birdsong radio and grass

i dreamed traveling on a globe that shifted under my feet to deposit my hovering body in the new location; of half a dozen small dogs emerging from the surf of the indoor ocean, pugs and cavaliers each with a small gray egg purse to bury in the protection of the palms. when the tide hits the leathery pouches they explode in a froth of dog-eggs.

dogs feature in almost all my dreams now, most commonly a little black pit bull who smiles at me, her face swimming with iridescence. in real life it is snow-land again, pretty tragic only because it gives me the feeling of being on repeat, like i just tumbled from the sun-kissed lip down into the pit again, a little bit sisyphus. i am not afraid so much of the task as i am of its effect upon my character; the largest thing being that this winter makes me so raw, and in forcing myself to be calm for all the work rush and anxiety it oozes out sideways (the anxiety) and coats every other thing i do. this makes me in the world feel like everyone is talking about me, whispering behind hands, eyes low and looking, speaking "awful awful awful." in seeking reassurance i damn myself.

faux springs

"& all my friends were vampires
didn't know they were vampires
turns out i was a vampire myself
in the devil town"
-- devil town, daniel johnston (in 1st season of friday night lights)

I dreamed another blizzard was coming and there was not enough time. my neighbor's horses were thin and freezing and i had to save them but didn't know how, they nosed foggily at my windows in their fluffy winter coats. i had a list of things to get done, like they were my job, except each task was to drive to a different restaurant and order a different thing. it was like a bulimia mission, i had to gather all this food to force into myself and it made me feel guilty and excited. but the blizzard was starting. shit was getting deadly. when i drove in my car i made it to the beatrice strip-mall where my childhood rental store, silver screen video, the only one in town, was still standing. inside i knew were all the best movies, rare and beautiful ones that would fulfill me.

to my man

h. !. l. c.p. t. j. i. I.

it's been a year, you are so loved

p.s. take my hyperbolic imagery with the practical grn of slt

film-stills: la teta asustada (the milk of sorrow)

literally: the scared tit. i still don't know quite how to absorb this film. it was more bizarre in subject matter than the crafting of it would imply; it had a lot to say; about war, rape, the value of women, virginity, love (familial & romantic), botany, humans using one another, etc.. the peruvian landscape and main actress were stunning - similarly chiseled and full of sadness. i will say: there is definitely a potato up a vagina, a lot.
the camera notably fuels the momentum of the film, keeping the viewer at the same distance one expects the protagonist would for the beginning. ... yet it was quiet; i.e. you see the piano on the ground after it falls, never falling, etc. there is real beauty throughout, drama and contrast between lushness/starkness, but the strengths are in the film's music (a lot of sing-song diegetic poetry dialogue) and the motion of the camera, which subtly propels the main character to the climax of her evolution with several long, captivating motion shots.
written and directed by a lady y'all. i seem to be accidentally picking a lot of woman-directed films and it feels good.

found

"Even now your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles,
follies, costume, crimes,
dissipate away from you.
Your true soul and body appears [sic] before me.
To You, ♥ W.W.2"

Under a tree root walking home today. Tell me more, walt freakin' whitman.

this season's spiritual guide

"if you can't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else."

r.i.p. Brian Jacques

The first favorite author I ever met! He was a major celebrity to me and somewhere there's a photo of me standing next to him blushing so hard I'm red. The Redwall series had a huge impact on the person I became for tangential reasons. Goodbye, kind Mr. Jacques.