Diving Days Falling Into the Slumber of Sweaters

A fat slice of lemon bobbing in the depths of black tea and ice; sweat sliding down the cylinder of the glass.

Escaping Scientology, white fragility, forensic science and plant science and the training of bloodhounds used together to find dead bodies, Black Lives Matter leaders, disabled gay men and their stories, graphic novel representation of Deafness, the relationship between a father and son when the father is an alcoholic underwater welder, comedy, a graphic novel about the use of they/them pronouns, and a Minnesotan murder mystery.

These are some of the themes and story lines of the books I read this summer, the last of which I ended earlier today.

Yes, there is overlap with the fall as far as I'm concerned: Another year of grad school started last week, but one must savor the final drops of blueberry sweet tea before trading it in for a mug full of something warm.

(pause)

I've been thinking of presence as of late.  And how, when in doubt, your body knows the answer. Try it sometime. Try it now. What is something you have been feeling uncertain about? Something that you overthink when trying to find an answer. Close your eyes. Focus on it. Get real still and then, while silently sitting, feel where the pulls are within your body. Does your heart beat wildly in excitement and hope? Does your stomach drop and you get that pull from the side of your abdomen that says "Stay away from that..."?

It's both strange and beautiful that we have such clear compasses within us if we can just matte the sound. (Here I think of any person who is unfamiliar with how sound changes just after a first and heavy snow.  Promise yourself that you will find out its texture and hum.)

be well; be loved,

k.


P.S. I read the oddest reference to disability that I think I have ever read thus far.  An academic starts out a sentence with "The most extreme disability, death itself, (blah blah blah)".  I don't think I've ever heard death be referenced as a type of disability. As if one would see a dead body and think "Wow. That person has a very extreme disability."

(image: Andre Paul Pinces via untrustyou tumblr)

The Beauty of Hands; The Beauty of Hearts

Just before 9am on a Thursday.

This Saturday will be an anniversary. 

Although it is Aries season, the past few months have been that of Taurus. The bull and its silent swagger of loyalty and stubbornness. Protection and patience. Sexuality and intelligence. Gentleness that only a trained eye can recognize beyond its scraping foot.

I feel so lucky.

Loved.

Respected.

Relaxed.



The worlds and dimensions we build are ours. 

I would have it no other way.

(pause)

The other day we played a game. I took out a journal from back when we were first crossing paths- about eight years ago or so. I slid my hand in the book at random and opened it. Upon its page was a mention of her. Strangely and fittingly, the one and only mention of her in all of the pages.

Such things are of magic.  A built magic. A slow, steady, connected magic.

It is not the kind that happens at random. It is not the kind that involves slight of hand.

It is the kind that occurs when our hands are both open and empty- our eyes upon each others.

(pause)

Good things may come to those who wait, but it is those who expect more from the people who love them that will always be lifted to another, necessary, level. The way this love spreads to everyone (friends, neighbors, enemies, strangers) becomes palpable, and it is within this web we are connected and strengthened.

be well, and be loved well,

k.

(image: Guillermo Fornes, Origen. via yvonneconstance tumblr)
 

Perfect Pavement and Everything That Matters

This evening:

The perfect hooded-sweatshirt-and-a-jacket weather and sweet, sweet Sarah.  Philly librarian. I've known her since I was 19. I will never forget when I met her because we were in that punk house in Ohio. She had just gotten back into the country from Austria. I had heard about her forever from Mike and, there she was. Sitting in the kitchen on that shit-brown carpet of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.  She was in a tank top, and the sun was catching her hair through the window.  I remember just staring at her like she was a ghost or, rather, an angel. If there was ever a moment I fell pretty instantly in obsession with someone, that was the moment. God, she feels so familiar every time we see each other. We have conversations that non-library people only sit through politely because they have no idea the depth of the obsession of language and words and information and the ability to locate information actually goes.

Being from the Midwest but living in Philly, she says shit and fuck every other word and says exactly what she means. My god it's so good to be around. So home. There was nothing better tonight than to see her and to wander through the downtown streets, together.


be well; be loved,

k.
(image: Valentin Fougeray via untrustme tumblr)

What We Do About When We Do About Love

I. Saturday

I love the conversations that we have about art, language, the world, trauma and learning, literature and our relationships to ourselves, the people in our lives and the world. The conversations ignite me. They stay with me for months if not years afterward. I love getting to know more layers of the people I love. We slipped into an indoor soccer venue at night to watch strangers play and/or poke and prod lost balls out of the netting by the ceiling. Fluorescent lights hitting the ultra green field turf: It served as such a sweet and fitting backdrop to our conversations of balance and connection.

II. Sunday [Unfolding on the evening of the moon named for the season in which wolves mate. We are lone, but we also travel in packs]

One of the most incredible feelings in the world is being with someone who has loved and supported you in more ways you can imagine for a very long time.  There is a different feeling when someone kisses you or holds your hand who is a person who  has inspired you, treated you with thoughtful respect, made you laugh, made you dinner, and has supported you both in what you are aiming for and in what makes you feel safe. Respectful words, respectful actions and the simple truth of looking out for you.

When that same person buries their head in your neck, runs their fingers across your palm, slides their hand on your leg, places their mouth on the corner of yours - it changes you. Each and every time that it happens. It instills a self-love to leave situations that don't include the foundations of these things described, here. (It also allows for some of the most vulnerable and incredible sex, ever. It is within this trust, this love, this knowing that we can drown in the most beautiful of ways.)

I feel thankful of this, tonight.

It is something of reverence.



III.  Monday

Redaction in its sanitization sense (as distinguished from its other editing sense) is the blacking out or deletion of text in a document, or the result of such an effort. It is intended to allow the selective disclosure of information in a document while keeping other parts of the document secret.

I could live on the past 72 hours for a lifetime

and

on a cellular and blueprint level

I fully intend to.




be well; be loved

k.

(title: a play on Raymond Carver's book What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. A book that, once I read it, was entirely underwhelmed by and, to this day, feel is overrated. Dig your hands into the soil, my love. This love is not one of observation and reporting; it is one of engagement with our minds, hearts and passions fully in tact.)

(image Une Semaine de Bonté (A Week of Kindness), 1933, Max Ernst via secretcinema1 tumblr)

On Love

I'm really grateful for tonight. We had really good conversations about love. What it means and what it feels like when someone loves you as an entire person - with hopes, dreams, goals, needs, wants, intelligence(s), hilarity, habits, feelings, joys, pains, great dance moves and everything in between.

It's been good to be around Scoob again.

When I think of how we came to be in each other's lives all those years ago, and how fucking random and happenstance it all was, it blows my mind.  When I juxtapose that beginning with how much we have come to impact each other's lives between then and now, it feels so profoundly janky-angel sublimely celestial: A crass and divine intervention for us both when we arguably needed it most.

It reaffirms for me that love in friendships and in dating cares so much about each other's feelings. No shame, no shade; just total Tenderoni shit. No apologies for any feeling that may come up because we are here for it.  Always, always, always.

I'm proud of us all. There is something to be said about surrounding oneself with bad ass bitches who will stand up to a bullying bitch as easily as they will have the widest patience and love with a person who is really struggling.


It goes to show me, yet again, that

the best love is transformative

and will shift things in and about you in ways
you could have never
possibly

imagined.



"Motherfuckers quick to kiss:  Talk your shit but don't fuck with this."

Have a great and slow night/day out there:

Detroit Girl




be well; be loved,

k.


(quoted words:  Minor Threat)

The Movement of Motion; The Perpetuation of Joy

So close to reach but so hard to hold
the only chance you get is past your control

                                      --Rites of Spring (Drink Deep)

I.

What I love about T is that, no matter why or what art performance she contacts me about last minute having snagged two free tickets for us, I always know it's going to be good. She's just that good when it comes to art and theater. I'm endlessly glad that she approached me slightly tipsy at H's bar years ago to ask me what I was reading and then ended up running home to get me a copy of the play she had just finished reading. Kindred spirits like a motherfucker as it relates to art and the necessity for grime, limit-pushing and crass realism within performance. Tonight was no exception. I absolutely loved slipping out of City Hall to go see this thing with her. I felt like some kind of art fag batman of sorts. (Although, what else is new?)

There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person tell their story in the pure love and light of who they are. The artist, tonight, radiated this. I learned a lot from it. There has been such a strong theme of people, unashamed, telling the truth and complexity of their lives. It palpably changes things.

The past two weeks has brought reminders of the impact a single person's actions and/or art can have in such beautiful and profound ways. It actually changes people's lives.

II.

Back at the very end of May I started meditating everyday. It's 206 days later. I know I've said this a thousand times over, but, it really does change you.

III.

I had a dream about you last night. It was only about a minute long, but it was so vivid.

It was nighttime.  I was closing the passenger side door of a black car for someone, the way a gentleman does. As the door shut, an orange-brown leaf circled in the wind and tried to slip into the car. The door shut on it, and half the leaf was sticking out of the bottom of the car door.

Somehow, I knew that the leaf was you.

I knelt down and said warmly to you, "Don't hurt yourself. I wish we would have had more time."



be well; be loved,

k.
(image: Wind Sculpture by Daniel Graffin)

Respect Ya Hustle...Baby, Win With Us

I. Reflection


As of 3 minutes ago I have, officially, finished this semester of grad school.


(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)



I am glowing. I am proud. I am grateful. I am grateful for having what I've needed in order to be able to do it. For the support that I have received. For every part, person and privilege that has gotten me here.  I don't take it lightly that I am here.

I don't fuck around.

This has been fifteen weeks of discipline and stretching; of learning and collaboration (in school and, in many ways more importantly, outside of it).

You have been a part of this.

Thank you for that.

From the very bottom of my heart and from my spine now crooked from giving up on positions to lay in while reading.

I love you.



k.


P.S ! !  I look forward to seeing all of you this Friday night to celebrate, and to celebrate the beautiful and tattooed hands of my queer fam's wins.


(Title: Yo Gotti lyric from Rake It Up. Full lyric = "Respect ya hustle, get ya money, baby win with us")
(Image: You know who it is. The one and only. It is also a perfect depiction of my mood right now.)

In(n) Keeping

Returning from a weekend out of state. There's a new moon in Scorpio, and I have been easing into and taking advantage of every opportunity of healing that has offered itself. What has happened in these last few weeks has been incredible, earned, and so incredibly impactful.

I'm grateful for every person who has been a part of this.

I am grateful for the people who have not, as well.

be well; be loved,

k.

*****

I am a possessive boy/friend
I know that this is one of the things
you had secretly hoped
was true

You've never been kept before.

I can feel that in your wild responses
They are a mixture
of family and bones
grief and uncertainty
singularity and determination.

You have a familiar vernacular.
The kind of the kids I grew up with
who are quick to insult you
at any
silent pause
because
deep down
they are terrified
that you will leave.

Someone once told me
that the way you know you love someone
is if, when you see a photo of them as a child,
you want nothing other than to scoop them up
protect them
pinch them
celebrate every specific fleck of color in their eyes
every curve of their face
every angle of their toothless smile
that you know will eventually grow into

the person you know today.

I am a possessive boy/friend

and proximity and promise
have little to do with
this stillness
this calm
this keeping.

Falling Backwards into a Pool Full of Feathers

Roughly 10am. My fingers are cold. I'm sitting alone at the end of one of those long, wood, communal tables that some of the hipper cafes, bars and restaurants tend to have.

I had a dream about you two nights ago.

You were on a date in a restaurant and you looked beautiful. I walked up to the table and greeted your date, placed my hand at the top of your sternum and started to rub and pat your chest.  I looked at your date and said, "This one has one of the most beautiful and genuine hearts in the world." There was a pause. I smiled warmly at her and said "congratulations", and meant it. I took my hand off of your chest, and left without looking at you: What I wanted to remember was the feeling of your chest underneath my hand.


be well; be loved,

k.

One taught me love; One taught me patience: This song instantly stuck to my brain.

(Image: Steven F. Arnold, Sea of Transition)

Under the Christmas Tree This Year

I'm about to go to bed.

Tomorrow begins a new chapter of my life.

Sometimes the dreams that I aim for have a way of manifesting in such literal and unexpected ways.

I'll take it.

Joyously.

It serves to reinforce the the most important guideline that has proved itself every single day every single year:

Never make excuses or blame people.



Let's do this.

k.

A/Second/Hand

I.

I've always wanted to know what it would be like to go camping with you.  Not because I like camping. I fucking hate it, generally speaking. I spent most of my childhood outside and roaming around and being cold. No, I've always wanted to know because I bet you'd be good at it. I bet you'd be really organized with your camping gear, and know how to start a fire in some weirdly impressive way.

II.
Today was long but good. I worked a lot. Made a presentation to my department. Wrote a paper to get it out of the way (one down; one to go).  For that paper, I had to read a lot of academic journal articles having to do with social vs medical models of psychiatric care. The readings we had to go over for class had a lot of current research having to do with suicide.  It is a strange week to be diving so deeply into this topic. But you know how it is. The universe has a strange way of linking separation.

III.

I celebrated finishing the paper by skipping the early birthday party I am supposed to be at right now and, instead, heading home to put on sweatpants, eat a frozen pizza, and wash my face with warm water. My feet feel good being out of their shoes; my back feels good stretching the length of the bed. I'm listening to the dragging sound of the analog clock in my room and it reminds me that, with some things, it is just a matter of necessary time.



be well; be loved,

k.

(image: Erimo Cape, from The Solitude of Ravens, 1976, Masahisa Fukase)

Lemonade, Grass Stains and My Arms Around You: A Mid-Summer Reflection

Here is to having manifested and continuing to manifest almost the exact summer I have wanted for this year.  Travel and visitors and food and quasi-filth and the night and good, good people and music to experience it all with.

I.

Last night I met up with Sadie and we went to a different waterfront with soft serve and caught up on the goings-on of the past month.  She loves and supports folks in her life so well.  It always feels good to hear what's going on with her.  The balance of support and love not only feels good, but I feel like I learn a lot from her each time we hang out.  I like how she has my back. It always feels measured, with integrity, and then just straight out raw as fuck when someone is doing me wrong. If *she* is ever mad about some shit going on, you *know* something is wrong.  Integrit-ied love is where it's at.

II.

Last night I finished registering for classes and ordered the textbooks through the library via the sneaky ways that most people are too lazy to look into.  I love it. It saves money, but also gives an injection of library savagery that I love.  I can't wait to start.  The classes look incredible and the content endlessly exciting. It feels good to have supportive folks in my life around this, and definitely folks who are in the same wobbly boat as me in it.  Onward we go, us scholarly misfits and dream having hooligans.

III.

Michi and I are talking about going to LA together and going to tiki bars because, well of course we are. Plus, Casey is already coming up with an agenda for us (which will include the most absurd and glorious things ever). It is summertime, life is short, and there are so many reasons to go. (The shared adventure, Bradly, food, sun, that theater that I really want to go to, more food...)

For now, however, I find myself in air conditioning about to get down to business. There is a time for work and for play and, lately, I find myself smiling widely doing both.






Be well; be loved,

k.
(image RED #1 styled and shot by J. Quazi King via quazimottoonwax tumblr)

Quick

First:  An article to read.

Second: There is much more, but I have some things to tend to that require care and attention.

be well; be loved,

k.