In Brief, 2025: On Your/My Behalf
December 18, 2025
I do not abandon you without grief. You are not at fault. You were made how you were made. You’ve always done, simply, what you know. … More In Brief, 2025: On Your/My Behalf
Tag: grief
In Brief, 2024: No Te Escucho
December 18, 2024
I like how obscure this year’s post has become. It is maybe more showing than telling. It is also both narrative and not. This is how my life feels right now, and this ending of 2024 leaves me in the very place my notebook ends: with blank pages, with the last entry its own, crossed-out void. … More In Brief, 2024: No Te Escucho
In Brief, 2023: Suggestions
December 18, 2023
And what better modes of suggestion than art or direct protest, both borne through our ability to use the imagination, where the rules of even kindness break down, where power is bewildered and navigation, endless. Where the ways of living out one’s life stun the status quo. … More In Brief, 2023: Suggestions
Moonbox Notes #12: Febrero 2023
February 20, 2023
…the memory became a limb of fate, an oracle of time possibly repeating itself. Patrick and I were at the start of a long road trip, on some highway in southern Idaho. We left the pullout on the side of the road and stopped at the first restaurant we came upon, a small diner. I think I ordered pancakes. I think we held hands across the table. It was also nearly Patrick’s 30th birthday. Happy birthday, no one lives forever anyway. … More Moonbox Notes #12: Febrero 2023
In Brief, 2022: The Pangs of Our Hope
December 18, 2022
I suppose the reality-check is thus: I am more than the drama or the pain and I am even more than a truthseeker or a supporter of justice. I am also mundane. Giddy. At times complacent. Full of fantasies. I fail at simple, unentertaining things. The first thing I do in the morning is boil water. … More In Brief, 2022: The Pangs of Our Hope
In Brief, 2021: What the Brain Does
December 18, 2021
perhaps this is what happens every time I press a key on the piano. A string pulls sound toward itself. I press a finger to pull sound into me. I keep the memory of tones, of grandparents, of parents, of time itself. I keep and I keep and I keep. Perhaps keeping is what ages us, compels us to evade or ignore what we can no longer pull. … More In Brief, 2021: What the Brain Does
In Brief, 2020: Child Again
December 18, 2020
My dreams were full of poetry and strange wisdom this year. Lines would appear from the landscape, like “the water that baskets me full,” or “chasing questions in a manner of patience is the same as chasing the journey.” My dreams also foretold death. … More In Brief, 2020: Child Again
From the Journal: Matters of Being
July 23, 2019
Waves of distraction. Eye contact avoidance? Why does consciousness require/benefit from ritual? Does nature (beyond us) engage in ritual?
“I just want people to remember that we are nature…to contemplate: when do we become the tea?” … More From the Journal: Matters of Being
From the Journal: Earth and Survival
April 20, 2019
I can’t see them, but surely they are playing and happy with life. Yipping. Like I’ve stuck my head into a creek and am hearing the little stones gurgle and roll. … More From the Journal: Earth and Survival
Saguaros and The Art of Time
February 11, 2019
It is the saguaro that tethers its roots to the stones and it is me that runs over them. We are each with instinct and duty for life and yet I do not belong here. … More Saguaros and The Art of Time
From the Journal: Dampened
October 18, 2018
Grief is personal knowledge. We didn’t need to understand. We read the way the poems shaped her shoulders against the white slopes, or the way her head bowed after each one — starting with the chin and ending with the eyelids. Snowflakes dusted her hair and dampened her hands. She’d wipe them against her pants or against her reddening cheeks and she slowly dampened, too, unraveling there in the morning glow. … More From the Journal: Dampened
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