Daphnis

Number one dad holiday mug. Friends who give us back to ourselves!

decision to leave (diet dew)

I am thinking about when Ram Dass had dessert. I am thinking about those things our teachers know without our telling. About a friend translating me live into Mandarin, and another friend: how extra that must have been. About those wishes sworn silently in hearts and great imperceptible voids. Especially cavernous in the cold moon thaw. There is nothing much to fill them. Yet. Waiting on the impossible. Open maps and gypsum minds. Tap tap hollow.

Are you empty or full. A question to ask always. 

Morningstar

This morning after one of those nights of half-sleep you could easily call fitful I woke up and thought, but indeed I am one of those princesses of 72nd St. Why should I always be denying / couching / on the run from that fact. Well but also, I am not. Many things like. It's difficult to explain the leaving amid the missing. 

Stupid space rocks

Fancy famous visiting artist (American, finally!) liked my stupid moldy bread space rocks, even took one with him. Told me about screen goo and his dead Philly psychic. A win for the week. 

Shirleys

Picking up The Great Fire again on plane and as always, when traveling (this time, to coincide with its accompanying a suddenly remembered writing piece), I feel the sudden loss of the early and interim years of young woman "development" on which the book comments. How they went by so quickly, and what did I do with them, and so much to do yet. One true perfect novel, perfect albeit of course pocked by its times. And with such face holes, a novel of “still…” By a Shirley to channel, mimic; a narration not conceived but induced. 

Bookmarking Ava’s Zen. She says: I think if you find yourself enjoying a moment, tell yourself “no teaching for the next hour.” You can then be student of the moment.

Smoke

More coffee photo thinking. To interpret and reinterpret. Reliance on external metrics. A friend searches for the word, Oracle, they say. Simple as that. I think this one is the individual and the unit. Or, with the suggestion of a smoke plume, one and then a few in mohawked succession, a journey by train. 

To see the world, however piecemeal, however hesitant, if only to understand in what are you participating. 

Andersson

Concerning Madeline Andersson’s film exhibition Degenerative Knowledge Production (Overgaden): if we are talking about ‘mind’ we are already behind. Or as my teacher said in a deleted tweet: The simulation is ending and an even more sinister one is beginning. Yet you have a powerful opportunity to exit altogether [sp.] Don't get distracted or you will miss the signs. The best anyone can do is help you find the door. But when it opens make sure you know what to do. Or as my friend said last night: too much thinking here (taps head), not enough here (heart)...

To be the lioness

Others seeking my approval for a change. Should I go on this date. Should the work be hung this way. Should I continue writing but that I contradict myself. Funny when it gets colder I can taste it more my happenstance companion at the specialty coffee Copenhagen cafe says regarding our fancy pour-overs. He doesn’t say this to me. I love all that transpires through approximations and speech across. Which is the fact of our times and loving this being what makes me an artist of them, I suppose. If that is enough. Since, some people say, it isn’t quite in the work. A matter of deduction, in all senses of the word. He is a regular there and can afford the coffee, in my case it’s merely that I can’t figure this currency out. And to not converge further. But he is correct, yes. However warm and rounded and smoothed I am in face and voice I do somehow try or naturally seem to maintain a cool so as to be more, sense more, eventually play and feel more. First equanimous. And then robust, that coffee term.

wordles

Things were happening out of order. For instance, a practicing of evil speech was preceded by its supposed effects of logistical disaster and emotional suffering. That is perhaps a retrograde's truer meaning—a going backwards that does not begin with but only ends in Word.