shanah tovah u'metukah! it's the new year for we jews, and i'm working towards peace, healing, and understanding.
wow i suck at keeping the blog up to date. like very much so lmao. i shouldn't put a schedule on myself when i know i'm an executive dysfuncting disaster. got some little page edits to make, gabriel is trying the name orev because Fuck 'Em, and i wrote a poem i'd like to post but it has Weird Indentations and idk how to format that in html sobs
the poem's about the mini-moon/asteroid in orbit of earth right now through november. we can't see it, and it's only here for two months, but just knowing it's there all throughout the most one of the most painful months (october), and all throughout high holy days as well, brings me a quiet sense of comfort.
i compare the mini-moon to a predator animal chasing a cosmic?? mass? of like dark matter or Nothing? and the reader follows the asteroid through her chase as she stalks this thing she can't see but she intuitively knows
Is There. she sinks her gravity jaws into her prey, and is it there? she feels less cold, but is that not just the drifting of existence?
changing names is shifting a portion of your identity into something audibly and visiby New, to you and those around you. we'll even slip up ourselves, refer to ourselves by the wrong name or accidentally misgender—but that's not that point
that's not the point.
when i shared the mini-moon poem with my roommate, i asked her if she thought the weird indentations were distracting.
nah, she said, it's poetry. weird indentations are part of the medium.
the point to the indentations is the landscape of the darkness we hang in. i know we all know we're Just A Little Blue Rock Floating In Space, but really. Really.
they're the nooks in the boulders jutting out the detritus deep space, the corners of narration where memory and instinct linger.
there is something eternally warm about salt, a fresh found meal, curling up in the river crevice and drawing in the glides of the water. over the stones and stream colliding into itself soothe the roiling in my head until stream gurgling echolalia becomes two parts playing in uinson. it's the singing of windchimes—empty soda bottles fastened together from a sudden childlike burst, the dance of dice in the cup before i make my saving rolls, the sound of joy clinking into a cup before a refreshing drink follows.
i'm finding lightness, that quiet empty stillness in more and more places. the crunch of turning a page of the dictionary. umami washing over my tongue after i crushed up the dry ramen, draped it in sesame oil, and shook the flavor pack up all together and took my first bite. the thick dark save a muffled light glowing the room. i sit curled on the floor, blanket draped over shoulders in summer, turning pages and sifting through papers with something like magic in my fingertips, dancing behind my eyes.
there's something i've found that i can't see. there's many somethings i've found
that i can't see. doesn't mean it isn't there, though. we have a new little moon, a transient thing dancing with our home for a brief window and i can't help but look up and hope whatever she's doing up there, she can find that warmth. when she catches her prey may ice melt over her tongue and wash away the hunger. venus is a candle in our galaxy, driving away the spaces where somethings aren't and giving the nothing nowhere to hide. what stories are written along saturn's rings? can she feel the indentations of pluto's orbit?
i replayed heaven will be mine the other night. saturn's route, cradle's graces ending. when you reach into the depths of your soul and find a lightness where the inner child is meant To Be, where they drift and breathe the Truth that these empty moments, like so many others, are moments of security. to even broach pluto's ship krun macula, you must enter her gravity, and her Gravity is defined by the deepest and most childlike form of love.
declare war, wait on the surface of venus where metal can't reach, and our Adveraries must Be like us to reach us, and if they become like us, they must Know the depths of a child's wonder and love for the world. to enter our Gravity, they must Embody that love. and then...?
i'm sure i sound at least a little ridiculous in this blog. but right now? right here?
it's a little less cold.
orev and viv? out for now ;3 and happy trucker day, too! i hope this new you brings us sweetness and many, many still moments of joy to linger in the corners of our narration.