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.

words

boxes.

things I don't have the English for.
(definitions/explanations/ words taken directly from here and here)

Vovohe Tahtsenaotse (Cheyenne)
To prepare the mouth before speaking by moving or licking one’s lips.

Sigurista (Tagalog)
A person who is particularly concerned that everything goes as planned. The kind of person who will not initiate a particular action unless s/he feels 100% sure that the desired result would be obtained.

Komorebi (Japanese)
The sort of scattered, dappled light effect that happens when sunlight shines in through tree leaves.

Hiraeth (Welsh)
A feeling of longing associated with displacement, but not necessarily displacement from one’s original home. An intense yearning to be somewhere you are not.

Khalas (Arabic)
A term used to mean that something is completely and irrevocably done, finished, and over.

Zastóy (Russian)
Intellectual stagnation.

Moit (Scottish)
Pretended indifference/shyness while speaking about a thing one is very keen for.

Talkin (Indonesian)
To whisper instructions to the dying.

Saudade (Portuguese)
A vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present, which indicates a mental turning toward the past or toward the future. It is not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent, dreaming wistfulness. One can actually have ‘saudades’ of someone with whom one is. In this case it would indicate a feeling of loss projected towards the past or the future.
It can also be described as the emptiness and absence one feels when something or someone “should” be there in a particular moment, but is missing.

(Also described as "the love that remains")

(*** it's different from "nostalgia," though that might be its closest english equivalent, because it has a sort of fatalistic connotation attached to it; it is at once an emptiness and a living again).

Torschlusspanik (German)
Literally translated as a “gate-closing panic”. It is sense of anxiety or fear that one’s life is passing them by and that their future opportunities are diminishing.

Dostoprimechatelnost (Russian)
A place you can take notice of a hundred times. It is generally translated as a “point of interest," but it means much more.

Toska (Russian)

Vladmir Nabokov describes it best: "No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels, it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."

Mamihlapinatapei (Yagan) (indigenous language of Tierra del Fuego)

The wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start

----

Do you understand? I'm not sure I understand. And maybe I'm manic and maybe I'm musing, but Oh! it's impossible to say it all.

bone thin bone.

"we sing as the sky falls down
we sing as the sky collapses
and make what we can of it
it's ok
we're all going to end up dead and gone."
--Tunng, "Hands"
.
temporary-ness.
everything.
hopelessly, not my own.
flashings else's.
fleetings dyings-off.
and I'm left
only one?
the only--
only?
bone thin bone.


I'm not afraid of disappearing.
Just afraid of everything else
Leaving before I'm gone.

Caitlin

dedicated me some love.

viva wildpack.

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?

minutia in a happy life:

1. Serendipitous run-ins and thinkings of each other.
2. The way a space comes alive after a stagnant, too-long, winter.
   
3. The best damned French toast I ever did have with Geoff Odiorne (c/o: Crumbs bread + farm fresh eggs + pure organic vanilla extract + freshly ground cardamon pods + totally rad/totally real maple syrup).
   
4. The Oxford English Dictionary.
5. Walking
6. Bicycles
7. Books
8. oh, oh, music--
   
9. Drives away from here.
10. and drives back home

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.

I plan, I plan, I plan

God laughs, God laughs, God laughs.

(sometimes beautiful surprises come).

30-loves list. (for Dale). (and also for myself).

1. Love of family.
2. Love of friendship, that becomes a kind-of family.
3. Love of the way we can be many different things to each other.
4. Love of farm stillness.
5. And farm movement.
6. And love of knowing that I might plant the garlic, but I do not make the garlic grow.
7. Love of service.
8. Love of the humility that allows oneself to be served by another.
   
9. Love of the capacity for reinventions.
   
10. Love of second chances, with things right in front of you.
11. Love of saying sorry.
    
12. Love of music, and the way it shares things between people (the way it shares things between the multiple people in one person).
    
13. Love of moments when I recognize I'm human.
14. Love of my cat Comet.
15. And my old cat Chewy (rest in peace).
16. Love of the people who have passed--physically, or emotionally--from my life, for they are and always will be a present part of who I am.
17. That is, Love of the way Love lingers, even when bodies and hearts do not.
    
18. Love of functioning in a Communion of Saints.
    
19. And of the Joy and value in little pleasures and safeties.
20. Love of my body (on a good day).
21. And my spirit (on a good day).
    
22. Love in strength and flexibility (but not malleability).
23. Love of the way I am big and small in a world that is big and small.
24. Love of warm things.
25. Love of the intimacy allowing one to speak a coded language, that only one more understands.
26. Love of spending a lifetime, almost knowing one another.
    
27. And the way that people return to each other after miscommunications to try to communicate again; their persistence shows a caring language cannot capture.
    
28. Love of deep peace.
29. Love of not taking oneself too seriously.
    
30. Serious Love.

oh, brother! birthday!

(I am shocked and shocked again, by all the beautiful people in my life).

Gary is totally cheesing here. Love it. (Also, Gary! proof! You really love Frances!):
Tim monopolizing my sister :) (just kidding, Tim):
I am a whole awkward head above Ashley:
This photo sums up our relationship perfectly:

Oh, brother! birthday! (photos) by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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.

flashes of a radiohead generation.

do your waters run deep, my darlin

where they don't run wide?

I used to feel lonely amongst the root systems, but now I see that even (some) root systems feel lonely amongst the (other) root systems.

...And what good are isolating mental matrices when this is what's happening in the world?
(How am I supposed to concentrate on school, or on my internal wheels when The Global makes me feel so sad/small?)
why am I here? why am I here? what am I doing?

departure/suspension/missing.

Sometimes i look at old photographs, and swear I don't recognize my own face.
and I know my weight fluctuates and my hair is always different and lately I've been make-up free, but that's not it really--
it's the eyes.
the eyes are different.

and maybe all I've got is change and maybe we're all scattering and--
oh, safe travels.

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.

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.

"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.