"Maybe the wolf is in love with the moon, and each month it cries for a love it will never touch."

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    I meant to publish something about the transhumanism conference I attended two weeks ago, but it feels like a million years ago now that I’m firmly located in the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere being a bed so small that I have to sleep diagonally, in a musty attic in an empty house in a hundred acre wood in the shadow of the Cascades. The nearest humans are a five minute walk away, there’s only the wood stove downstairs for heat and the kitchen sink for running water, pick a tree to piss under. I can see night sky and fir branches through my window.

    I feel something so intense when I’m out in the forest alone. Beauty like this makes my spine tingle and my heart fill with something I have inadequate words for, except to say that it feels like the opposite of loneliness. I’ll never forget these nights in this house by myself with moonlight pouring through the skylight. Mornings washing my face in the kitchen sink in water so cold it makes my hands ache. Or when I’m wandering the woods with one of the dogs and she comes back with a pair of elk antlers in her mouth. It’s surreal in the best way.

    My ever-present headphones have been mostly absent of late. The silence is magical, and the sounds that punctuate it even more so. The rush of the creek, swollen from the spring rains. Robins, jays, ravens, woodpeckers, and others I don’t yet recognize. 

    The North Cascades is one of the most diverse ecosystems on the planet. Animals with fins, fur, feathers and scales are all at home in this dramatic and beautiful environment. Elusive mammals like the gray wolf, fisher and wolverine wander the wilderness in small numbers…Fish and amphibians lurk in the clear mountain lakes and streams. The rich forests, rocky slopes and clean waters teem with invertebrate life, such as butterflies, dragonflies, stoneflies and mayflies.

    Friday night I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I would like to get drunk in these woods with you, and even though it’s impossible the thought itself made me smile. Working alone all day when the stimulating conversation is all in my head isn’t the easiest thing in the world. But I do enjoy a challenge.

    playlist: IF TREES HAVE DREAMS


    This story begins in the middle - the middle of the desert. And the end, my last days in California. Ominous clouds overhead; as above, so below. I stare down at the dusty maps clenched in my hand. A code written in blood on what looks like pages torn from old anatomy textbooks. The road sings a siren song. I am ready, I am ruthless. The only thing I believe in saying goodbye to is any semblance of normality. The only thing I’m certain about is that my life will never be predictable again. I could be anywhere a year from now. But that’s not the point. This is.

    soundcloud teaser for the spotify haters

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    We’ve played a dangerous game and there’s nowhere else to go. You’re the drug, dance is the delivery. Eyes closed, I can almost see you. Don’t move.

    Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
    — Edna St. Vincent Millay

    words + full mix below by alpha:

    i am nothing but a complex combination of atoms, just like everything else around us. and you are nothing but energy compressing and propagating through air. 

    together we invented time travel, teletransportation, non-assisted flying, telepathy, psychokinesis and love. we became ether and light, created entire new worlds from our minds only, transformed moments into hours and produced films like the old french classics. as unbelievable as it sounds, we did all of this while dancing.

    i know we are atoms and energy, but when we close our eyes… that’s a whole different story.



    "Meaning is why we evolve. Meaning is us. We are meaning." — Ayoub Qanir

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  6. I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.

    — Andrew Wyeth

    Once more around the sun, well into deep winter. Underneath the silence and darkness in the garden of my soul is the slow magic of dormant things waiting for the light. Buried under snowdrifts and white feather blankets with only words for companions, I wait for a voice from the heart of winter. If you’re absolutely still you can almost hear my heart beating.

    imageIsaac Levitan, Forest in Winter

    The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.

    Robert Frost, from ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’

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    Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages. — Elalusz

    I was satisfied with haiku until I met you,
    jar of octopus, cuckoo’s cry, 5-7-5,
    but now I want a Russian novel,
    a 50-page description of you sleeping,
    another 75 of what you think staring out
    a window. I don’t care about the plot
    although I suppose there will have to be one,
    the usual separation of the lovers, turbulent
    seas, danger of decommission in spite
    of constant war, time in gulps and glitches
    passing, squibs of threnody, a fallen nest,
    speckled eggs somehow uncrushed, the sled
    outracing the wolves on the steppes, the huge
    glittering ball where all that matters
    is a kiss at the end of a dark hall. 
    At dawn the officers ride back to the garrison,
    one without a glove, the entire last chapter
    about a necklace that couldn’t be worn
    inherited by a great-niece
    along with the love letters bound in silk. 
    — Dean Young

    On the brink of something and the end of nothing. Drifting on a dark sea of melancholy, caught between waiting and wanting. I wish I was a poet so I could coax visions from behind my eyelids and let them loose like butterflies in the snow, so I could unchain spirit from silence and paint in all the colors that love scattered madly inside me. I’m on the heels of ecstasy, running from the rift in my heart. I hope you’ll meet me on the other side.

    If you ever ask me how many times you’ve crossed my mind, I would say once. Because you came, and never left. — Ritu Ghatourey

    If you do not love me, I shall not be loved. 
    If I do not love you, I shall not love. — Samuel Beckett


    a fire to light the longest night of the year

    red november
    sky’s on fire, smoke in my lungs
    i’m your slain unicorn
    made my grave in darkest forest
    blood on birch bark
    black december
    in my dreams we’re chasing alien sunsets
    and I wake up lying in shards of glass
    reaching for your hand in the dark
    the click of a lighter on repeat
    because darling you started a fire
    and every time I see something beautiful 
    i burn a little more



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    via Rebelle Society:

    The mind says ‘mistake. regret. punishment.’

    The heart speaks ‘long. ache. grieve’
    The body pulses ‘want. want. want’

    Yoga answers ‘you are nothing but your breath. exhale’

    The legs scream ‘go. run. escape’
    The ceiling fan whispers ‘you are still here’

    The critic declares ‘not enough. do more’
    The practice replies ‘exactly right. infinitely curious. eternally gentle’

    The hips protest ‘no. I can’t’
    Yoga says ‘release the stories. they do not serve’

    The hands grasp ‘hold tight. don’t let go’
    The pose demands ‘loosen. relinquish. release’

    The tension says ‘do not move’
    The breath says ‘you are free’

    The habit pushes ‘control’
    The mantra answers ‘surrender’

    The spirit cries ‘scared. so scared’
    The music sings ‘every little thing’s gonna be alright’

    The head whispers ‘afraid of shadows’
    Yoga answers ‘you are nothing but light’

    The muscles complain ‘so tired’
    Savasana responds ‘rest now. be still.’

    The fear says ‘ordinary’
    Namaste reminds ‘divine. divine. divine’

    The self says ‘I am here’
    Yoga says ‘yes, you are’