Wednesday, November 20, 2019

i have the consciousness of a little boy in a sixty year old body sometimes but what if i had the consciousness of lulu in a sixty year old man? it might be funny but probably not so funny if i jumped in some stranger's lap.
there was a girl all in black on the black bench i failed to see before lulu was on her lap. i apologized three times and she was very gracious and said it was ok they were just getting to know each other and she's very friendly while brushing dirt off her leggings. she's still a puppy, a manic boxer puppy girl. it's a lucky thing she's so adorable.
also concealed text, or hidden narrative. there inside one narrative, another, maybe generated by itself, or by the impetus of the cover narrative. in pictures even wordless. or combined pictures and words. the explicit is the shell of the implicit one narrative but partly secret. the secret expressed and concealed at once.

little mute boy.

why did the manufacturers of kids toys make these ones without mouths. i looked them up before but i can't remember. were there originally mouths that were wiped off with handling? i think they were manufactured mute. i found this in a house sale and it was found in the basement left by the previous inmates. i've talked to mister for ten years and he's communicated his world to me but he never has said a word. so impressed. 
but i wanted to get to a passage in axiomatic in before i return the book:
'some call sexual abuse "soul murder", it's a real destruction of a person's value and dignity,' paul valent says to me. 'generationally too, it interferes with love.' maria tumarkin, axiomatic.
there's a whole book, but i'll leave it and maybe you'll look into it. she goes on to mention joanne faulkner on children no longer in possession of their innocence, she says adults give up on them, she says it stops children participating in an ethical and civic life.
i think children can't rely on adults, and we have to let them go their way while we go ours. maybe we will meet again.
after all the holiday ghosts pass. they don't pass. but i still want to make a pause between thanksgiving and xmas which is only natural, the winter solstice and my birthday too. i deserve my own holiday, and i don't even mind if my birthday quietly passes like the light of the shortest day. i was sent away by divorce decree for patriarchal holiday too often. i know i'm a grownup now and i don't have to be sent away. but trauma makes it like the nine year old kid still cowers (and kicks) inside.
i begged off the family thanksgiving in favor of a quiet time with r. and p. it felt good to make the decision and to find my brother understanding. i want to float by xmas too and just light a candle for the solstice. to celebrate the dark season with calm and quiet. and my birthday, to fold it into the solstice like a hibernating animal. i can't hibernate like the wise animals but i can use my head and heart to make my waking hibernation. ingathering. 
now there are competing versions of the impeachment in the bedroom and the kitchen crossing the study. i don't know how this informs or deforms my post. like last night i heard bass voices in the apartment below and groaned thinking oh no please is it starting again? and i turned the kitchen faucet on and put in black earplugs and in a little while it was quiet. i've always been a light sleeper and porous. i've always been exquisitely vulnerable to influence. when i took the plugs out the sound stopped and i felt another relief. i burned some white sage in lieu of washing my bed clothes and to clear my head room. 
i'm going back in some ways to go on. axiomatic dovetailed with my inner life in a way, yet also i think of story. what about personal story. how do you put down a burden that's inside you? the feeling it could take a lifetime of talk therapy and it would still be there inside like a passenger. the story might evolve in present time and find expression coinciding with a loved one's story in the present shared, right? 
pmf always said you make work for yourself. now he doesn't say it to me but i heard myself say it yesterday. is this the work now, if this is then it wasn't quite up to his criterion as i recall. i think it's the same, it's the same process, i can't imagine him reading it now, though i'm looking at his paintings daily. too many words right when a picture might do.
i'm sleepy and grateful it's warm. i'll go calm and slow today, not tempting fate. last night i couldn't stay asleep. i almost finished axiomatic by maria tumarkin. a tough book. i want to quote a little, maybe later. the impeachment is playing continually in the kitchen. i can't follow and i'm steady deleting all political texts. i need to stay off the topical as far as possible.

Tuesday, November 19, 2019

we worked so hard for this extinction, we really deserve it, though i feel bad for all the animals.

crazy-ass pinhole flash.






i don't know if it's a boxer rebellion or goose poop's a hallucinogen or the ghost of john keep-a-way but i had nil recall of the lulu today in the goose poopy rain. i never saw so much goose poop in my life. it was like a lifetime of goose poop all in one midway day. and the crazy-ass flash makes it look like we're a pair of mugshat goose poop outlaws.
 some leaves are birds. i deleted all the news unread.
time is the only thing.

axiom.

a statement or proposition which is regarded as being established, accepted, or self-evidently true.

in the book axiomatic she says she doesn't trust school. which i agree. i never did. she has kids and she writes about systemic abuse and suicide. also about how kids now will write to dead kids on social platforms or write about their own deaths as though from beyond. reality is altered by our technologies, contorts or convolutes or becomes elastic. in there may be a freedom the system doesn't offer. that spontaneously offers itself by way of yearning and imaginative need.

axioms are suggestions that can be readily turned about or dismissed like classes and outgrown clothes.




a little yellow dozer cleans the algae and silt and waterbird poop from the drained model yacht pond which is incidental and not worthy of mention it's just background. it occurs to me repeatedly that anything neglected for a short time even becomes an opportunity for a natural system to form, given a chance. mister can still balance an apple on his nose, flip and catch it with a sideways flick of the head, and he moved well today. we note how we get older yet we're not old, we're just getting older. we can still do stuff and memory is still malleable and changing by it's own mysterious alchemy.
i finished the body in question and started axiomatic which turns out to be an exploration of the ways we understand the traumas we inherit and the systems that sustain them. it was in my queue and it appeared and i was surprised by it having forgotten what it was about and by how it meshes with my ongoing thoughts about the past in the present and personal and collective trauma and the individual and the system. 
i do something and say that's the way it happened (or how). there are hidden correspondences. some things we can't address directly become apparent later in an oblique way. i took pictures in the studio and then i took the elephant on a skateboard out with the idea of putting it on mister's white dome, then i saw the snow fence and parts of a vehicle scattered and then this power box with a tag that seems to read mossy or mossg i'm curious to know and it was a little overexposed and i often feel over or underexposed and yet i know i'm lucky as a lot of the time it's mysteriously just right excuse me going on i go back to this collage that i featured earlier as i think it's a prehistoric elephant that rose up from my unconscious these many years ago.
how it happened.
 




i got 0 pictures outside yesterday so i took a few inside. sometimes i take a little tour around the studio (rarely) and see what story might appear. if i can clear some of the detritus the story might become more clear.

Monday, November 18, 2019


the truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because the smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. the one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most: and his suffering comes to him from things so little and so trivial that one can say that it is no longer objective at all. it is his own existence, his own being, that is at once the subject and the source of his pain, and his very existence and consciousness is his greatest torture. 

thomas merton



thanks for this from r. via mr.katz. 
his was the only blog i read but i got crossed wires with him and stopped reading. it has happened often. it's remarkable how i seek conflict in some places and in others i shrink into myself and get angry and shut down. maybe i seek to avoid, or something. when i get confused i go blank in a thicket, and can't get out. the time when i'm most reactive and in a way least engaged, in thoughtfulness and feeling, is in conflict. i think the inner conflict needs to be engaged, in a healthy way, not in harmful emotional conflict, but with humble attention and love. the old saw that love conquers all is wrong. love accepts, love embraces all.


 

trust will be a slow process, trust won't be rushed, it won't be discrete, first you have to trust yourself.
don't forget to pay gas phone and light today.
time is money, i won't be reading your blog, she said, and it hurts a little, but i understand,  each time i come here it means three walks, i said. in talk therapy, there are equivalences, and we have to keep it efficient, clear and neat.
we can work together. 
i know we can.
thanks for knowing that.
what do i do? go back.
you don't have to eat fast, dug.

we can keep going. we want a revolution. we can keep going. we want a revolution.





a deep breath after this.

reading the body in question this morning i thought of dad dying leaving a young wife not expecting to go so soon what anguish.
 i was reading about the stillness of suppressed anxiety. please, not that stillness. 
rather, 

 try to calm the anxiety in the moment of small things.











i often rush things
things that need 
time i have
i need 
to 
slow down in time
to look and listen 
the way
i do
(sometimes)
with the diary
with the dogs 
with you