mugged by the muggy

it's been awhile--

my skin's a little browner, my tummy a little emptier, my room a little messier, a couple projects finished, a new couple projects in utero, my thoughts tumbling around like damp clothes in this broken-dryer-wet heat,

in the mornings, i stumble out of my bed (sort of like sheets left on the floor of a sauna) and put on the minimals and walk to the lake. so the first apprehension of my day is engineered, clear--i count to ten before i can dunk myself into the icy water. then i take a deep breath and count to ten again. and then i breathe for a little while. and then i dive--

this morning i sat on the porch swing with my coffee

and noticed a tiny spider hanging on a web
between the ropes of the swing

she must have built that home last night
while i dreamed of clay bodies

while no one was watching, she began to wait

and i watched her crawl around and didn't want to ruin the intimacy

(the promise of my silence, our tacit agreement that our shared story would turn out a particular way, that is,

enduring)

i didn't want to break our moment
by being the one to point out that

her home couldn't stay there,
that her home would be folded in upon itself

within the hour.
(and then that i might be the one to do it, to undercut
the optimistic fantasy that drove her to create a home.)

the man who supports the weight of his white crippled dog as they walk through the ally walked through the ally with his dog. the biker who lives in the house with the garden rolled his bike out, strapped on his helmet, and squinted at his watch. a car-driver in a car drove by. things went as they do, the listeners listening and the coffee-drinkers drinking their coffee and the bikers biking and the wakers waking and the sleepers sleeping.

LB wrote, "'i didn't think it would turn out this way' is the secret epitaph of intimacy."

(and i wonder, how do i change my living to avoid that--

not to say cynically, authoritatively "i knew it would turn out like this,"

but to think that in our intimacy, nothing is sure or promised or forever,

and this is okay and good and beautiful because it is)--

and to the spider, what i might have wished i could say was:
"i'm sorry i cannot be seduced by your web
but my aesthetics of attachment are not careful enough
for us to flourish together. it doesn't have to make sense."
but the quietude was tempting and i intimated with my breath
...it doesn't have to make sense.

last week my brother was here, what a quiet charming fresh young mind,

we adventured around and i felt my spirit of adventure returning,

to the MCA to live on metal mobile islands, biking, bäoing, sitting by the lake,

a sip of a beer is an illicit transgressive simple delight,

the world is not so hard, it is good, and the days flow by filled with ideas that are sometimes followed through till completion and sometimes the sketches are left behind.

and these days have been days of making and unmaking,

tinctures pickles lentils paintings drawings beginnings plans truths quietudes stories bread zines

promises obligations burdens annoyances aspirations falseness messes stresses desires pressures expectations stories bread zines

i'm finding great satisfaction in these small projects which have become daily rituals, and though sometimes the process is painful the reward is always great. i am content being alone and together, quiet in groups, fermenting and bubbling in my desires and allowing them to slowly unwind as i bike up, down, back, forth, through the prairie and the froth and the broken-dryer-air.

for now, that's all. i'm thriving on air and memories and presents and futures and glasses of water and icy mornings and the sparest of intimacies and the occasional loaf of hot hot bread.

this is really what i wanted to post about today

last night asia and i biked up, late but committed, to daley plaza and met up with our critical mass bikebuddies--thousands and thousands (or so) bikers. what a sight! as we rode, first falling foot to foot and then speeding down hills and up bridges, chicago turned to watch. all along the route, people came out of their houses-apartments-businesses and waved and smiled when we yelled "happy friday!" and the cars honked and waved and gave high fives. all those cars sitting and waiting, waiting for the parade of bikers to hand the roads back over. (most of the cars were complicit except one car that hit a bike!)

when we stopped for an orange/cigarette/conversation, we watched the bikesnake slither through. (perhaps a manytentacled wheely squid?) then rode hard hard to catch up, ending up at 31st beach and just as we climbed up into the lifeguard chair to smoke a j, the blinking blaring band of bikes rode into the beach. what a sight.

if you haven't ridden critical mass, i encourage you to. (it's the last friday of each month and they meet at daley plaza downtown.) i feel much fonder of my bikealike, a sense of community with other bikes...and damn, almost as if i have a right to ride on the roads aside those fucking nasty semi trucks, SUVs, and more harmless breeds of gasdragons. i couldn't stop smiling.

and that feeling (the seeds of revolution) made me think of bukkaka and this very blog. hmmmmmmyeah!

at present, i'm trying to wriggle around in my skin a little, find my feet and gulp down some deep breaths...that is, alone with the cats in the house, smoking and listening to music and putzing (as my mother would say). still reeling-bathing in the glory of the wind on my face and the honking-WAHHH in my ears from yesterday night. it's inspired me to bike around more, bike more, bike everywhere.

summupance

an update:
welcome to meghan/m.t.raptor to this box of bundling and bed of buddiness.

tonight i sprouted
and flew.
biking [in the rain] is so good (, even if it's down 55th street.)

my buddy sav is moving to washington d.c. it is strange to see a buddy diasporating. maybehopefully she will join the blog.

tonight is full of swirls
the baohaus is dark and full of cats.
and me.

love to all who are here and elsewhere.
a