probe would swim into alien seas

Reporting from field:

At night my house is a dark, plumed forest. Voices whorling.

Who would believe what a poor set of ears can tell you?
Who would believe what a weak pair of hands can do?

I could listen to Another Green World on repeat for an eternity...

I have a date to go see this on Tuesday night at OMSI, a photojournalistic survey of glaciers melting and moving. Nothing romances quite like National Geographic.

When my day is a mist fever, bequeathing, I ask my body what it wants to do. A scythe speaks, it is a slashing. It is a matter of a difference dividing, portals opening. It seems every day presents death, and it is my duty to wedge it. No minor function arising. Every day I walk through halls of the spirit, braids undone, coilings.

something planetary. Ecstasy. I am at the verge of truly speaking. It is danger. I can sense the steep wells, walling. Those who are unfortunate not to, not to walk through waves.

+

Valentine's Day was great, until I barfed at my friend Jason's birthday party.

My body is full of dulcimers. Today I watched a sub-par documentary on Klaus Nomi with Brooke. We ended up talking over most of the movie and eating grilled cheeses and doing arts & crafts instead. I made a miniature, mustachioed nesting doll for R. Then an UDLE meeting downtown, Chinese food with Ted, and now I'm half-alive and can't believe I haven't lost consciousness.

Ok, I'm 'tardo. Off to bed.