"shifting the emotional center" r. creeley

i lint rolled Brad today, worked on William T. Wiley clocks and a UV printed John Yau book.

anyway, i am looking to move back and forth from two emotional fields. the point is to keep one's eyes open, to be attentive to reality, and the self amidst it, for as long as humanly possible.

and to be as human as possible.

Don't throw a fit:

If real love doesn't fit you like a glove

on my mind

hasselblad 501cm
hasselblad 503cm
wista 45 dx
toyo 45cf field camera
leica m6
strange strange still lives
albino fruit
spaghetti strap sun dress
really cheap living
hunger

picasso's mistresses

olga khoklova
marie-therese walter
dora maar

last week i made granola for martha stewart. today i spotted chuck close's self portrait and his portrait of brad pitt in tapestry form. today was day one at http://www.magnoliaeditions.com/.

....How well i related to Syndrome and a Century... and how unbelievably moved i feel after watching it just now- there is something new? Very layered. And it is strangely Thailand in the way I, a part american, remember it.

Religion, memory, love, understanding your lineage? Oh I can't wait to see Apichatpong Weerasethakul's other films.





Brother and I went to big sur for the night. Much too cloudy to be shouted at by the stars. We did the Andrew Molera Loop, about ten miles and without water for the first 2 until we ran into Dharmesh. He saved us with his water and his tortilla chips and with a lot of art mentoring wisdom. We slept outside next to our fire and slept in a V-shape to share the pillow i remembered to bring (and the pillow he forgot to bring). he played ukulele and i embroidered my initials in the dark on a new bag i like.

c.d. wright

Every year the poem I most want to write, the poem that would in effect allow me to stop writing, changes shapes, changes directions. It refuses to come forward, to stand still while I move to meet it, embrace and coax it to sit on the porch with me and watch the lightning bugs steal behind the fog’s heavy veil, listen for the drag of johnboats through the orchestra of locusts and frogs. An old handplow supports the mailbox, a split-rail fence borders the front lot. Hollyhocks and sunflowers loom there. At the end of the lot the road forks off to the left toward the river, to the right toward the old chicken slaughterhouse. The poem hangs back, wraithlike, yet impenetrable as briar. The porch is more impressive than the rest of the house. A moth as big as a girl’s hand spreads itself out on the screendoor. The house smells like beets. For in this poem it is always Arkansas, summer, evening. But in truth, the poem never sleeps unless I do, for if I were to come upon it sleeping, I would net it. And that would be that, my splendid catch.

i've been fairly depressed for who knows how long. definitively this week, but most likely longer.

i've been biding my time... meanwhile there is a lot of couch investment these days. my description will sound leisurely and productive, but it's at that slow-depressed-pace while reading octavio paz, writing to emma, researching exhibitions i can submit to, and watching really bad indie dramas that i fast forward just so i can see the ending at least. it's suppose to get rid of the anxiety i have about getting out of this cage. the rambling bug, you could say. but also the deep deep desire to be in something worthwhile, neck deep. i am working towards it. i have so much anxiety that i am going to start meditating tomorrow morning before work so i can feel peace, or just no anxiety. i mostly sway back on forth on what i should be doing. i'm too comparative, i know this.

i just wrote to emma about how is it right to bag up what i really want to do? i don't think it is. it keeps jumping at me, but the economy is so goddamn bad. can you believe it? it's so real.

i sigh a lot these days, eat a lot of home made (fancy looking) pizza, and i sleep just 5 hours every work night. at least z's amazing grandparents are in town.

i can't remember who said it anymore, but there are people who are good beginners and then there are people who are good at middles. i think i am always a beginner.

a serious mtn. of salt

sister sleepover. hot dog style with dyna in between her and i.

i've been dreaming for a months and week's about the cargill salt factory i drove by. greg and i visited their salt stacks and morton's salt's salt stacks yesterday. not too friendly of people, but potentially good pictures. lots of palm trees! the most salt i've ever seen in my entire life. how cool is that?


haagan-daz honey vanilla ice cream not that good. peaches, really good.

to john ashbery by frank o'hara

I can’t believe there’s not
another world where we will sit
and read new poems to each other
high on a mountain in the wind.
You can be Tu Fu, I’ll be Po Chu-i
and the Monkey Lady’ll be in the moon,
smiling at our ill-fitting heads
as we watch snow settle on a twig.
Or shall we be really gone? this
is not the grass I saw in my youth!
and if the moon, when it rises
tonight, is empty —a bad sign,
meaning ‘You go, like the blossoms.’