turns out

 sometimes, you know which shot is the best one, even before reviewing them. after getting to look at all the snaps i took from the Burials show the other night, this one is still my favorite. 

Some seed in me,
Some troublous birth,
Like an awkward awakening,
stirs into life.

Terrible and instinctive
It touches my guts.
I fear and resist it,
Crouch down on my norms, a man’s
Patent assurances.

I don’t know its nature.
I have no term for it.
I cannot see its shape.
But, there, inscrutable,
Just underground,
Is the long-avoided tatency.

Like the mushrooms in the oak wood,
Where the high-sloped mountain
Benches the sea,
When the faint rains of November
Damp down the duff,
Wakening their spores—-
Like them,
Gross, thick and compelling,
What I fear and desire
Pokes up its head.
— William Everson, Seed

Vik

What it looks like in the clear:

photo: Tim Bergenhenegouwen

 What it looked like when I was there, post white out storm, in 2008.

photo: me. 

Terwilliger Hot Springs/my heart of sulphur...

It's about a three hour drive in from Portland to this end of the Willamette National Forest, but the drive along the McKinley River is one of the best I've seen in Oregon. Hands down. SO worth the drive. The fee is six dollars, and the springs are clothing optional. Photography is not allowed, of course, unless permission is granted from your potentially naked soaking neighbors. I obviously didn't include any strangers in my snaps. Bringing plenty of water is advised as the hike in is no big deal, but soaking for a while can make you a little woozy.

I was so pleased to be there while some snow remained on the path. It was really beautiful. I was also pleased to see that people seem to take care of this place- no trash lying around on the way in or near the springs. 

Cougar Reservoir 

they're back there….

We made it.

at this moment, random greg, was trying to make me smile buy saying he had a small penis. 

path out.

feets

a very satisfied Dust.

driving out...

standard issue

new year headless self portrait.

new years prayer, er...

when i go to collect memories and best of’s for this fading year,
all the amazing music i’ve heard, the places i’ve taken breaths, the moments that have stolen them… all that comes are the faces of people who were next to me, the colors of the sand, the rocks, the leaves….the piercing cold of rivers, the pressure in my ears, my dirty hands and feet, dog-eared pages and underlined instants, the absolute rumble of giggles from huge hearts and tiny hands, smoke drenched everything. salt stains. crying with loved ones & strangers, especially the strangers, and letting tears fall, while scribbling notes in the dark because i don’t really have a choice. the high pitch ringing, glances and squeezes that say way more than i’ll ever be able to, laughing at my own voice crack, burns and scars and torn fingernails and way more love than i ever expected… i guess that’s the only list i have. and endless amounts of gratitude for all of it.

for unrealized potential. for introspection. for ideas that never stop rattling. for the fear of it all. for wanting all of it and not taking. not asking for a thing. for too long . for inspiration in the middle of the dark daytime. for forgiving myself for forgetting my camera but still seeing beauty. for remembering my pen.
for repetition. for daily tears. salt water stained pages. for practice. for intentions and new spaces. for pretend. for dreams that mirror reality more than m days.
for writing in the dark. for gentle intuition.

free write after being asked for feedback

...i’m struggling with what reaches me and what doesn’t and how one set of images paired with a certain set of line breaks sends a chill through my fingers and with another set I’m struggling, fighting my left brain to just receive, to let it happen.

i suppose I’m out of practice.

and yet.
poems in my pockets and up my sleeves and how very silly it seems to still be writing about you and us
about how once, we took two ferries just to see where we’d end up
after spending the morning scrambling eggs and pushing the French press into the sand and sunburning our backs but being totally unaware because we cooled off in the atlantic and about how this never, ever, seems to be just a memory to me.

catching myself off guard and out of breath, my favorite things
it’s midnight and here I am, remembering how this works,
this is not just a voiceover....

swoon

still want to get one of those tattooed behind my ear. sorry mom.

i met this headache at work last night, right around six. i told it i didn't mind that it hung around for a little while, but i was busy, and had other things to attend to. it stayed, and asked to come home with me. i told it, only for a while, i had things to read. it lingered on into the night; it didn't ask if it could stay. i told it, you can stay the night, if only you let me sleep, and promise to leave before i wake in the morning.
it was still there in the morning. and it didn't even make me coffee.

Earle Birney, "There Are Delicacies (For Alison)"

there are delicacies in you
     like the hearts of watches
there are wheels that turn
     on the tips of rubies
& tiny intricate locks

i need your help
     to contrive keys
there is so little time
     even for the finest
          watches

there's a gap in my teeth
and only kale
gets stuck in it.

26.08.2012[29]

afternoon walk//read//pre-sunbathe self-timed shot.

my present to me.

quiet time.

friends arrived. i built a fire. we cooked.

morning warm walk.

swim all afternoon/check.

 

me! from steph.

swim team, minus one.

i hit the can, too!

gifts.

all of it
what's not being said
everything in me.