Date:	2009-12-19 12:00
Subject:	from a free yoga class a couple days ago:
Security:	Public
Mood:	hungry

Once a young woman asked me,
"How does it feel to be a man?"
And I replied,
"My dear,
I am not so sure."

Then she said,
"Well, aren’t you a man?"

And this time I replied,
"I view gender
As a beautiful animal
That people often take for a walk on a leash
And might try to enter in some odd contest
To try to win prizes.

"My dear,
A better question for Hafiz
Would have been,

"How does it feel to be a heart?"

For all I know is Love,
And I find my heart Infinite
And Everywhere!

~Hafiz

Date:	2009-12-04 02:00
Subject:	gogogo
Security:	Public
Mood:	busy
Music:	Let the midnight special shine her everlovin' light on me!

I have roughly one week to:

--Ask my dad (only person I can think to ask) for a loan for the wood I need to build clothes drying racks to sell.
--build at least a handful of said racks
--meet with the woman at the salon by the mall about doing massage there
--reschedule with Melissa at Bodyworks to get a key and go over policies/logistics about renting space there
--find a ride down to the permaculture course next weekend
--remember to ask for housing this time, since I want to take time/space from Diana
--moussaka for the course potluck
--site design for my land
--laundry
--gifts
--food stamps

This weekend:
--Couchsurfing Meetup
--Artwalk
--contra dance
--meet up with a couple of folks from OkC
--either another contra dance, the shaleshock benefit, or staying home getting things done
--Sustainable Tompkins awards party
--maybe Becca's birthday
--at least three things I forgot

g'night!

Date:	2009-11-24 00:14
Subject:	how the hell did I get here?
Security:	Public
Mood:	sad
Music:	Hurray for the Riff Raff, "Junebug Waltz"

It's strange to feel that I'm not generally well-liked or respected, nor generally useful to anyone. And that this is a fairly even-handed and realistic assessment. This is not where I set out to go, and I don't know how to turn back. I'm definitely sad lately, but not out of keeping with day-to-day life.

Every day I feel like I'm not passing the test. But if I'm not passing, and failure is not an option, where does that leave me?

Date:	2009-11-23 01:19
Subject:	like making the beast with two backs, or paper cranes
Security:	Public
Mood:	sleepy

1:03amMarvin
okay, I think eet ees sleepy taim

1:04amAzita
okay

make the sleeps

:)

1:06amMarvin
I want to make the sleeps with someone :(

not too frowny, though

it was just too cute a phrase to miss

Date:	2009-11-18 01:11
Subject:	a few quick notes
Security:	Public
Mood:	loved
Music:	Amanda Palmer, "I Want You, but I Don't Need You"

Writing letters and making mix tapes - so deeply satisfying.

Steph's moving to Cortland in two weeks. Hmm.

I finally got to understand 'romantic' movies a few nights ago, when I curled up with a new friend and watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and found one that was actually well-done: I got into it. I not only suspended disbelief, I came to associate so strongly with the characters that their joy was my joy--their losses were my losses. I'm glad I had someone to be close to after that emotional rush.

Under the assumption that the character of Sabina most directly states Milan Kundera's personal philosophy, I will conditionally say that I really liked The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

In the realm of totalitarian kitsch, all answers are given in advance and preclude any questions. It follows, then, that the true opponent of totalitarian kitsch is one who asks questions. A question is like a knife which slices through the stage backdrop and gives us a look at what lies hidden behind it. In fact, that was exactly how Sabina had explained the meaning of her paintings to Tereza: On the surface, an intelligible lie; underneath, the unintelligible truth showing through.

But the people who struggle against what we call totalitarian regimes cannot function with queries and doubts. They, too, need certainties and simple truths to make the multitudes understand, to provoke collective tears.

Sabina had once had an exhibit that was organized by a political organization in Germany. When she picked up the catalogue, the first thing she saw was a picture of herself with a drawing of barbed wire superimposed on it. Inside she found a biography that read like the life of a saint or martyr: she had suffered, struggled against injustice, been forced to abandon her bleeding homeland, yet was carrying on the struggle. Her paintings are a struggle for happiness was the final sentence. She protested, but they did not understand her.

Do you mean that modern art isn't persecuted under Communism?

‘My enemy is kitsch, not Communism!’ she replied, infuriated.


Note to self: One's notion of one's own attractiveness may not be accurate. Thus, not taking care of your appearance may not equate to being unattractive to others. Growing a beard ≠ being a hermit.

But I'm glad, anyway.

Date:	2009-10-27 20:42
Subject:	snow can wait
Security:	Public
Mood:	calm
Music:	Wailin' Jennys

Date:	2009-10-09 00:10
Subject:	goodnight, and good luck
Security:	Public
Mood:	anticipatory

Midnight - the witching hour. The story goes that the faeries come out at times like this, sunrise and sunset, because they exist now between the worlds, and those moments are moments in between time. So here I am, a self-named liminal being coming back to this medium in the hour when dusk and dawn are as equidistant as my past and my future.

There's nothing like travel for knocking a mud-stuck wheel out of a rut. When I left Ithaca three weeks ago, I was leaving a broken home. Not that it had ever functioned that well as a whole, but the person I had inadvertently made my primary partner decided to leave me for another, both picking at the scabs of old insecurities and allowing me to find the tender pink skin underneath. I left. I watched everything seem to go wrong and still spread my wings and wove a spell and passed as a shadow: A night with Diana before moving on to Philly, 15 hours from there to Asheville, next day in Tennessee and several nights with almost no sleep, lots of new people and people I hadn't seen in a long time, and a beautiful wedding.

Then aimlessness, again, or perhaps seeking, "I'm running, not running away, but closing in on what I'm running to." Tried to hitch to Raleigh and for the first time since I left, couldn't get rides--instead landed in Asheville once again, where I let myself get stuck for over a week; such a strange week full of intense emotions, enticing opportunities. Left uncertainly and 24 hours later was coasting into Manhattan. Adventures and loving friends and back in Ithaca yesterday with many more questions than answers.

This post got vague as I got tired. I'm thinking of moving to Asheville, where I could work at the Ashevillage institute, on a farm project 20 minutes north of town, and contra dance a bunch with amazing dancers, a couple of whom I have major crushes on; I've been offered a place to live for free in Rosendale, NY, in exchange for a massage a month and some light gardening and maintenance--while there I can take another permaculture course, do work-trade for Green Phoenix Permaculture, do boat maintenance on the Sloop Clearwater and be 3 miles from someone I like a whole lot, but I haven't found paid work yet, nor a way to get around, nor anything specific to do with the time I don't spend on the work-trades; I could stay in Ithaca, look for work here, enjoy the new folks I've met, try to get more involved with projects I like, recommit to capoeira; and there are probably many other choices lurking out there if I'm willing to just cut ties and burn bridges to a certain extent.

I'd like to say I have half a clue, but all I know is I leave tomorrow for the Hudson Valley. I hope to be at the Chance Friday night to see Perfect Thyroid open up for the Wailers. I will be at Camp Epworth from 9-5 Saturday and Sunday, unless some folks decide to go see Levon Helm for free in Hurley 2-4 on Sunday. That's as much as I can say for my entire foreseeable future. Any ideas? More confusion is welcome!

Date:	2009-08-01 02:26
Subject:	Oh...
Security:	Public
Mood:	dejected
Music:	Oh Shenandoah

Walking home in the dark, alone, wounded, uncertain, I started singing an old sea chantey turned folk song I've long known and loved:

Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you
Oh away, you rolling river
Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

As I went through the traditional verses, I thought about the tradition of the chanteyman not repeating any verses until a task is done, and settled on inventing new ones until I reached the end of the East Hill rec way. Here are some of the ones I came up with that I think I like:

Missouri is a mighty water
Oh away, you rolling river
Twas on her banks, Sitting Bull was slaughtered
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

Oh Shenandoah, your touch is ageless
Oh away, you rolling river
I carry it to distant places
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

Your fireflies that dot the shadows
Oh away, you rolling river
The wildflowers that fill your meadows
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

Oh Shenandoah, I've drunk your waters
Oh away, you rolling river
Oh Shenandoah, I'll seek no others'
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

I saw the rain come from afar
Oh away, you rolling river
Then clouds they parted, I saw my pole star
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

If in the darkness, I'm led astray
Oh away, you rolling river
I'll come back home, by the break of day
Away, we're bound away, cross the wide Missouri

Date:	2009-06-25 19:53
Subject:	can't write now, so I'll share
Security:	Public
Mood:	down-cycling

Defeat

* Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
* You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
* And sweeter to my heart than all worldglory.
*
* Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
* Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
* And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
* And in you I have found aloneness
* And the joy of being shunned and scorned.
*
* Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
* In your eyes I have read
* That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
* And to be understood is to be levelled down,
* And to be grasped is but to reach one's fullness
* And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.
*
* Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
* You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
* And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
* And urging of seas,
* And of mountains that burn in the night,
* And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.
*
* Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
* You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
* And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
* And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
* And we shall be dangerous.

--Khalil Gibran, The Madman

Date:	2009-06-11 08:47
Subject:	depression, then death
Security:	Public
Mood:	grief

I can't write much, it's still too fresh: Two headless birds, the last just missing. Raccoon. Dug under the fence, a hole smaller than a chick would have needed to get out. This after a week of trying not to kill myself. No choice at all but to go to work.

Will I try again?

The one ripped apart, entrails on the ground, hard-taloned toes limp.

Date:	2009-05-06 23:51
Subject:	acting, forest gardening and...chickens?!
Security:	Public
Mood:	sleepy
Music:	Alice Stuart, "Can't Find No Heaven"

Finally starting to make some progress. I just have the most intense ADD when it comes to projects, so that I can only get 5 trees planted before I go and look for a tool, and end up spending two hours cleaning and organizing the garage. Net result: All trash removed, found some really useful hand-tools, and there's a wooden goose plaque wearing mardi gras beads welcoming people to my house now. Nine of fourteen pawpaws are in the ground, and a 10x10 bed is planted in peas, carrots, two varieties of radish, two varieties of beet, parsley and cilantro. Two or three kinds of flowers. And one broccoli, just for the hell of it.

That was before Carl's art opening, which was at Manndible Cafe in Mann library. Libraries have computers, so in a dull moment, I crept in a found a note from Karrie, stating that her professor had received six chicks in his office as a prank this afternoon (they were apparently placed 15 feet above the floor on his top shelf and chirped noisily as he was on a conference call with other people working on the Mars Rover) and would someone like them? No one thought what would happen to them afterward, so I volunteered to take them, with no information about their age, gender, breed, or anything really.
( cut for cuteness )
Thanks to the online BackYard Chickens forum, I have a hazarded guess that the brown ones are Rhode Island Reds and that they're all about 3 weeks old. Now I just have to build a chicken coop...and hope that some of them are layers!

Also, in my email today I received notice that I've been cast in several roles for the Tompkins County History Center's guided living history tours, most notably the role of Edward Rulloff, which I no doubt got due to my well-polished maniacal laugh. Also George Bowlsby, so-called 'mayor' of Ithaca's Silent City, also known as the Rhineland, the Jungle, and Sodom.

It's a paid gig! My first time being paid to act. Between that and flyering for Garden Gate Delivery, I might actually make a few bucks this month. Delivering flyers is fun work--wish I could do it all the time--I mean, get paid to walk, that's what I've always wanted!

Date:	2009-04-20 00:09
Subject:	truth ...(?)
Security:	Public
Mood:	tired

I think I'm doing this because I can't find anything better to do, not because it's necessarily right.

Planting a garden. Trying to be a massage therapist as a livelihood. Having relationships. All of life.

I need to not be given responsibility over all of the bills at the house. If I do, I will abuse that power to kick one of my roommates out because his style of living doesn't fit the goal of creating a collective. I don't want to be put in that position, but it may yet happen.

I met some musicians on the commons Thursday while trying to meet up with Sarah Rose to play music, and so happened to have my mandolin. They invited me to join them and I played the best I can remember in a long, long time. So much fun--I haven't had fun playing with others in...so long I can't remember. Maybe Olympia. Ran into them again Friday and they helped move compost and mulch for the garden. Failed to really connect with them on a non-musical level, though, and now they're headed back to Lancaster, and I can't expect that to happen again anytime soon.

The compost happened because of Joe, who's involved in the Dacha project, and when he heard I've been waiting three weeks to get this done, immediately stepped in and offered his help. Stephanie was an invaluable third shovel during the morning shift. Just astounded that after so many false starts it suddenly works--I was starting to think that my belief in mutual aid was crazy.

Played at the market Saturday. Again, because it felt like I ought to, not because it was especially fun, though it was, overall.

Today, bicycle day, I raced in an Alley Kat at Cornell, and came in third with both derailleurs out of commission and a chain that kept falling off--won a bottle of champagne. Went looking for ramps with Greg, but found only unopened trillium and trout lily. Sleepy afternoon.

I'm excited about the garden, worried about my seedlings, but also my soul--the heart of my all, where action comes from--that I'm getting weak and just getting by. Perfection takes time, but who am I now?

Date:	2009-04-08 15:00
Subject:	sprouts!
Security:	Public
Mood:	excited

Yesterday, the first few were just poking their heads up through the soil. Today, there are 13, some an inch tall!



Edit, following morning: First tomato sprouts are up! And I've scattered 1500 nettle seeds amongst the frost-heaves along the 'moat'.

True story, dawg.

Date:	2009-03-01 12:55
Subject:	timely
Security:	Public
Mood:	quiet

I walked the paths and back-woods to Forest Home Drive and then up through the Plantations to campus. Saw seven ducks in Fall Creek and something like a turkey-tail mushroom (but growing on a box elder?).

Geese honking. Crows gathering.

Trying to overcome my resistance and really put myself out there as a massage therapist and gardener/permaculture designer--we'll see.

Date:	2009-01-26 23:59
Subject:	quotes
Security:	Public
Mood:	quiet
Music:	Nickel Creek, "Reasons Why"

I must be someone famous, right?

"The city is a graveyard where we bury the living, and walk amidst the tombstones."
(caption to Clover's photo of a graveyard with NY skyline in background--probably won't be used, tho)

"I walk. Swimming is only for summer fun for me. I walk in the woods and dream with the trees."
(conversation with SashaSepia)

Date:	2009-01-25 14:07
Subject:	sexuality, polyamory, romance and double-standards
Security:	Public
Mood:	sad

This is going to be a rather personal entry, and I'm thinking about making it "friends only," but I'll post it publicly first and see what happens. Maybe I'll get to shock my parents!

I've had a number of conversations in the past few months about the social aspects of sexuality, both the effects a sexual relationship has on the individuals involved and the perceptions and reactions of a society that relies largely on an overt 'don't ask, don't tell' policy and less acknowledged but no less active system of gossip and reactionary judgement. I'll save my venting on the harm that hiding our conflicts and imperfections behind a glossy facade does to our ability to learn to resolve conflicts and grow as individuals for another time--although it does touch closely to what I'm going to explore--and instead focus on the relationships themselves.

I was reading this article I received on my 'poly in the media' blog feed, and it triggered a lot of synapses I didn't expect to fire together. I tried to talk to one friend about it, but she was busy, so I'm going to try to write more broadly about what might be more manageable in small, personal doses. The article, for those too lazy to finish it, explores three subcultures in American society and different strategies of sexual agency young women of each group employ, recognizing the strengths and weaknesses of each.

While the article focuses on the goth scene, which I've only had brief flirtations with [beat], I've had a fair amount of interaction with the young contra dance scene and the culture developing there. While I find it important to say that I, and most people I know, would find the idea of going to a contra dance with the idea of meeting someone to hook up with distasteful, I do think that the physically affectionate environment and flirtatious dancing are a fertile bed for all kinds of feelings and actions, including casual sex, serial monogamy, polyamory, life-long friendships and partnerships, communication both good and bad, and hurt feelings over false expectations. At the same time that gender-blending and cuddle puddling are considered fairly normal, some more traditional expectations are maintained. Thus, some people I've been involved with have wanted to keep our liasons discreet, so as not to be seen as easy or slutty. This can get messy when what's wanted out of the relationship isn't made clear and changes of heart aren't talked about: Someone might decide, for instance, that they think I want casual sex, whenever we happen to be in the same place, and that they're alright with that as long as they're not in a monogamous relationship and as long as I don't ruin their chances of attaining that still more-desireable situation. Meanwhile, I might just feel attracted to someone, not specifically want sex but be open to it, and want to get to know the person better, explore what possabilities there are; generally, I don't want sex without a pretty strong emotional connection. I get emotionally involved but respect their desire for discretion, and possibly for a comfortable casual distance which ultimately leads me to feel unwanted. They may also, at some point, develop feelings for me, including a desire to be in a monogamous romantic relationship. This idea is immediately discarded: I am not relationship material, and polyamory is just sleeping around until you find the 'right one,' not a viable long-term model. We drift apart, each thinking it's because the other isn't interested. I'm just sayin', it could happen.

That's one possability; on the other extreme, I have a friend who felt pressured to remain part of a free-love style subculture and ostracized when she didn't want to sleep with people she previously had. This from so-called feminist men who called themselves polyamorous--a title usually associated with respect and communication. Oh, she doesn't come to dances anymore. I don't blame her, but I do miss her.

I've also been involved with a couple of married women, with the full knowledge and consent of their husbands, who also can see other people. I'm not interested in a debate about what marriage is or isn't, but just the fact that I felt the need to write that indicates the point I'm about to make: Open marriages are more likely to be attacked than other polyamorous arrangements, because marriage is a word that carries a lot of cultural baggage. As such, I find it interesting that one of those relationships has been the only one with a person who has said that they don't care what people think and they want to be out in the open about our relationship, partially because there can't be any discussion about cultural norms if people aren't out in the open about not following them.

So where do we even begin with this tangle? I don't fault anyone for anything: For their desires, their fears, their needs. I've certainly made mistakes, too, oh boy, have I. What I do want, though, is for the conversation to be more open. I don't want to feel like I have to downplay my sexuality out of fear that I'll be looked at as a rake or a ladies' man for wanting relationships with and accepting affection from good women, whose choice of partners or lifestyle shouldn't automatically be suspect. Are they sluts? Am I? Does that matter more than how we treat each other and all people? Right now, it seems to me, a person could be considered 'good' for keeping their abusive relationship discreet, while another might be considered 'bad' for allowing others to see the difficulties in a generally healthy relationship (or just for having a nonmonogamous one), a process which could ultimately be beneficial to both those in the relationship--for having outside perspectives--and others who could see or experience a healthy process, something I've witnessed pitifully inrequently. How do we learn any of this when all we get to see are those moments when suppressed tension explodes? I know peope who ascribe to nonviolent communication who thought I didn't care about them when I remained calm during an argument.

I need you, people. I need you as friends, lovers, community. I need your help to grow as a person, and to feel safe and supported. If you want whatever it is I have to give, you have to accept it, ask for it, you have to make your own desires known. Dream big! And tell me...all we have to lose is the patriarchy, cops in the head, and fear of one another...

It is my broken heart which is asking...

Fumbling around in the dark of winter. It's a month past the solstice, but not even halfway to the equinox yet. I am out of joint, out of time with life's music, or just out of music itself; as quiet as a barren windswept field, as orderly as the wind.

I've found myself a place that even my unemployed self can afford. It's cold, even with the woodstove, but it's home. Although someone's kissed me under the eaves already, no one has spent the night, so I'll consider my hermitage unbroken and look towards tomorrow when we'll go out and look for deadfalls along the creek that we can saw and split with handtools while beans simmer on the stove. I eat well, always. You will too, if you join me.

Piecing things together, but not yet whole: Mending my torn backpack, but not certain it will hold yet. Wrote two articles for the Ithaca Zine which were too threatening for the anarchists. Proposed a freeskool class on massage, but didn't find a venue in time, so my first experiment in teaching is delayed. I'm peeling through the layers of business cards and scraps of paper, puzzling out names and numbers and emails of people I've long forgotten or thought I'd lost. Writing letters on actual paper, looking for stamps envelopes addresses il postino! I wrote to Germany via England and wonder if I'll get a response. Oregon remains silent, my books and papers almost certainly lost.

'You have to be broken to be broken open.'

Two trigger point therapists in two days. Trying to not lose track of Heather and Ren now that the silence is broken. Weekend of Eat, Sleep, Capoeira (next year it will be held four days around New Years, best way I can think to spend that silly 'holiday,' though contra dancing this year wasn't half bad) and now have people saying 'vem jogar camara!' from Michigan and New York City. So sore. So good. When we weren't in movement workshops or playing, there were dance workshops and more playing. Samba. Maculelê. I can't remember the last time I was around such a friendly, diverse group of people. The week since getting back has gone by quickly--even Ithaca days cannot be as full as those were. So I ignore the inauguration, listening to Johnny Cash as I clean and hum and dream. Burning the clutter. Spring doesn't even exist; there's only us, there's only this.

Date:	2008-11-08 22:01
Subject:	on writing
Security:	Public
Mood:	cheerful

It worries me a bit that so much of my generation will leave no written legacy behind, no guidebooks for those to follow; just from rambling, narcissistic accounts of daily minutiae. Granted, sometimes I use this intertron thing as a quick reminder to myself, "these events, these synaptic triggers," and granted I've hardly written in my paper journal in months--that worries me, too. Doubtless, an anthropologist would find twitter fascinating (I didn't know what it was until a couple of days ago), but will a ten-year-old be able to find any remnants of culture, experiences, success and failure and paths-less-trodden in this mess of blogs? Would our diaries and journals, published, rouse anger, conjure tears or laughter or the feeling of the very last sunset? Or would they instead be muted somnambular recitals of this accomplishment, that party, those attractive people?

The so-called bigger picture comes in and out of focus depending on my locus, my current point of view. During a dance, all that exists is my partner, the music, other dancers, the feeling of my feet interacting with the rhythm to create intricate syncopies; when I think of the world, I want to blow up most every road, crane, drilling rig and mine; when I think of history I realize how infinite our choices are; when I read that literacy ruins one's ability to absorb oral traditions, I mourn that I may never be a bard. Maybe enough capoeira can heal even that rift.

Professor Graveto got serious at the end of Monday's class about what his class is and isn't: He doesn't take a dime to teach us, he said, and so he doesn't owe us anything--we're responsible for our own learning. Despite those words, he's taught me a number of things in just a few classes which will help me keep from major injury. The style of learning bothers me, though. Some of the motions and notions are so foreign to me that I can't conceive of how to imitate them. My body feels retarded, imbecilically slow, and he spells out for us so much that a Brazilian would just have to absorb. Those of you who know me know that I'm not a club-handed oaf with two left feet, either, but the idea of having to play before a mestre right now makes me feel sick. I know I have to keep at it, if for no other reason than this: I've never done anything like this before in my life.

Date:	2008-11-08 22:00
Subject:	name the permaculture principle
Security:	Public
Mood:	amused

(last three panels)