"my useless, uncalloused hands"

title from Cristina García's The Agüero Sisters.

The tension between intellectualizing and acting pervades my skin (until I'm crawling) every time I vere to some dyadic end. Wholeness in living requires some balancing act that is inevitably ungraceful. Maybe liminality (between work and thought) is like vulnerability in relationship; uncomfortable, but necessary and enriching (when you don't fight it).

I've had a perpetual layer of dirt under my fingernails since Saturday.
And I haven't been writing.
I swear, my body's been going through detox.

Tired of its "useless uncalloused hands."

Tired, too, of being by itself.

(The rabbithole is bright and magnetic, but best shared--lest you find yourself lost, and in danger of losing head).

Anyways, I'm off to ride my bicycle.
And Thursday, I'm going back to Good Earth Farm.
Farm-magic reminds me how simultaneously small and big I am,
and when I ride my bicycle, it always feels like I'm flying.
I like that.

Always,

L

weeds//sidewalk-cracks by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

too-real, beautiful things.

Japanese Cherry Blossoms only bloom for a week or so, and they're lining Athens at the moment.
There's something heart-wrenching (and beautiful) about ethereality/temporariness.

And I plan to be forgotten when I'm gone

[when I die]
can it be in the midwinter springtime?
(but not this midwinter springtime)
and will you let me burn before I'm buried?
before I'm scattered?
and will you celebrate my life?
(because funerals are morbid, and--, oh, and--)
will you play "Rollin' Back" by My Morning Jacket?
and will you laugh at my earnestness?
and will you laugh at my awkwardness?
and what will you remember?

(because I am sometimes land//sometimes ocean//sometimes land//sometimes ocean//sometimes land// sometimes--)

Østers i Vest from Sebastian Schuster-Rossel on Vimeo.

Oysters have pearls inside, you know.
(and our bodies do, too).

words Microscoft Word tells me aren't words.

1. liminal
2. situationally
3. intersex
4. intranationally (strangely; it accepts "internationally" as a word--go figure).
5. intersectionality
6. transnationalist
7. transnationalism

There's a word in Spanish I've always loved: ensimismamiento
the definition is: concentrándose en los propios pensamientos.
(and a loose English translation would be: a noun for the action of two beings' uniting themselves in each other's thoughts, which become the same thought).

My parents call it "minds touching."
And there's a pretty sweet Stephen Dunn poem about it, too.
Ensimismarse is the verb, and ensimismado is the participle--but get this: ensimismado, the participle, is also used as a noun to mean the person whose mind touches yours. (Ensimismada would be the female equivalent).

That word doesn't exist in English. I'm not so sure the person exists outside of language, either. Maybe for moments, but not for a lifetime.

Love isn't thinking the same way; it's caring enough to commit to trying to understand.

Transnationalism, on the other hand, is very real.
And so is liminality. Oh, liminality. I can feel it.

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.