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Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan, and Stark Sands - 500 Miles

I feel like I’ve forgotten something really important.

Multiple things, actually. The things that kept me writing urgently in my room by lantern light, the things that had me feeling completely at peace listening to Sigur Rós at two in the morning and thinking about lost seafarers and nothing else, the things that led me to connect to those of you that I’ve met through here. The things that drew me closer to some core thing that was so inspiring, maybe untouchable, and worth chasing. A feeling: the feeling of being completely immersed in the beauty of the world, the desire to find that wherever it was and try to see it more clearly by writing poems, making music, creating art. The fascination with the term negative capability.

Maybe I’ve forgotten because I’ve found new things, and it’s hard to remember all of them as well as the old, and all at once. A lot has changed and I’m thinking differently, with new ideas and concerns and people and perspectives. I’m less consigned to being lost and young in the world and living in my imagination. More driven to find out what change I want to see in the world and how to go about making that happen.

Living externally, less internally.

I think both are important, and that it shouldn’t and doesn’t have to be a tradeoff. Or at least I want it to not have to be a tradeoff for me. I’m looking for a balance now and hoping I’ll find it.

I also feel like I get introspective to the point of being self-centered, but yo dis my blog so I’m just gonna do that here.

(Source: ugh)

Dreams to have while walking home from the library

I read of mangroves, coastal forest far away
protection against monsoons, a gnarled seawall –
nature standing up against its watery cousin
who would sometimes threaten death when
cousin cried and overflowed with tears.

But mangroves are far away, small black and white image
printed on trees so far from arboreal, trunks whittled down
and forced into a single, bleached dimension
to serve such a purpose now as to show
a photo of a mangrove.

Just as flat and white, but
the moon seemed closer that night. Closer than
mangroves and monsoons.
Back down to this autumn scene,
now the maples stand burning all crimson
Maroon leaves.

Monsoon trees.
There is life here and now,
then there is life in pictures and words.
Our minds catch both in one fell swoop
and they dance together in their captive company,
lightly stepping but sometimes intersecting in their closeness –
the impossible twirling of stony boughs become a nest for the granite moon,
immobile limbs graced with the agility of dreams. Fancy flying
one thought to the other, closing the distance and realizing
two worlds mingling in an elegant, chaotic embrace.
Mangroves holding the harvest moon,
from both the truth and I
so far, but so
beautiful.

(Source: Spotify)

Things that make me happy right now

  • My house. It took some time to get used to it and understand its personality, but now it’s such a home and I’m happy I chose to live here this year. I learn a little more about it everyday, it’s so complex.
  • Friends. So many people that I’m blessed to know and see around all the time, in the magical world of the college campus where pretty much everyone you know is within walking distance. Knowing that people have your back and that you have theirs.
  • Being interested in someone and having them actually seem to reciprocate, just maybe possibly yeah. The sense of momentum that comes with that.
  • That music has always been in my life
  • Fall weather, fall colors
  • An incredible sense of agency in everything I do. Totally owning it.
  • That I’m enjoying all of my classes
  • Meta, but that I’m happy. And so continues the positive (ha) feedback loop of good feelings.

Two AM

Two AM, out on the cliffside.
We spent all night connecting the stars
as they demanded urgency of thought,
our minds said.
Connect the stars, and you will see
something else.

We tried to make sense of them -
saw you dancing in the sky,
saw your neighbor’s dog leaping,
saw your dad’s houseplant.

As we watched the night shift ever so slowly,
I wondered if we had made anything
dancer, dog, plant
that was not already there.
Did we add to this world?

You pointed out a shooting star,
and it was real.
My mind asked to retrace its path,
but instead I looked out
for more shooting stars,
more truth.

There is something about seeing your housemates standing out on your porch in the dark - one in a beekeeping suit spraying a hole in the wall with wasp spray, one filming the event for a class, the others pointing flashlights at the hole and watching intently - that feels really meaningful.

In love with many things and people.