aspect

i had a blog once, and then i didn't update it for four months. oops.

it snowed all through march. and april. and the first of may.

















fires, salmon, wine, and moonrise.



rye and fieldwork; sanitas at night.



earning homebrew; earning baked goods.





there were little women.



i.
we are not who we think we are
when we know that we think.
we think we are
what we think we know—
we are not what? what
we think we know,
knowing not what we know
is naught.
not what we know—
we are what we think
when we do
not know that we think.
when we do
what we do not know
that we know;
when we do not think;
when we are;
when we are and we do not think—
we know who we are.

ii.
you knit airy thoughts in the ether
when we only know how to process the past as an unanalyzable whole.
we relate with georgian ergativity
when in perfective moments the independent subject
is obviously one with the object,
and our doing entails only unitary thoughts in the ether.

iii.
some rocks slide
and some stay still.
until we arrive safely home
we’ll remain unsure of which to step on.

tense

ben tyler and i hiked up bear peak in a small blizzard.



music in tylerstan.



beers converged on boulder. we hiked in the sun, we hiked in the snow.













tense

we’ll gather to eat—
to talk to eat to drink to eat—
stand outside in shorts and a tie
we’ll gather to eat
together to eat we’ll gather
i’ll be there and i’ll have been nervous
the night before—
fearful of a crowd to be alone in.
in that future past: tense.

and i wished to gather to eat—
leather couch
to talk to eat to drink to eat—
my right big toe touched antarctica gracelessly—
reflecting on grammaticalized forms
in tangkhul
and i felt uncomfortable solidarity when
the future
contrasted with the past/present: tense

we gather now to eat—
another chair, another fire
another moon (or something new)
to talk to eat to drink to eat—
i know that there is gladness
and i continue to be wary of the violence of kindness.
i still anticipate each aspect of the past—
even the perfect and imperfect—
but recognize, too, an ever-present future: tense

pause

some folks ate, drank, and were merry in my apartment.







i took freelensed portraits in bars, which i'm still not very good at.











i lost my hat in the snow. i retraced my steps: coyote was here.













i buy ice cream of a certain flavor
recalling that once left—
and if presence had a body,
then this sweetness would be communion.
being of being!
warmed over city lights
and i watched for smoke
warm feet awaiting warm bellies
and i wanted to say
‘tell me—
but tell me, do you believe in redemption,
and if so, then as seeming, becoming,
or as some more essential sort of being;
and might a thing redeemed ever be redeemed
as much for itself as for others?’
we hesitated on the bridge
between canyon and arapahoe
while you slept,
and i read that to reveal is to worship.
i thought i heard you in the wind.

i liked the light in front of me.

at the beginning of february i went to the art museum with ben and elle. i watched the sunset through my back window. i cut a mat to frame a charcoal of komol that my sister did for me. i put my feet on the table and i went to a basketball game, where i only took photos of people blurrily walking outside.

perhaps someday i'll be caught up with photoposting here. that will be a nice day.

warm/the rest

steve, kevin, and a small child went hiking. steve's daughter was there, too.



























arrested rest—rest arresting
nubilous impressions of the moon and the mountaintops;
arresting rest, discomfiting peace, restless rest—
i was tied up in warmth
(assuring, comforting warmth),
and you, gentle fire, slowly rose and fell,
sometimes broadcasting yourself in stunning tongues of flame,
sometimes withdrawn, smoldering within yourself.

i added wood when i thought it wise, but i never really knew.

rest, fire,
be still in the lingering snow;
be soft words and heavy eyelids an offering
to you for your reassurance that it’s ok to relax
on a cold night.