing.

i have been here for a month! (today is windward's 33rd anniversary.) halfway through my time, stronger arms and heart, my body used to tiny pleasures and tears and small pains and love and missing--these things that never run out.

towards season's end

How delicious to see these blog posts and recipes!

Wrist exercises have become routine; as has chair-sitting, dreaming, bewilderingly enthusiastic twenty questions games riled up on caffeine to spice up the monotony, the arguments about music (often Israeli now, with the introduction of Amir into our community-- but punctuated by Deep Forest and Freedom and reggae) reggae reggae

ohhhh my goddess! pumpkin coconut soup. Hadas did it again.
Can I get some more bud buddies, Felicia?
When I was sitting on the shitter this morning....
some new music for the new generation!

snatches, repeated. we are growing closer and learning more about each other as we sit. I admire how Shane picks up after everybody, collects the eggs, quietly. I try to do the same.

Can't wait until we're working outside again! Push through, should be less than a week now.

(Brown rice, chopped almonds, raisins, and caramelized onions)
(Dates, corn flakes, sunflower seeds, flax)
(Breathlessly uphill)


Monday, October 11, 2010

boomerang

summer, the season of exercising the power
the steam
the jet streaming light
that you are, that you've become
aglow in your fury...
two and a half months of 74 days of so many waking moments
of where am i? what am i? how will i make it to tonight?
landscapes a blur of urban cradles, mazey mountains,
skirting the city at night, pant pant not stopping to look back
run to the mountains only to make it out of the forest, onto a clear-skied peak
look a distance
and suddenly decide to jump, landing back in city dumpster -- what!
constant migration,
all heads attuned to the wind
and all noses noticing rain

everyday a question
some nights, in the trance induced by dark and slurs and stars, an answer
funny how we wait for it too
maybe tonight will be the one
the moon the musician, look how we dance

take one of these, look at me in the morning
hi

flash forward, turn the page
enter stage south, back in the city
except san francisco is not what it used to be
the growing pains have already started
my furs
and feathers
are growing in
my eyes more designed to see in the dark

are we so domesticated like our own pups that we'd not stand a chance at a night in the wild?
not i said the fox
this time we survive

happy birthday
welcome to your life



Sunday, October 10, 2010

hokay lovebuddies...food to share, food to make, food of communities.

on the thought of hunger as a circuit which keeps us alive, life comes with death, fuck annual monocrops and the degradation of topsoil all over the world (it takes so long to rebuild itself) and i cannot deny my own addiction to grains, grains, grains. perhaps they are more deadly, more environmentally damaging than responsibly farmed meat. perhaps this is imminent, perhaps environmentalists should drop their vegetarian ethics and focus on eating from their bioregion and perennial polycultures and the animals that graze happily on pastures (and not federally subsidized corn that is making people jobless and hungry everywhere!)

amid those thoughts, and thoughts of community and love and food for souls and tables,
here are three recipes--two old one new--that have fed many a soul in many a living room.

peanut noodles, eliot-style.
things you really need (for a pot o noodles, say a 3-4 person serving): about 2 big spoonfuls peanut butter*, 1-2 T oil (in order of idealness: sesame, sunflower/something like that, canola, olive), 2-3 T soy sauce or Braggs, a small dollop of vinegar (i.o.o.i.: rice wine, apple cider, white, red/white wine; balsamic does not taste good), about 2 T something sweet (molasses, white or brown sugar or honey as you desire), something sour (lime juice or lemon juice; about 1 lime, half a lemon, or 1-2 T of juice), noodles or quinoa or rice or something else to put it on.

nice additions: basil, lemongrass, peanuts, carrot or cucumber pieces (add at the end, otherwise they get cooked and a little squishy), sesame seeds (the more the better!), crushed red chili peppers or hot sauce, coconut flakes/shreds.

* jiffy/skippy peanut butter tastes good (and then you don't usually need to add sugar) but yeah, it has corn syrup and is pretty nasty too. these days i prefer good peanut butter and then adding a little extra oil/sugar and mixing hard.

a note: it's actually easier to mix it all up in a bowl and then pour it on. if you're mixing it into the noodles or quinoa, it can be hard to mix. but that's fine too. if you like it saucy, add a little more water and liquids.


no-knead whole wheat bread
this is the master recipe from this bread book i've been working with by hertzberg & francois (zoe and jeff...we've gotten rather close.) it's a pretty good whole wheat, can be made into anything from pizza dough to rolls to baguettes to focaccia to sandwich (sanduiche!) loaves. it's pretty tasty. i don't have all purpose flour here so i've been using 4.5 c soft white winter wheat flour and 3 c. hard red winter wheat flour.

so the background chemistry-info is that usually you need to knead bread to get the gluten to develop and align into a protein-net that'll trap the gas bubbles produced by the yeast fermenting, producing the desirable Airy Crumb. but an alternative way, remniscent of how artesanal bread is made in bread shops and some larger-scale conditions, is to use a high-moisture dough and refrigerate it...if there's enough moisture, the gluten strands will go mobile and align by themselves! aw yeah. so this bread ends up rising ~3 times: once after you mix it all up, once when you take it out, and then when you stick it in the oven.

you Can use the dough after the initial rise, but i think it works better to refrigerate it for at least a day and then bake it. you can refrigerate it for up to 2 weeks and it develops some good complex sourdough-esque flavors after about a week.

here's the original recipe (makes 4 1-lb loaves)
1. in a container that you could refrigerate, mix together: 5.5 c whole wheat flour, 2 c all-purpose unbleached flour, 1.5 T yeast (2 packets), 1 T kosher/sea salt (i use a little less), 1/4 vital wheat gluten (i use 6 T). (also add any herbs, sliced olives, garlic, onions, dried fruit, nuts, etc. you want.) no need to proof the yeast (unless it's really old.)
2. mix with 4 c. water; don't knead, just mix until it's homo-geneous.
3. allow to rise for 2 hours covered by non-airtight lid or plastic wrap. after that, refrigerate and use it over the next 14 days. (after a week, it starts getting a nice sourdough-like flavor. and if you reuse the bowl you mixed it in for another loaf, the flavor gets better and better.)

when you want to bake it:
1. cornmeal/parchment paper/grease a pan. cut out 1/4 (1 lb) of the dough. dust it with flour and make it into a ball--don't squeeze it too much, you're trying to keep as much gas bubbliness in there as possible. form into a loaf, sprinkle with seeds or whatever, and let it rest for 90 minutes (40 minutes if you didn't refrigerate the dough).
2. preheat oven to 450. just before baking, sprinkle loaf with water or paint with egg white. slash with a serrated knife.
3. stick it in there for 30 minutes! when you put it in, also stick in a cup of water (in a metal bowl/broiler tray/cast iron pan). that makes the crust crunchy.

yum. so it takes about 15-20 min to mix up and then 15 or so minutes when you want to prep it to bake it. which is pretty sweet.

here's one more that's a staple in my life.
curry polenta
- sautee some garlic and onion with curry powder, turmeric, etc.
- add cornmeal. about 1/2-2/3 c is good for one person, 2 c is enough for 4-6 folks (ish).
- mix that up and let the cornmeal brown a bit (just for like a minute or two). then add water...enough to cover the cornmeal, usually about 2ce the amount of cornmeal you added.
- let it boil & shit until it's a texture you like...anywhere from creamy to pretty solid. add, if you like, cheese or nutritional yeast, some braggs, hot sauce, herbs, etc. traditionally if you let it get solid and cool a bit you could in theory slice it and bake, fry, do whatever you want with it. pour sauce on it. whatevs.


the rains are arriving here...it's grey and chilly and the bunnies are a little anxious to run around and get touched but i don't want to deal with muddy bunnies. i am dwelling in routines and trying to hang on to spontanaeity and emotional honesty, honor that in myself and others. keep things in the open, imaginable realm. yesterday we bottled the hard cider we made--it had probably surpassed beer-alcohol-level, in the 10-13% range. there's such a funny balance here of being wary of dependence and alcoholism and thinking of this hard cider as responsible caloric preservation, and then craving rituals and explosion and celebration too. probably the community leans toward the former rather than the latter. it's good for me, to distance myself from needing those lubrications and addictions to allow me to act.
and...today there's chili on the stove, yesterday i made baguettes, reading about monocrops and cannibalism,
standing close to people and wondering about how they work on the inside,
how much and how little i know about these folks.
silence is deceptive, when it suggests that all that could be said has been said,
sometimes it's comfortable and most of the time i find myself treading water, confused by silences,
the stimuli that keep this little community alive.
ruben playing the flute.
john lennon on the radio.
ethan napping.
gina clattering, tapping out her anger in pots and clattering spoons and bubbling pots.
a shelf full of good d.i.y. books and cookbooks, "how to live on wheat," "home cheese making"...
am i boring or bored? i'm not sure.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

a baohaus update

so, they've FINALLY repainted the baohaus. it was a team of really cool looking, not very professional (bring your kid to work day anyone?) painters, who commented on EVERYTHING they were painting. I know because I went in and introduced myself as a neighbor. They loved the scrawls, they thought the paintings showed great talent (ahem ev), they thought the quote about the kilos of cocaine was nice, and they were under the weird impression that all of this was accomplished by one (1) male-bodied person. heh.
random quote: "some of the stuff he wrote was DEEP, wow!"
so it's a nice ending in my mind.
also, i finally rescued that door, cuz i figure they've definitely assessed the place by now, and they still haven't changed the lock on the back door. so the squid is back upstairs (daryl put it down again a while ago, long story).
lots of loooove
lelz

on being obliged to watch

on tuesday, whitey the sheep was slaughtered*. i felt obliged to be present for a lot of reasons, none of them peer pressure--i wanted to bear witness, to experience the impact of a life passing to take responsibility for the role of death in producing a meat- and animal-driven lifestyle, to face my complicitness, to see which parts or which people seemed cruel, if any...i don't think anyone is particularly cruel, and it's not easy for anyone. walt says that if it were easy, one shouldn't be doing it--there's a risk of detachment, of becoming too capable of killing something without thinking about it too much. i took the opposite route, holding on tight to the memory of whitey eating as she bled to death from her neck, slowly crumpling onto the ground but never in pain, never bleating--in short, remembering life as the cost through the process of removing the hide, fat, organs, cutting up the meat into chunks the next day.

in some ways, the experience of watching whitey die and the next day eating a bite of her was a beautiful closed-loop system...her body going to nourish windward, the people and earth and animals, and the impact of the flock on the land is being balanced so that they can survive the winter and to make space for new lambs to be born. i'm coming to feel and recognize my place in these cycles and circles of things--domesticator and cultivator but also spreader-of-seeds, feeder-of-bunnies, enricher-of-earth, consumer-of-predators-and-prey. the truth is that i, and most people i think, don't have nearly enough information to figure out how to choose a diet or way of living that impacts the earth as little (or as positively) as possible...monocrop agriculture and the cultivation of annual grains has fucked a lot of shit up too. and although humans have fucked up a lot more than our due on this planet, it also doesn't seem quite right to put us on the top of it all, the Ruiners and the FuckUppers...the earth has evolved along with us, animals evolved to live in synchrony with humans, cars replaced natural predators in controlling the deer population...how do we begin to take responsibility for all this?

something is always dying for us to eat,
and i think that is one reason i felt obliged to watch.
watching whitey get hoisted up, dying quietly--it didn't make me want to eat meat, really,
and when i ate a little it tasted...okay, i guess.

all my little molecules and cells, nourished on this and that, more and more from this land, from the garden and the goat milk and the soft white wheat, and eventually i will be eaten by a tree hungry for bones and calcium or some grasses or maybe some critter. who knows. but that it as it should be, i think, in this cycle of nutrients and lifegiving and lifetaking. life and death and birth go together, cycling and cycling and keeping each other in check--what separates us is not our faces or our speaking abilities or our ability to build televisions, i think, but our sense that we have a choice about how we want to compete or cooperate, take responsibility or destroy, take lives gracefully in order to live or destroy life in order to dominate. we don't know how, or we have forgotten why, to keep ourselves in check. how to recognize that the resources for us to live and bear children are no longer available...because they're not, we're past topsoil and living on fossil fuels, eating and drinking this painfully extracted blood of the earth.

and what to do with all this knowledge,
all this information that we were never told,
i was never taught,
some of me craves cities and traveling, people people people,
easy small relationships, opening myself daily,
i am not ready to settle and dwell. not here, anyway.
but it lets me see the possibility of how it might be done,
how we might live responsibly with the land and its critters--plants and animals and bacteria and us.
nothing is easy. but we have so many choices.

*the words chosen carefully to describe death are prolific...culling, harvesting, giving death to, slaughtering, butchering, doing...rarely killing.

What money?

Dear David Casner, VP, UChicago Alumni Board of Govenors,

I don't have a penny to spare to donate to your fund. Not for your university, not for pumping up prestige, not for helping to create unquantifiable numbers to go in brochures, not show other people how much your institution is loooooved by its young alums, not to support a place that shuffles along and pokes and prods the kids who don't want to learn your way, not to put extra shine on the windows of your new arts center, not to attach my name ever more to place that does not represent who I am in totality.

In short, I am other things before I am a UofC graduate. Sometimes I have a hard time figuring out what those things are, but this week I am a reader of Nabokov (Transparent Things, Lolita, whatever's in the house) and swimmer without goggles because I like the sting of chlorine in my eyes. This week I am busy shaking of a creepy cab driver on a drenched Saturday night who insists that I sit up front with him, have a cigarette with him before I head home, who grabs my hand and makes me employ not my social graces but my ability to tell someone to fuck off. I am busy shaking off bullshit and buying curtains.

So, it's awful presumptuous of you to ask me for money. If you think you know where my loyalties lie because you gave me an embossed piece of paper in maroon envelope, you, sir, are sorely mistaken.

T'mo

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

lovin my blood




i want to shout it from the rooftops! today, as expected, i started bleeding (in prep for the new moon tomorrow...it's already been a cycle of the moon since rosh hashanah on 3rd beach in lapush with stam bex and elz), a few days after having used fertility awareness method (FAM) as birth control. i wasn't unprotected, i was protected by my own knowledge of my own body! fuck yeah!

also, if anyone wants a kombucha mother-- we have some pretty little babies ready to leave.

also, happy birthday to justin, our little boogerbutt:

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

a funny thing happened on the way to the admin building

the setting:
a pretty fall friday on the U of C quads. what appear to be the remnants of an RSO fair scattered around, including about 2000 balloons.
the cast: lelimonster and his three young chargers, ages 9, 11, and 13, on their way to visit the mom in the admin building (babysitting [manny?] FTW!). later, Sharlene Holly and eddie from downstairs.
enter lelz with kids:

kids: oooo balloons!!!

lelz: who wants a balloon?

kids: meeeeeee

lelz to only person sitting at any tables anymore: hey mind if we take a couple?

random person: here's my really sharp key go ahead!

lelz: here ya go kids!

enter eddie: hi lelz, nice balloons.
(they chat for a bit - kids play with balloons - lelz ties youngest's balloon to her wrist)
enter Sharlene Holly
(angry) SH: excuse me, do you work for ORCSA?
lelz: uh oh
SH: are those your balloons?
lelz: um
SH: did you steal those balloons?
lelz: no
SH: are you affiliated with the university?
lelz: i work for the hospital
SH: what's your name?
lelz: etc
SH (into microphone): will someone with paper write down (name) + neurology?
lelz: sigh
sh: i'm going to call your supervisor and explain to them that you defaced university property. i would never want to set such an example for children. i would never let you near my own kids.

kids offer balloons back to SH.
SH: no, i would never take balloons from a child!
turns back to lelz

SH: BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH
eddie: lady, you're crazy!
kids laugh
eddie continues. sh continues ranting, stalks away angrily.

duration of encounter: 5 minutes
CURTAIN!

so....
in classic LPM style, the email i just sent. we'll have a vote (in the comments, sivooplay):
1. email makes matters worse
2. email results in apology from all sides and warm feelings
3. email gets LPM fired
4. email is ignored.

the email:

Hi Sharlene,
I sometimes make people angry unintentionally, but I really wish I didn't.
Maybe you don't remember, but we crossed paths over 6 helium balloons in the middle of the quads last Friday. I know you were in "event" mode, so I don't hold your actions against you (very much). Still, I feel bad about our interaction - in attempting to ridicule me in front of the kids, although you ended up making yourself look much worse, you also confused the kids, and it was already a stressful day.
Stressful because their mother, who works closely with a very important man in the administration and a former boss of yours, was trying to get a lot done at once and also have a couple minutes to say hi with her kids. She is recently divorced. They were so happy to have a few balloons.
Your actions were, in their mother's words, completely out of line.
So, to conclude, I didn't mean to make you mad then or now. I want to be up front and give you your chance at satisfaction, either by a civilized conversation (hopefully), or by carrying your threat out against me. I didn't lie to you that day, which was what I explained to the children after you stalked away. Lying in any situation, even when confronted by an angry person of authority, is not acceptable. Taking a few balloons, especially when given explicit permission by the only person around (even if slightly misguided), is not a big deal.
Respectfully,
Eli Albert, BA 2010

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Lights up farm factory

The past three days I've only seen my dome at nighttime. Just as I'm losing myself, bewildered on my nighttime walk through the woods, the brush, the downhill slippery leaves (contact improv has helped me to fall gently) I see the outline of my home, my dome, my magical spot with running water and electricity and a hula hoop. We settle in, get naked together, meditate through open space and gratitude and warmth.
I am so well taken care of here. Yoga at 6:30 in the morning. Two delicious home-grown meals cooked every day by our resident chefs and eaten communally in the yurt to power us through farm factory time. Let's get these fisker-wielders some cucumber mate smoothie! How wild? How shaved? How many different ways can you cook zucchini? Work work work until lunchtime. Eat. Sit sit work work until dinner. Breathe. Puff. Walk home.
It'll be like this for the next two weeks or so. Profit rises as the weather cools. We saw our first rainbow yesterday evening.

And though I have no buddy-buddies to play with, there are the stars and my hula hoop, which both make good dance partners. There is the solitude to really feel myself out, learn more about my own needs and desires, breathe into the woodpeckers knock knock knocking.

And I miss. Expanding into elsewhere and back into here.






Thursday, September 30, 2010

miserable asshole

wow i really hate being in school!
the actual toll it takes on my life-- incredible!
very taxing stuff.
always biking around
never eating properly.
seeing friends,
always having to go
do some crap for some oaf
with whom i will never make a meal
who will never laugh with me on the floor at 2am
who will never try my kombucha

who is this all for?
who is benefitting?
poopoo


eta:
but in other news, in certain classes i am stating a preference for gender-neutral pronouns. (it's a little nerve-wracking, a little heart-racing). in gender101 because there are 21 female-bodied students and 3 male-bodied ones and i don't want there to be "women" and "men." in my modern dance class because my primary voice is my body. it's not necessary in my agriculture or music class because there's like, 50 of us. i'm eliza with 'they' and zee with 'she'. ha! i'm not confused.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

dog-eared memories and waxy dreams

i have been full of dirt and cider,
memories and clean air,
rustling oak trees and adjusting to new folks.
i have been quieter than i know myself to usually be...strange. i miss playing and shouting. but it will come.
this place is beautiful
and i realized quickly that the grass is always greener somewhere else,
some waxier dream,
i am confused by having free time, no deadlines, self-managed tasks,
by having no projects i am heading up,
no zines underway,
only holes to dig, apples to cut, fences to fix, bunnies to pet;
i find myself missing theatre, graffitied walls, (structure?), good friends,
find myself struggling to feel joyful to be alive in a new way, without comfort or easy laughter or touching souls or everything shared,
aching sometimes, breathing deep sometimes,
opening myself to be affected by the people around me deeply, to cut away the shame that it is so easy to walk in with
without knowing i bore it.
remembering how to start.
remembering how to surface.
remembering to speak what i have come to assume...
i meditate everyday and feel glad to be alive and have a working body.
and as i begin to see how things developed here, i am not so ashamed of not being an expert,
not so stressed about soaking up everything--this place grows slowly, i am growing slowly here,
rhizomes tenatively crawling out, leaves not too withered and
i meet friendly soil. there are baos and games
there is curiosity and suddening into large questions,
there are parched awkward moments but there is plenty of food and roof and blankets to go around.
things do not stop in me, they start--
love does not stop, it starts--
a place can not be everything, but it is a home for now.

Friday, September 24, 2010

moments from the first eight days

tonight i am weary...spend hours picking dusty-shiny red apples (and ate too many)
so for now here are some pictures of my world from the past few days.
i am finding a rhythm, drawing and yoga-ing and making bread,
working on digging this big square hole and gardening and feeding the bunnies.
there is much silence here, and some storytelling. things are slowly busy.
we have in abundance: carrots, soft white wheat flour, apples, pears, goat milk/cheese/yogurt, cucumbers, kale, chicken eggs, buckets, giant plastic containers that smell like chocolate hydrowhey or mint syrup.
my body is glad to be here, glad to be working and moving and lifting,
to be strong,

IMG_0123
my new friends are in a constant cuddle pile.

IMG_0114
my other new friends!

IMG_0118
my new human friends slaughtering chickens...i degutted one. strange, beautiful, fragile, strong, confusing, wearying.

IMG_0116
my househome, named "opus"...decorated within with bandannas and the smell of lemongrass and a pile of mango chili lollipops.

peasant 9-23
bread! i just discovered vital wheat gluten which, since we mill all our flour here (from soft white winter wheat and hard red winter wheat), is all whole wheat...and all whole wheat flour makes a dense (delicious) bread. more experiments with refrigerated dough (an alternative to kneading...i'm reading this breadbook by hertzberg & francois) in the works.

sarah proposed putting up a dreamwall-piece-of-paper.
ethan prefers nonverbal communication and is thinking about making pine needle soup.
we talk about when we were stoners and "sustainability" and derrick jensen.
still,
there are half cigarettes and
lots of toast
and lots of hellos and goodbyes
and talking about dreams in the morning.
Sitting in the shed at the front of the property, looking out over the orchard (figs, bloody peaches, apples) with the eucalyptus trees, hills, and spotless blue sky in the background. It's funny how ingrained in city life most of us are (most of my life was) that such a simple description of where I'm living now can sound all bucolic and charming.

Yesterday my alarm woke me at 5:30. Half of my dome is transparent so I'm always conscious of the light outside, and it was definitely still completely dark. Courageously rolled out from under my down comforter, did a headstand to get the blood rushing, and stumbled out of my dome to check the water tanks down the hill. My dome is the Far Dome, named informatively for being way the fuck out there in the middle of the woods, next to the spring which supplies the property with most of its water. After guessing the water level based on the sound the rock makes as I hit it against the side of the tank, I guessed my way along the steep up-and-down path to the yurt, losing my way in the dark on deceptive racoon or deer paths and sliding back among the fallen leaves to scope out the right way. Twenty minutes later I've made it to the yurt and the sky is more blue than black. Make myself some almond-butter raspberry oatmeal, brush my teeth, and go out to the garden for the morning's instructions. Yesterday was the first harvest (fall equinox, full moon), and so we stood under the greenhouse for hours de-leafing , our fingers numb in the morning cold. Finally the sun comes up and we move to yellow-leafing, sticking our faces into the fragrant plants, trying not to get our fingers too sticky.

After the lunch break we helped clean up the house and collect flowers for the harvest party. We're overwhelmed with an abundance of zuchinni, so I made zuchinni bread and zuchinni baba ghanoush for the party while the boys and Felicia harvested ducks. Various friends of Adrian and Felicia's came up from around mendocino county and nevada city, and we enjoyed good wine and food from the land.

I feel blessed to have found this spot-- my little white dome was already stocked with firewood when I showed up, so I'll be warm all winter. I can farm, breathe in eucalyptus, work with plants, and get paid for it. I successfully chopped my first piece of firewood the other day; and though there were no repeated successes, I'm confident that I'll keep learning. There's a funny mix of folks here: Adrian and Felicia who own the land, have a big house with buffalo skins and tribal carpets at the top of the hill, and are both incredibly knowledgeable about farming; Shane, our sweet carpenter, Dave, a really hard worker who shows his good heart by teasing incessantly (oh, azya, I heard you're gonna be making us all french toast every morning), Tim and Kayla, both quiet and productive, who went to liberal arts-y schools and then turned farmers, and Kate--- silly dancer masseuse and fierce firewood chopper. She showed me the form for girls (or smaller people) to chop wood-- sweep the axe up and around and bend your knees while bringing it down on the log.

I'm trying to figure out a rhythm here where I can have the energy to do yoga, read, and write while also doing heavy physical labor and keeping myself nourished (and walking home at night!) It's also an abrupt shift to be in a different social environment. Last night everyone talked about farming, past experiences, mutual friends--- and of course I'm out of the loop. I got used to feeling so comfortable in social situations in Chicago and at burning man, and now I'm reminded of my shy, introspective self. But parties are rare here. I want to focus on the land, learning about the plants, becoming observant to pests and animal tracks, harvesting wild herbs.

More thoughts on the culture of mendocino county to come. For now

1. Eating local is a passion.
2. Ruffles are in style.

Live and learn.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

A little piece of Az/rolipolioli/AnastasiaB, circa 2008

Anthropophagy friends, enemies, fiends, and anemones is the lecture I embalm upon thee this Thursday (a word deriving from the day of Thunor or Thor) evening as cold descends in its evil coat riding on its supple goat yet again. You may well know of Hannibal and Silent Lambs but you do not know the actual term for what explodes your moral insides--- our subject here, anthropophagy, i.e the act of humans eating fellow humans i.e. yum yum Johnny Rocket or yum yum Johnny’s Rocket. Anthropophagy, from the ancient Greek, is first seen mentioned in 1632 as condemned by John Featley. Previous

“I wish I could set teeth in the middle of his liver and eat it.”

records however show a different view. Anthropophagy was cited as Universal before Orpheus, who condemned meat-eating: chicken, worm, turkey, cow, and human equally

highly because all animals have souls and may be reincarnations of former human beings, i.e. the chicken sandwich you gobble in one gulp contains the now chemically processed soul of one of your ancestors. So much for that.

Now I wish to be etymologically clear with the terms in question. Anthropophagy is made up of meaningful morphemes…“anthro” meaning, does anyone know?, yes human or man and “anothropo”, anyone?, man-eating. The more vulgar and popularized term you must be familiar with, “cannibalism,” is a product of the gullibility of one of the beloved heroes we are reminded of once a year when we take the day off. It derives from a corruption of the word “Carib;” a peoples from the Caribbean islands who were falsely pigeonholed as man-eaters in some rival-driven gossipery between Colombus and one of the Carib’s neighboring

I want to rip his lice in half with my teeth”

tribes. Keep in mind he was also told he would soon encounter one-eyed ogres and man-eating men with dog muzzles.

“suck his eyeballs like live gum drops”

Stay aware, boys and girls, such creatures may lurk in the dusky caves of Mesoamerica. Thus, we should abandon this word “cannibal” and its fictitious roots and hold up the torch of truth, beauty,

“before sunset your flesh shall be my roast meat”

and scientific inquiry to light our way as we unfold those remnants of Plato whose power we crumble against, the dark shadows obscuring knowledge. When the Japanese invaded Britain in the 5th century CE they were horrified by the conditions they found; men roasting each other’s limbs on spittoons while wearing purple nylons for preservation of moisture. The industrial revolution

The savory veal-like taste of the muscles”

was put off at least 14 centuries by this practice which decimated the ranks of the social superstructure. The end of the world would have undoubtedly come

“peeling the belly skin to reveal oily fat beneath”

in the 8th century due to the ferocious child of industry,

“then dicing it into half-inch cubes with half a teaspoon of salt sprinkled over the bunch”

global warming had not cannibalism propogated what you, my friends, term continuous

barbarism. Comrades, boys and girls, cannibalism, or some force that is equally good-tasting, is our only hope! Rather than eat Mother Earth let us turn to our human brothers for sustenance!