lions, and tigers, and bears!

I have seen three snakes these past 30 days, easy.

The first: dead and flattened on the road in front of my house (right by my mailbox). (sad).

The second: alive and slithering, in my front yard. I was sitting on a blanket, reading, and it popped up from a hole right in front of me.

The third: a big long scary black one in the middle of the bike path, sunbathing on the concrete. I nearly crashed into Avery, going around it.

I've also been attacked by beetles in my sleep.

And was bitten by a spider in my sleep last night (have the battle wound to prove it).

Fished a (giant! 3 inch long! .5 inch thick! zebra striped!) slug off my kitchen floor the night before (the second one!)

And some dark, indistinguishable creature (either a big cat or a raccoon) has scared the dickens out of me twice, scampering past on my front porch, while I've been scrambling for keys.

(Nattada and I are strong, and not too squeamish. It's our home, and we can share it with the critters/elements; it's a lesson, I think, in recognizing that we are big and small in a world that is at once big and small).

On the plus side, there is a family of deer living in my back yard. They keep nuzzling outside my window. I see them often.

And I found a four leaf clover by the same mailbox where the snake was smushed.

Also on a moderate tangent, I've been floored/humbled lately by the number of people (including strangers) who have looked after me lately. There is certainly a lot of sadness in this world, but there is also a lot of kindness. Yeah, a lotta kind kind, baby.

my mind/my mind/oh my//it dances.

Animal Collective - "Fireworks" (Bataclan, Paris - Back On Stages) from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

I don't wanna be "all I ever see sometimes" anymore.

(I'm sorry I was an asshole).
(it's all cloaks, like Dale said).

gratefulness

is the warm calming of restlessness that transpires
when you see a familiar face
at precisely the right moment
to keep you from breaking. And gratefulness is
in exchanges--languages--
that face---until time becomes
immeasurable again.

on Libraries, Cayle Adams, and Neil Young.

One of These Days
from Neil Young's Harvest Moon.

One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
And I'm gonna try
And thank them all for the good times together.
Though so apart we've grown.

One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days, one of these days, one of these days,
And it won't be long, it won't be long.

And I'm gonna thank,
That old country fiddler
And all those rough boys
Who play that rock 'n' roll
I never tried to burn any bridges
Though I know I let some good things go.

One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known

One of these days, one of these days, one of these days,
And it won't be long, it won't be long.

From down in L.A.
All the way to Nashville,
From New York City
To my Canadian prairie home
My friends are scattered
Like leaves from an old maple.
Some are weak, some are strong.

One of these days,
I'm gonna sit down and write a long letter
To all the good friends I've known
One of these days, one of these days, one of these days,
And it won't be long, it won't be long.

One of these days, one of these days, one of these days,
And it won't be long, it won't be long.

so many epiphanies.

not enough language for them.
yeah, and I get it.
yeah, and I'm happy
yeah, and it's beginning to show.

so many by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Plans.

I am so excited for the Capuchin Franciscan Volunteer Corps program I am applying for! Ahh, I want it with my whole heart! Today, I spoke on the phone with a woman in charge of volunteer placement, and she had all the right answers:

1. The program isn't exclusively Catholic; they accept people of all faith backgrounds, and atheists, too. They seek volunteers who are open to new ideas/expressions of spirituality--people who can have intentional dialogue about Justice and Service and Community, who are respectful of others' visions. It goes without saying that the program does not attempt to indoctrinate. Rather, it seeks to build community and promote justice through the humble love and service of others. That simple.

2. In addition to Service, Community, and Justice, the fundamental value of the Franciscans is Simplicity. Typically, Franciscans live in intentional poverty, and give all their energy and resources to others. Maybe it's my tendency towards nostalgia, but I find myself collecting things always--for the memory and sentimental attachment-- and lately I've been trying to let things go. Boaz always writes c/o on his possessions, instead of just his name, to remind himself that he owns nothing; he is just "in care of" things. I have been consciously trying to appropriate this mindset lately, and I think I could really benefit from living an intentional community that collectively practices modesty.

3. Cap Corps places volunteers in one of three spaces: Peru, Nicaragua, and Panama. They work with various NGO's in those areas. One NGO in Nicaragua--the one I feel like would be the perfect fit for me--works with community members to implement sustainable agricultural practices. They've been installing solar panels that have helped local communities be more self-sustaining. Anyways, get this: the NGO's mission statement highlights gender politics. It acknowledges patriarchal power structures (known in Latin America as "machismo") and promotes intentional conversation about gender politics at play on a communal, micro-level, as well as those at play on a more global level. So wait? I'd be working on a farm, implementing organic farming and sustainable agricultural practices, and discussing eco-feminism--in Latin America, practicing my Spanish for a year and a half after college? Yes, yes I would...

I've studied the Liberal/Radical (I tend to relate more to radical than to liberal politics, to be honest) priests whose championing of social justice profoundly shaped liberation movements. It would be an honor to actually meet some of them.

Now I just have to pray that it will actually happen.
And I have to make it through the next 3 months. (Capstone, Seminar, Thesis, Internship).

Plans by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

so.

fuck Fracking.
for real.

new year.

new year. (photo series). by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

"sleeping with the enemy"

I couldn't sleep last night (a combination of the coffee-milkshake I drank with my Panera dinner--a bad idea that left me jived--, the looming "wherethehelldoIgofromhere" anxiety that I've been effectively--or maybe last night proved not-so-effectively--avoiding, and, at the risk of hyperbole, some "emotional turmoil" from supposedly caring too damn much). Is that even possible? To care too damn much, I mean? It's like being in some lonely camp all by myself: the caring corner. And it just feels like no one else gives a damn and they all just look at me and say, "give it up, Les," but how can I? Why are there not more people caring? And why are the apathetic always making me feel like an isolationist?

[I'm not usually this sinister, but being stuck in Central Ohio is making me go loony (no pun intended this time)]. And I don't want to live a mental separatism. So what do I do? I write about it. But inevitably my writing becomes all cryptic and abstract until it, too, becomes its own separatism--my own linguistic world that no one else can fully reside in, that no one can truly enter. A defense mechanism, maybe. And a subconscious one, at that. I'm not one for dishonesty. I couldn't live a double life if I tried (though I'd never try). And yet I feel torn between two wholly contrasting feelings separating my being. I love people. I do. I love them. And I love being with people. And I love serving people. And am shocked and shocked again by the number of people who have reciprocally blessed my life. It's humbling, really-- the number of people who care. (look how contradictory I'm being). But there's this side of me that feels totally alone, even when I'm in a room full of people who love me. Because my mind is somewhere else--some unreachable place--and because, despite my rationality, I'm ultimately moved by feeling over logic every time--and I cannot fully understand or articulate these feelings or the flashes in my mind (usually not even complete sentences) and consequently lose my ability to share (despite my hopeless earnestness) the fundamental-most part of me.

"I am the cat who walks by [her]self..."

My mind's been flashing with: gender binaries, and parasites, and lions, and "Eating from the Outside" vs "Eating from the Inside," and the social construction of "enemy camps", and how complicated they are, and Eichmann, and institutional compliance, which quickly becomes complacency, and the conjunctive relationship between interior and exterior threats-to-being, and rats, and bodies, and violence against said bodies--sometimes using rats, and bullying, and the way the new Sufjan song made me feel all angsty like the sleigh-bells were saying "consumerismconsumerismconsumerism," and my own inability to let go...

All-the-while flashing with: my parents' good natures, and The Christopher Spirit, and milk-crates, and this Pitchfork interview with Jeff Mangum, and the farm, and community, and collective identity, and the way it can be a positive thing with conscious participation, and Cornel West, and language, and what that really means, and whether or not art really can be the ultimate revolution, and knowing that love really does exist, and...

And this is all occurring while my white middle class privilege comfortably manifests: in my friend's apartment, eating chocolate chip cookies, drinking orange juice, and watching The Office (season 3). If this were satire, I could appreciate the irony like a good ugly sweater party. And maybe this is satire after all. Maybe I've got you (and myself) fooled, and I'm living "Behind Enemy Lines." Maybe I'm taking myself too seriously. And maybe I'm becoming an ego-maniac. Maybe I'm not.

"sleeping with the enemy" by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.