design & direction
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“for love by itself will not keep us  in love”


not the quote i want to use. but im reading the four loves by CS lewis - he says that the seeking is a necessary part of being human, the diving into eros, it’s the swimming in eros is where we get caught. it’s not possible to keep a hold on the love itself but it is possible to keep a friendship, companionship. is an open relationship is to allow someone to dive. it makes me think of the weird dream i had last night, mostly at a pool, swimming in the summer camp eqsue neighborhood pool. i fell asleep looking into juno’s eyes and petting his head and feeling safe, his eyes were bright brown.

E.B. White



The voice of silence is also the voice of water, air, bugs. The harmony and noise of being.

Wanting to live in the Trumpet of the Swan. Everyone I love writes about jazz. 

I’m always trying to frame nature. Finally I stopped. Because I never could really start, at least the mountains and huge rock formations overwhelm me. Overwhelm my systemic attempt to capture time. Capture the fourth dimension, the moment-instant, the is, as Lispector writes. Mountains are not the is the way the is is the is.

Groundedness - the inverse of flight .

The ground has been instant-moment for so long. It knows how to be. It has been being.



there are bodies in solitude
there are bodies in alientation
there is a curable lonliness
we are on the brink of heaven
or we are on the brink of death

alienation is the other side of the coin. alienation is forgetting that you are forgetting about the others.

technology offers us alientation. it never offers us solitude. 

there is a version of this future in which we all go at it alone; we forget how to touch eachother and live as singular gods. it’s pretty biblical actually. we get lonely because no one understands so we make adam from dirt and eve from adam. but it’s still stuff from us. each child of this universe gets one of your worst traits and one of your best traits. at their best, they are creative, at their worst, they are jealous.

Mossy Longing


i was hurt because i wanted it. it’s very human. very nat-u-rahl. to want something. someone. to crave it. to be sprawled out next to, so gooey my words won’t come out.

i always end up feeling stupid. i worry about seeming cold, fraught with indifference. my brain is sitting on your stomach and my ears and eyes are on their hind legs drooling over your rythyms, it takes me outside of myself. which is what I want, until I remember that you’re expecting me to respond. converse. i’m just melted and useless, funny fearless doe eyed bitch.


to own your own bigness is not to be selfish or to think of yourself as the biggest, or bigger than anyone else. but to recognize the bigness we all hold, the eternal machines of learning and loving and expression that we are, to see ourselves as a vast expanse that is longing for new experience and understanding and decisions and conclusions. it can be called god (they call it that in the 12 steps).

to not be self centered in a limited understanding that your experience is the truth, but to recognize that in everyone lives the possibility of bigness, of expansion beyond belief, of change and growth and learning and dancing and uncovering secrets of our planet and being a poet. it is in you but it is not only in you, it is in everyone. to access your unique self, your specific thought processes and deliberate actions out of careful, empathetic, curious thought- is to open yourself up for currents to run through you.

for them to eat your idea of the self and bring new magic into the world. to be a vessel for god, a vessel for creativity, a vessel for present attention and a vessel for love to a friend. to recognize your bigness is not to be selfish. to be a person who is unabashedly themselves is not to desire attention (–it can be), but to dig into the strange combination of collected times you are, to reveal it to others, to stoke generous vulnerability in the minds of those around you. to bring goodness and godliness is to bring creation and new life, to sacrifice yourself sometimes but not all the time, to enlighten yourself with the mantra “i am not the only” and soak in the words that are being asked of you to repeat by something higher- only in your selflessness can you be in a place to listen.

writing this after a long night of being extremely self absorbed. i have work to do.



Jo presses her nail in-between her two front teeth when she’s anxious. She woke up this morning feeling cataclysmic and isolated, she dreamed she was at a club, sliding down a green tube into a pool of dark warm water, a lazy river covered in shadows, steam rising like in an ancient cave. It gave her the feeling of being in a room full of business men, dad’s friends, looking up at chins.

He rolled over beside her, his dreamless state that seemed to bring him rest.

She assumed at some early age that satisfaction would come from committment to things. That time reveals hidden meanings. Distrust was her tamed little pet, using it as a secret fire of knowing it’s not that serious, all the while addressing each realized moment as a prayer. 

It’s not her fault that spirituality prevails within her. She has no free will in the matter. She has tried to just be matter. It isn’t sustainable. Her salvation is her own ability of defend the silence inside of her– silence defended by silence. The secret fire, the underbelly of this process of living she has joined in. 

Her inability to stop reaching is her coup de grâce. A secret process of re-inventing and maiming herself. At one point, like I said earlier, she believed this would be enough to survive in the world she found herself in. That her inner landscape would offer such a refuge, such an inherent connection to God, she would never sin again. She would simply move her body around in a believable way and escape questioning.



Most days all I can hear anymore are deafening sounds of anxiety. Creeping feelings that I’m doing nothing and going nowhere. Untouchable regrets about things I said no to and things I said yes to. Friend-lonlely, undatable, completely out of touch with myself. Grieving friends who have died and relationships that went to hell. I spend so much time sticking my soul in the past. Remembering feelings that weren’t even there, wishing I had things I don’t even want anymore. 

To guide your body towards curiosity, with both caution and child-like bug eyes, must get you somewhere. To a place. Any place. Is there a best place? What if every place is just that. A Place. Not ranked by anything, nothing to compete with, no one to out perform. It is exactly what it is and it can’t be anything else, it shouldn’t be anything else. Maybe it’s divinity. It’s certainly reality. It gets warped the more you look at other places. You’re not elsewhere, you can’t pretend to be. You are here, and you can’t leave until you know how to. Solitude guides you deeper into it, into yourself, as worthy of a relationship as any other.

Digital brain rot has seeped into solitude. 

There’s a breath of freshness in the realization that all these things outside yourself are acting on their own accord, they won’t wait for you to catch up, they don’t care if you’re not there. You can join in the rhythym but no one is forcing you to.