It's alright to cry, crying gets the sad out of you!

i wish it were a joke
but this year, that is 2012, has been a bumper year for awful (mostly situational)
i would like to say, inelegantly, eloquently
i'm having a terrible time

but i cried and cried and cried on the phone
about my deep down, bone threaded awful
and i said like a thousand things that didn't make any sense
mostly about how i feel unappreciated, which now, I guess, makes sense
and now i feel sort of okay, y'all

do you remember when we had shame day?
and everybody put their faces in the chopped onion to make themselves cry?
and it was sort of hilarious/great?
slight nervous breakdowns and thanksgivings are different
but hey!
it's alright to cry!
it'll make you feel floaty and nice and the words will come tumbling out and you don't have to listen, you just have to talk and maybe you'll know something you didn't before.

midnight mooning, here's the list

1. woah, it's going to be okay!
2. "you should know that even though all things are liberated and not tied to anything, they abie in their own phenomenal expression." (Dōgen--this is actually very comforting to me)
and
3. "as for cities--they are (to those who can see) old tree trunks, riverbed gravels, oil seeps, landslide scrapes, blowdowns and burns, the leavings after floods, coal colonies, paper-wasp nests, beehives, rotting logs, watercourses, rock-cleavage lines, ledge trata layers, guano heaps, feeding fenzies, courting and strutting bowers, lookout rocks, ad ground-squirrel apartments. and for a few people they are also palaces." (gary snyder in the practice of the wild which i am reading and really enjoying right now)
4. idleness and mystery and stillness and the full moon and curiosity are so important. i am stepping off my ambiguity pedestal and toward desire and fire and water and the steam and smoke where they meet and walking mountains and being on the internet at midnight seeing my memories and loves and desires reflected back in a thousand tabs--oh silly but sometimes true-feeling this tool of the modern world, of our increasingly visible subconsciousnesses--i believe in german transqueer radical radio and rilke and bread and work and magic and new tattoos across knowing flesh and pain and slowness and quickness.
5. things have been rough lately and often hard. in a knowingly privileged and marginally unstable kind of way.
6. of place: wood floors. the altar moved to the next room over. it is night and the neighbors are doing some kind of loud popping project in the garage and talking about race on their porch. the walls are red and i ate a tiny plum that dropped from the tree in our front yard. there is an herb spiral and kale plants and lots of tomato blossoms. the cherries are dropping in neighboring blocks and yarrow in flower. raspberries are out, gold and red! and salmonberries! and strawberries too! and oregon grapes not too far (not that those are nearly as tasty but still). it has been sunny off and on, rainy occasionally, gray here and there often, warm but never quite hot per se, the doors are open here in the day and closed at night--it is chilly but i will sleep outside tonight.
7. STRANGERCAT i will write a poem about you soon.

off the off the of the

oh geez summer is shattering open in so many directions,
$10 in my checking account, kazoo in my pock-ette,
looking out over this garden, these red-hot poker flowers roses and hills of competing doug firs and cedars and white oaks and maples--
discomfort is a sign of a learning edge, a rich place to dig into
i love learning so i find myself on the edge of discomfort a lot.
the wind is singing and i'm learning to translate
for the fire's licks and the groaning of this dry red soil.
i've been around the siskiyous for the past month now, never thought i'd find myself in a place like this--this dry and brittle harbor, rich and seductive and secretive hills where craziness is an edge to dance along. we the firepeople waiting for the fire, scrambling strolling in this age of consuming forces and summer sun. getting downloads and uploads from the spirit channel; this land talks loudly in a thousand voices, a thousand thousand marrowed ancestors.
oh, to be a blade of grass. oh, to be a sharp knife. oh, to be an eagle chasing a rabbit--
for now.
back to portland tomorrow--more soon.