here, there, elsewhere

I made a damn quilt.

Finally installed, it encloses the 3rd story of the bunk bed within the tent.

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the men went out hunting yesterday and brought back a tree for the kitchen. it's installed next to the treehouse, of course.

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it's a yellow poplar, i've discovered. it's good for hugging. i am making leaves for it. here is my leaf production area:

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shit is sprucing up around here. the canadians are coming and the geese are quarantined due to threat of avian flu. christmas has already arrived in our front window, thanks to witt:

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it's real cold in here. i was expecting north carolina to be a little balmier.

today i was a bird in my nest, a postal worker, and grumpy. i was also clean, which is a nice change.

i am considering renting some real estate in the new skyscraper under construction. i want to make sure it will be a good investment, though.

we made stuffed cabbage leaves for dinner tonight, with ground turkey thanks to christian. delicious. also thanks to christian (and monique!) is the genmaicha i will be drinking with delight tomorrow morning.

totally freaked out about bodies without organs a few days ago. nothing to say about it yet really, i haven't the vocabulary. have to do more reading. very exciting.

My horoscope is so right on, every single day. It's amazing. That's really the most important thing.

It's hard to be cryptic all the time. But even harder not to be.

Here's the really odd thing about Elsewhere: it's an indoors space, constantly in the midst of becoming/impersonating a variety of locations and institutions that may or may not be indoors also, but there's no outside. There are layers and layers of space with no exterior, it seems to me. Even the "outside" here, the back alley, is not really an outdoors - it's an extension of the indoors into an outdoors space. Potted plants, the perfect example. Potted plants are in general an attempt to bring the outdoors into one's living-room or lobby; here, they bring that same indoors out again by their association. The only way to get outside from here is to go out the front door and walk away down the street. Even then, maybe we bring it with us?

Here is a picture of my favorite mug this past week:

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Mint tea tastes delicious out of it. So does hot chocolate with leftover mint tea mixed in and a sprinkle of cinnamon.










And here are two views of my desk:

I could write oceans but it all comes out so jumbled. I am thinking, and questioning. I hate how it sounds, though, transcribed. I have been making a little something, finally. A little blurry, uncropped, tentative, but here:

I'm trying. Moods transmit as if the building has nerves of its own. There was something, so many things, I realized this afternoon. The wishing well, architecture dictating posture/position. But there's no time now - I'm going to wake up too late again. There's so much I can't get out. I wish I could tell you. Who are you? You, reading?  I'll type it out to morrow. Maybe even with more pictures. More things. More, more, more! Elsewhere, now with more internet than ever before.

Goodnight.

progress has been stalled. things have been broken. blockage finally clearing. thinking of the onward motion, now. so sick of half-finished. time just keeps on with or without. everything has an ending point; it's a question of identification. pin it down. enough partial gestures. i don't know where i'm going, but i know it will happen.

tension weaves through the aisles in tangles today. it's seeping in. distracting and dismaying. it's not mine.

technically and conceptually inadequate for the projects at hand, is a persistent thought.

i wrote a letter to myself.

it takes all day, there are days inside days, never enough days, the days keep coming. seize the day, leave night to itself.

the pictures are in my head, i wonder if i'll have the time to devote to making it manifest. can i take the time? who does the time belong to? how much is mine? is anything mine?

The cold snap came a day earlier than promised - I dressed entirely under the covers this morning. My feet are still cold.

Dream typewriter: My pretty new friend, so attractive, betrayed me. I was exiled to the wilderness of California. I knew how to get by, though. My hair was so long, and the soldiers were friendly.

Why bother with any of it, really? It's all stale by now.

Lucy cleaned the kitchen on Wednesday.

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It's been a while. There's been so much. We moved the library desks a few days ago. The 19th hole went well last night, or so I hear - I was up in the aviary swinging my legs and tossing paper airplanes. Bread and wine. So funny to talk to you, and sorry my phone crapped out on it. There are storybook houses now, brick and straw and wood. Eggs make me feel funny. Busy all the time, hard to define.  Trying to catch up. Making signs. "It Takes All Day." The idea of curating experience, of curating everything all the time! This afternoon I did laundry with Lucy. 7 loads, 2 hours, 1 beer, $20 in quarters. A nice time. Pictures in the next post. So vague.

Things, things

From page 25 of The Twentieth Century City, by Rev. Josiah Strong. c 1898. Found in the library this afternoon.