insides

("Shadow Dance" by Martin Lewis).

("Mother and Child" by Gustav Klimt).

For every route, could haves/should haves/might haves in infinity.

It's a dangerous game: the either/or, the re-writing of choices.

There so many pulls inside me.

So many entryways, leading to new entryways.

Words by Sharon Van Etten
"Holding Out"
FROM: Because I was In love

I was floored
by your humble outlook on the world
around you,
who and all you are.
I was floored
by the way you take me
seriously,
even when I'm joking.

Damn, damn, damn, damn.

I'm not tired and I'm tired
of not calling out
on the street I was holding out
Holding out,
'cross the table I was holding out,
trying to find a lover like that.
Holding out,
like the wind I was holding out,
staying still,
hoping no one else would see me.
Hoping calm,
replacing silence, drying palms.
Do I need a reason to hold you now?
'Cause I'd hold you now,
yeah I would hold you now.
One night,
And all I need is one more day.
Holding out,
for something that feels okay,
and the right thing to do is wait.

Holding out,
holding out,
holding out for you.

I am strange,
Believed in fairy tales at a young age.
Circumstance,
now I kick myself in the pants.
And then you came to me
in a faraway way,
and I'm bringing you something
I want you to have,
it's the biggest part of my heart
that I still got.

Hoping arms--
no--
Holding out
I'll be holding out.

holding out.
I'll be holding out,
holding out.
Holding out,
holding out for you.

so tired/so tired/wanna keel on over

Last night my father reminded me how many words were in the Gettysburg Address.
And to "keep it simple, stupid" (kiss) this thing goodbye.

This morning Adam quoted Winston Churchill: "if you're going through Hell, keep on going!"
He also sent me some inspirational music:



here. we. go. magic!

[50 pages in/10 to go. Won't be long now].

strangers to change/window-panes

something about doors and windows and openings and closings.
yeah something about that.
--
I got two and a half hours of sleep last night. (I'm tired) (but everyone's tired/but nobody's tired enough). And I had a strange dream, with dream-water again.
My thesis is 45 pages in, and for the first time in a long time, I can see forward and inward and in front of me.

also, Iron & Wine's Daytrotter sessions are really beautiful. I almost like them better than the album versions:

"I recall, the sun in our faces
Stuck and leaning on graces
And being strangers to change

The radio and the bones we found frozen
All the thorns and the roses
Beneath your window pane"

Riding for the Feeling.

[thank you, Adam, for giving me something to muse me through my constant separation anxiety with space and relationship. Love ya, Ricky].



It's never easy to say goodbye
To the faces
So rarely do we see another one
So close and so long

I asked the room if I'd said enough
No one really answered
They just said, "Don't go, don't go"
Well all this leaving is neverending

I kept hoping for one more question
Or for someone to say,
"Who do you think you are?"
So I could tell them

With intensity, the drop evaporates by law
In conclusion, leaving is easy
When you've got some place you need to be
I'm giving up this gig for another seaon

With the TV on mute
I'm listening back to the tapes
On the hotel bed
My my my apocalypse

I realized I had said very little about ways or wheels
Or riding for the feeling
Riding for the feeling
Is the fastest way to reach the shore

On water or land
Riding for the feeling

What if I had stood there at the end
And said again and again and again and again and again
An answer to every question
Riding for the feeling

Would that have been a suitable goodbye?

I plan, I plan, I plan

God laughs, God laughs, God laughs.

(sometimes beautiful surprises come).

floating? falling?

1. Fear of trapped.
2. Fear of future.
3. Fear of loneliness.
4. Fear of failure.
5. Fear of unconsummated talent.
6. Fear of too much.
7. Fear of not enough.
8. Fear of boxes.
9. Fear of being ripped from boxes.
10. Fear of language.
11. Fear of finality.
12. Fear of change.
13. Fear of rejection.
14. Fear of never-ending tiredness.
15. Fear of peaking.
16. And slipping.
17. And disappointing.
18. And disappearing.
19. Fear of forgetfulness.
20. Fear of losing perspective.
    
21. (Fear of unaware irony).
22. Fear of money.
23. Fear of apocalypse.
24. Fear of mindlessness.
25. Fear of rabbit holes.
    
26. Fear of being too afraid to jump them.
27. Fear of losing agency.
28. Fear of history repeating.
29. Fear of arbitrariness.
30. Fear of being too small.

"There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, a eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest."
-Anais Nin.

(Wholly honest; I am terrified).

Melanie Cheraso on running.

L: --I'm afraid I'm running from something.
M: --Why do you have to be running from something? Maybe you're not running from anything at all. Maybe it has nothing to do with where you were and where you're going. Maybe you just really need to run.

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.

faithful, 100%

Is there a vegetarian alternative to eating ones elephant one bite at a time?
Because this obligatory beast's been with me, through and through.

photo credit: here.

my brain and my body//my body and my brain

are in two different places.
(pause and let it load first).

woods || 5D mkii test from Hello Tomorrow on Vimeo.

so.

fuck Fracking.
for real.

veiling.

Jordan laughed at me over bubble tea; my depiction of the plateau was pretty bleak. And he had a point: jumping off is futile, unless you have a damned good pogo stick, and even then, you're still going down. Better to propel up, he said. Now I've gotta go invest in an ice pick. Or I could just grow some intense cat claws. Kidding.
(I've gotta stop with the cat jokes/references; people are gonna start thinking I'm serious).

Old-school Southeast Engine's on repeat and everything's still. Nattada and I feasted on steamed, local spaghetti squash tonight. I don't think I've ever made a better marinara sauce--chocked full of amaranth. We had peas, too. I love peas.

Food is funny. When shared communally, or consumed with gratitude, there is almost something sacred to it. And there is nothing more rewarding--nothing that requires more patience--than growing your own. Sometimes I get lost in looking at my own hands, in imagining my skin--the creases at the knuckles--shaping and shedding and replacing with each new amino acid I swallow.

I should make a self-rule to focus on my hands more--to take time to consciously imagine my food converting to energy--my breath to spirit--within the confines of my own body. Because sometimes I get caught up reading old words and staring at old photographs until I can't recognize my own voice--my own face--in them. And I think it's a loss but it's a pseudo-loss; I'm rendered a fool by my own veiling.

I won't know the difference until I begin to honor stillness. Sometimes contentment is a euphemism for apathy, but not always. Sometimes contentment is just as imperative as the discontentment sparking revolutions--both internal and external. Yes, contentment, too, can be revolutionary. Stillness can be revolutionary.

And in recognizing this, I can stop worrying altogether about how to get off the damned plateau: by laying on my back and being flat--watching the scenery around me shuffle, as I stay motionless.

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

I am here (and have temporarily abandoned abstractions).

I have been up at or before 8:00, since I've returned to Athens. It doesn't seem to matter what time I go to sleep. I wouldn't call it insomnia, really; I'm not laying, exhausted; I'm alert and energized. If anything, my mind's restless, but it's the good kind of restless that just needs the right creative channel.

Call it artistic inspiration? But I'm no longer daunted.

I've got some leads on programs for a year (or two) of service. And I know it's what I need. I'm appreciative of academia, in a way; despite my distaste for some of the bureaucratic roadblocks and elitist behaviors of this institution, I really am grateful to OU. I say all the time how grateful I am for Athens and for Appalachia and how I really couldn't give two cents about the university, but that's not entirely accurate. It has provided the venue. It has led me to a handful of really inspiring professors--Dr. Marciniak, Dr. Bloomfield, and Dr. Duschinski--who have radically transformed the way I approach knowledge (I have nothing but unwavering respect and admiration for those three women), like it has led me to the theories and texts that have becomes "ins" to my own, independent research. And so: I reject being the "poster child" of academia, but I do not reject academia. I know I'll spend a lifetime monitoring and curbing my own privilege, but I can't keep running from something inevitable (that I'm meant to be in academia, that I thrive in it, that I'll be involved in it--in some way or another--all my life), just because I'm disenchanted with the large-scale structural inequalities that have given me this path in the first place. I can't run Into The Wild. Not because I'm incapable of discarding possessions, of living a simple lifestyle... but because I really think I'll make a bigger difference if I work with, and not against, the existing institutions, if I change them from the inside.

But not now. Not yet. I refuse to go through motions. I'm not ready for an MA and I'm not ready for a PHD and I'm not ready for a Law degree. I can't enter those realms of learning the same person I am now. No, it's essential to take a break--and what better way to do that than a year or two of service? There's an innate selfishness that accompanies being a student; it's a time where one's time and energy is focused, primary, in the development of self. And that's not necessarily wrong; that self development facilitates later ability to give more, to do more, to contribute more to society--
but right now, for me, I find it isolating. And I'm ready to integrate myself back into a world I can feel, one that I know I'm not the center of. So there you have it: a few years of service. That's what comes next. I'm sticking to it.

And all this excess, "restless" energy? It's going to get me through this final stretch healthily.

Here's my (immediate) plate:
1. Thesis.
2. Capstone--on sexual violence against women (I am not really excited about that).
3. One last English class--on Keats, by a Keats PHD, so it'll be angsty, but beautiful. (I am excited about that).
4. Program statements of purpose/applications.
5. Internship with Adam Baker, Attorney and Counselor at Law
6. GRE in Spring (so I don't have to take it later).
7. A year of service abroad--right now, I'm leaning toward a program in Ecuador.
8. = improving my Spanish skills, which are, at this moment, quite rusty (but still there).
9. LSAT studying while in Ecuador.
10. Then a year in DC, doing service in my own country.
11. Then a MA, a degree in Human Rights Law, or both--depending on what the aforementioned experiences lead me to.

And here are my intentions:
1. To be a better listener.
2. To maintain better communication with my brother, and with all my loved ones who are not in close, physical proximity.
3. To balance my Pitta with lifestyle and diet changes--beginning with a detox/cleanse.
4. To further my yoga practice, which, like my Spanish, is quite rusty (but still there).
5. To practice more humility.
6. To remain thankful.
7. And to, despite all the sad things in this world, find enough to hope for to keep going.

steady. strong. unwavering.


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

leaping.

Sometimes I feel like a horse with boat shoes, where the land wobbles and the water sinks.
And then I kick 'em off and remember: horses are excellent swimmers.
Oh, silly ebb and flow; you've frayed and faded my puzzle pieces.
Oh, silly ebb and flow; I don't mind.

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

[[a little red box]]

(click to enlarge photos)

"One must be thrust out of a finished cycle in life, and that leap is the most difficult to make--to part with one's faith, one's love, when one would prefer to renew the faith and recreate the passion."
-- Anais Nin

my heart and Ohio

[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: Ohio is such an important place
[12/07/10] Eddie Barnes: it's everything
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: a lot of ppl who live here do not value it the way they should, I think
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: also- unrelated- but aesthetically i think it has the coolest outline
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: of all the states
[12/07/10] Eddie Barnes: yes! haha
[12/07/10] Eddie Barnes: i think we may be a little biased
[12/07/10] Eddie Barnes: but it is a nice shape.
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: haha
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: ok maybe a little
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: but we are not a box
[12/07/10] Leslie Albanese: so many states are shaped like boxes
[12/07/10] Eddie Barnes: indeed
[12/07/10] Eddie Barnes: that's true. This is my heart and Ohio.

I've been wearing an old (basement-retired/retrieved) hat of my mother's for the past week. It's wool and has loons on it. I like it because it's warm and makes me feel safe. And maybe also because it allows me to make bad puns about being loony.

But it's not just the silly hat. It's everything. Oh, Ohio! [My friends, my habits, my family, they mean so much to me/ but I'm (not) just a box just a box in a cage (no I'm not) just a box just a box in a cage].

It's not that I don't love you, all musty.

my heart and Ohio by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.