[AUGUST 2025.]
It’s one thing to be wistful, it’s another to meet up with Am-mut the devourer of souls multiple times in a week.
You ought to be a bride of quietness; that’s who will dance with you. So I told myself last night under the mirror ball. My broken vestibular system is easily tricked, and thinks the points of light are resting still at my feet while I and everyone around are being swept away.
molle meum levibusque cor est violabile telis,
et semper causa est, cum ego semper amem
I will drink cerveza preparada and play the prepared piano, and in that way I will be ready for anything. Even the Spanish Inquisition.
Corelli for a lonely morning. Having the house to myself I cleaned it and discovered I’ve become fond of its midcentury long lines. I never thought this was my aesthetic but it’s been a long acquaintance now, and the Ruth Asawa blowout in the city must have primed me for form. I am so glad someone gave her a tumbleweed halfway through her career.
But how is it that Asawa was able to do what she did in a house full of children.
The new band has been playing little sets around town. We have a lot to sort out but the stakes are low. It’s as if that old questing, lonely life in Portland has been at arm’s reach all this time, waiting for me to turn around around and notice it; but I was doubtful, at the time, whether that was a life worth living.
I wish the heart didn’t spill over.
