Found on a looseleaf sheet of ruled paper while packing to move.
We're moving down the street next month, my partner and I, lucky dogs.
I'm not sure when I wrote this.
After the 2016 election, I imagine. And probably winter.
Though maybe my last year of grad school.
I am a big bunch of mixed-up words
My dad always said life is a series of minor corrections.
My days are full of head-scratching
Too much internet
Sleeping a lot these days
Is it the weather? Politics?
Now I'm writing. My favorite moment.
The room is warm.
I touch my cheek for cool.
The empty room.
Sometimes it's warm, solitude.
And I get a lot done.
Sometimes it's gruesome, a burn at my chest in forest fire.
Loneliness tastes hard at the back of my teeth like a filling.
Metallic and everywhere when it's near,
Swimming a pool of spaghetti
The brimming waves take over the room like static
The sound of gratitude and a stirring heart
I can etch out my truth in loneliness
I am a heart of song
The truth is nutty to assemble
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Process notes on a work in progress (me). This mostly contains raw rough content pulled out of practice notebooks. Occasional posts also invite you into the way I work, with intermittent notes on the hows and whys on the whats I make. Less often you may also find prompts and processes I've brought to workshops, as well as surveys that help me gather material for projects. Similar earlier posts from years ago can be found on: