is this a poem or the release of a full bladder
after several long bouts of intoxication?

the pressure builds
the feeling is urgent, i catch myself running
to sit, split my mouth and let the confetti fly out

confetti this time, really?
one comes to expect the soft toulle of a garment
or waves like an ocean
perhaps music
i always hope for a little music

it funnies me too
the shades that emerge
in the splinters of glitter
blue then green then something i've never seen before
something that either scares me or draws me in closerrrr
it's always a fine line
a thin gloss
a look then a turn
a wink then a high tail

it's not that i don't trust you, dear friend
you and i know better than that
we've shared the same skin
the same heart
the same passion and pulse
it's been exciting, blessed be it is true
it's just the surprises that exist behind every corner
the surprises that kick scream jump
behind
every
corner

like this one
this small moment of reflection, of expansive sight
is a surprise
i sit now in my helicopter hovering
my bubble for one floating high in the sky
catching light on my glassy globe
marveling at its fancy
making love to the blue
cooing like a kitten
looking & seeing so far
in so many directions

and maybe it's not a surprise
these soft times, they come at the same time every year
every season, every hour
like the autumnal part of the day when the wind quiets
and the leaves drop
and you walk with no rush admiring each fallen gem
remembering its life
before trying to figure out what cool craft you'll make with it during the winter

mossy nests of nostalgia they are
nostalgia of paris, nostalgia of norway
nostalgia of farms and giggling creeks
and the lacy shadows of trees on a cool, wet path
nostalgia of walking into the golden embrace of a rustic kitchen
like the natural museum of a garden
with your lover there to meet you
to laugh with you
to spill flour and rub noses
a home that never quite felt like home
nostalgia, nostalgia, you prankster nostalgia

on second thought:
i adore you nostalgia
you hold on only to what is true
that home was really a home at times
if only for those split seconds that resonate through time
to now

they serve as arrows and road markers to the truth we are building
the trick is in trusting
the trick is in biting the bait
see,
i nibble fantasies with my morning fruit
i sip fairy tales for lunch
i know now what really feeds me
i have tasted the stuff of dreams and i know it is real
i look for it everywhere

look for the child with paint on its face
mud in its toes
the world in its hair
eyes,, the mirror reflection of a mirror
and skin the gift of 24 long summers

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

at the madison infoshop

so geez i guess ive been in madison for three-and-a-half weeks now and haven't written anything on this here blog.
in the begnning i collected little sentences/snippets in my mind to share with you all: "i live in a home without keys" "both of the toilet flushers are sticky" "i have a carpet in my bedroom" "i don't want to assume that i can just absorb clint's friendships by association" "i have a door i have a door i have a door what do i do with this thing"

anyway but now that sort of amazement of the difference of mundanities is fading. except for every time clint says "bag" i still can't believe the wisconsin accent exists. (you should have heard my reaction to "snaggletooth"! he seriously said "snaeggle tooth" wow so cool!). my muscles have grown accustomed to the 3-block long hill i climb every day to get to school. I'm used to how still and beautiful my house looks with the white day light streaming through the red curtains and the hundreds of hankies hanging from the ceiling. the garden keeps on growing. flowers turn to squash turn to dinner. this house is so beautiful you guys. i can't wait for some of you to see it. (whoever comes, that is)

so my madison legs are growing you see. i dont feel as rootless, as vulnerable. the people i meet/have met are interesting/ed, friendly, supportive.

z:"guys, i really don't know about this kichadi, i think i fucked up. i think it's gonna be boring."
c:"you're doin it, you're doin it. at least you fucked up authoritatively and with confidence."
clint's comment made me realize i would never have done that until recently (past 2 months or so..."since india" i guess.) I am appreciated for what I bring to the home... no-knead bread, sweet oatmeal, banana bread, silly cartoons, the butt game (& "up your butt"), an appreciation of sphincters in general, dancing and singing, and a desire to live in the public communal space.
the roost enriches and supports the faux op, and i know when i return to chicago the faux op will nourish me there. i've introduced many roostisms: certain faces (maybe you know the one in particular to which i refer-- teeth out, nom nom), certain reports (fake chastising and self-deprecation). oh and BAO!
baos here at the faux op sound slightly different-- a little more like a dog's song. more at the front of the mouth. i find myself baoing much more here than in hyde park, though it's been less and less this past week. my first weeks here i couldn't stop. it was a home-noise. it made me feel comfortable & expressive when riding my bike, walking into and around the house...
===================
hours later, at home, i'm trying to finish up this post. i had so much more to write about, where did it all go? i am rolling and smoking cigarettes here, so that's a newish thing.

oh yes yes, the rain is coming, i hear it coming down. i live on a busy street, i hear the cars rolling by. i hear the folky acousticy music noah is playing downstairs in the lab where he grows mushrooms. oh rain.
i have been sleeping in the front room here. I don't like walking into my room at night and lying on my big empty mattress and closing the door (well, the door stays open). i dont like the sanctioning of space as mine. most of the time. it makes masturbating a lot easier than in the roost (wow. that was complicated, or at least obnoxious.)
though i have decorated the walls with little pieces of nice paper, reminding me of people and places. it all seems too quaint, too discreet.

so i sleep in the front room on a futon, usually after staying up too late talking and reading watership down with clint. a detrimental habit for both of us, as we wake up around 7:30 and make oatmeal and coffee and talk some more.
and then i go to hindi class. hours of sitting down in a grey room in a grey building with tiny 1-foot wide windows, talking about india. weird. but i have made some buddies there and like the social atmosphere very much.
it's time for me to write 10 sentences using the past-participle-adjectival construction ("the came-from-school boys"), and then drink some tea/tinctures and fall asleep.
I look forward to welcoming those of you who are in chicago into my home soon. july 16th to be exact. if you are hesitant to take a break from chicago, or feel busy... just give madison a chance. we can go biking to an old-growth campsite and look at STARS (so many stars) and stencil, garden, make food, bike around, go swimming, go to a local microbrew's beer tasting (every friday 4 to 7 at star liquors), etc etc. lots of fun lovely people await just 150 miles north!
love
-zee

if it's heads it's love, tails is trauma

fluorescent light bulbs are weird, I mean I know they are going to solve the environmental apocalypse (smirk giggle fart), but their light riles me up, stops my heart when I notice, draws attention towards stark red imperfections. It is artificial, nasty, ubiquitous, I I I refuse to adopt them as beacons of sustainability dammit I'd rather this room be soft and if we can't see each other by candlelight then... forget the eyes. I'd rather taste your elbows any day.

In the living room of the bao, my mind categorically refusing to shed more light (automatized metaphors, harumph) on totalitarianismmythsofimaginedcommunitiesthestatusofbeliefdrybodilyfluidsemptinessnowait imeankenosis

I want the fluorescent lightbulbs to turn into the sun, and not just any sun but the sun rising over the waterfall in serra velha perfectly, randomly timed to my sun salutes... and then, yeah, my mind will expel the speed, coffee, and command to IDENTIFY PROBLEMS, CHARACTERIZE ANTI-MEANING, FOCUS focus billions of lenses that are all, after all, metaphorical. No real camera, no real rocks to observe over centuries (who will be there to click the shutter?), rocks that catch the sunlight and paint fuzziness over the edges of my brain. Did I leave those behind in Brazil?

Remember: yoga is an excellent replacement for sex. And maybe the breathing exercises of Wilhelm Reich awaken that same serpent to rise up through our centers and fill us with satisfying, shaky inner warmth like gin like coitus like return to a person that you love. I....love to love and to affirm love, and it's ok if you can't say the same thing back in words, but just don't call it painful, don't insist that it's obscene.

Remember: breath, body, banana trees.

Dismember: truth

remember: meaning and seeds and (az, don't judge) smiles