this is what we have. this is all we have.

the game:
at any time, someone can call the beginning of the game by pulling something out of their pocket and proclaiming, "this is what we have. this is all we have." then everyone else proceeds to take everything out of their pockets, bags, fanny packs, etc. and hold each item up, one by one, saying "this is what we have. this is all we have."

these are the tools of my life:
red-handled knife, often dirty, often dull, and sharpener
a black sharpie
white greasepaint and gold powder
a lighter
cell phone, beeping
slightly glamorous earring which doubles as a toothpick or last-minute gift
masking tape for decoration and minor emergencies and securing poultices
red and white water bottle i got from a bin in ashland for a dollar
lemon balm tincture from the wolf house
bandanna, any color
pouch of tobacco

it would be nice to have a fork, too.

in other news,
it is frosty here at versailles! this past month-moon-cycle has been a steady stream of transformations big and small and guests. after samhain, i quit my job and worked my last two weeks at the residential treatment center. fox went back to work and carrot strolled into our lives as a new housemate-subletter along with their two chihuahua-creatures, potato and kinikinick. the rest of the acorns fell and the leaves continued to drop, the daylight hours starting to fly by, and when i came back from the bay this weekend the mornings are 24, 25 degrees and those white jagged outlines and sparkling nights and mornings are whisperin the coming of winter.

we have begun having fires most every day which means splitting wood and scheming about getting more wood. the cold keeps us orbiting around the wood stove and goose, who has been living in the south wing, is moving out and toward another house or perhaps seattle, bike mechanic work and other family dreams. we got our little car starting more reliably and something started leaking, so she's out of commission again. the deer have eaten all of our kale and broccoli down to the stems but left the wong bok and cabbages untouched. i have a lot to learn about gardening, and the deers' appetites and easy leaps over the fence have been one clear and painful lesson.

soon, tomorrow, i will plant garlic, a bit late but not too late i hope. we got a few varieties from avram, a friend and garlic farmer nearby. i am reading more, a biography of isadora duncan, and getting excited about winter scholarship and dancing too and garden planning again. i am so on fire about performing and making creative work, toward wild theatre and a dance-theatre of rewilding, art emergent from living with the land.

and, good night!

here's a little piece of crap i wrote on a piece of paper when i was in a car a couple weeks ago.............
driving through Santa Barbara oh my gosh
so much yucky California
whiteness sunshiney pueblos palms,
the sunshine here poisons,
it rots, spoils the heart
with entitlement
and self-satisfaction
fermenting

I'm not bitter,
I'm pissed.
that all these motherfucking white people
look at this land and see paradise--
sun, salt, surf, tanlines, SUVs,
colonial walks,

This state, and all it promises,
a sick joke,
only made more disturbing
by its reality
---------------------------=============+++-

back in oregon now and indeed my California Cough is gone... plagued me for weeks.!
im here in portland feeling as uninspired the likes of which i have not felt in months,
wtf? why am i here?
i am bleeding,
bleeding as of last night,
i find that my emotional template during these weeks (these irregular, when are you where are you i need you blood when when, weeks) shifts to joylessness
ugh
i dont even know what i stand on
i have not danced because it is winter, because people like to dance at night and i like to sleep with the sun
that is my excuse
this life does not work,
the life of living in a kitchen and listening to music, dancing singing,
getting on the computer to look for homes,
and getting sad
nope nope nope
when i see wy'east (mt hood)
or the moon moon
look at me from over there i say
hey
what?
oh
fuck





can i please be grounded enough to speak to this person from my gut
to be here with my heart
and say hi

and can i also be crazy fucked up enough
to glue feathers to my ass
strap on my heels
and burrow into the soil?

on the occasion of winter solstice

Pain Thinks of Addressing the Body

As you tear down the frozen
stalks, as you rake over the garden,

as you drain the fountain,
and at night, listening for the small

shapes of animals lunging
through snow--

you are not thinking of paradise.
Like you, I endure

as the season you love endures,
radiant and frozen.

- from "the fork without hunger" by laurie lamon