This ones mostly about the radio..Downstairs and heat light ning all evening……the planes low overhead…something is being lowered into the basement. A three tin cup spin and I was going to get the easel, but it’s hypertextual, meaning when something is very old and still alive.
Turning it around to see it for the first time. To see me
I lived in the apartment with red geraniums for windows and through the mailslot only came bills, ads for housepainters, and letters from people I wished had forgotten about me. When this word appears “I” know of course that it is not the “I” that is,, nor the “I” that could be….would be…. I couldn’t tell you from where it goes. Approved narration. the yarrow is blooming. On earth day there will be a twenty four hour broadcast of the birds. To put the vehicle into reverse you must use the gearshift next to the steering wheel. More ice, more ice. How did it all become so familiar.
I woke up to Stereotype A on the radio. What does it mean for us to navigate these times? I am told not to expect kindness from any one else, because for the past four years we’ve been thrown onto,into a kind of machine that increases distance between one another,, the illusory world we once knew… one that places us on a staircase that moves only upwards..
They are saying it is already here, that we are within the extreme at all times, . Earlier in the week, maybe it was last week now, the computer tells me that another person has self-immolated, the third in the u.s. in the past six months.
They are talking about containers of mass death, and I again am reminded of something I have already written to you, which is the Etel adnan line that talks of how there is no such thing as mass death, only singular deaths that happen over and over, for death is something that happens once to one person one at a time
On the radio they’re asking for two million dollars and are previewing a segment that talks about the pitfalls of calling for divestment. This means it is working.
Outside there is a car driving in a circle that screams. I am talking about something else now: Surrender, not control, I am grateful to you who said that to me. And i think too, always of what one,we,I,you, can control… Name of mine next to name of another, name in pair name singular. Named twice cut at once. How we use that agency,,,
How often do you think of the before, how it all once was..There is an asymmetrical pressing of nails into the foot. Sometimes I feel more keen on discussing this. But I wonder how the box with different things, lives in our bodies, I wonder how much has been forgotten.. Sometimes images enter my mind from this time. They are of boards on all windows.. signs that were nailed to telephone poles around the city, that said things like Wait here for the government to tell you what to do.. The thinkpieces about ” languishing ” … sent to me in an email from a job I no longer work …Something felt so small, darkened about the world then, all of the evil contained within the eyes vision, pinned to total point of collapse…now it is large and dark, a dark opening into the mouth of hell, where chamber after chamber leads to a darkness more inextinguishable than the last. Everything seems to return, as water does. Remembering, remembering, met with each instant that has come before in all moments at all times. And it continues to grow larger and larger
Enough about me, I’d only like to say there is a can of paint that has overturned into the pooling water, milky blue trails outward in skeins. but now — well, I woke up the clock radio woke me up and I pressed Snooz and then that song ” Good vibrations ” was playing, the one that’s track 30 on the CD that’s jammed in the backseat of the old station wagon..
A two rhombus door, around the corner from the omnibus, which they’re trying to take away from us and replace with single family cars. The more i think about it the more I remember they’re trying to take it all away ..
News bulletin. In berkeley they have built a camp that will exist until the war is over. The camp has a library, a place to eat, places to sleep. Places to talk and dance. Places to mourn. Places to plan and dream. I stand on the steps. I sit near the altar. There is a woven cloth, eight oranges. Thich nhat hanh’s How to live when a loved one dies. Beneath the tent there are warm things to drink and granola bars. A vanilla sheet cake on the table. Across the country as you have heard this is happening. Liberation encampments are now in every major city in the united states, empire’s heart, and the university chancellors are calling in the police, and the police are driving trucks into buildings to bridge into windows to ziptie guardians of truth..I read something today that in los angeles there is a vice chancellor who has called the act of calling the police on students an act of ” mutual aid ” ..which is insane…there is nothing else I can say .. except that the movement is inextinguishable
The arrests come when the military-looking vehicles arrive to the campus, this reported in a place I used to live, I live there no longer. The president of the college called in the state troopers, they are shouting for everyone to go home. It is past your bedtime, go home go home…this is what they say as they march on with riot gear and long guns. The crowd scatters. It is almost finals, books are left out in the grass. And I wonder if the entire story is being told, about how momentous it all is ,, for even in the trees resides the resistance, they have hung signs from the redwoods that say free gaza, end empire .
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