"It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you,
it’s just because I can’t.
It’s because I don’t know how.
I’m still trying to tell you.
I’m still holding on so tightly to the stitched words
and patched up language of my childhood.
Even in my perfect English,
There are some things I just don’t know how to say.
Xong phim is a Vietnamese word that does not exist in English.
I am done.
I am through with you.
I am at the end of my rope."
"You are a weather. An atmosphere. A sky. Sweltering with life. Underneath all that smallness. And low water smile.
You are moving the earth."
"as we grow up. we are growing through ourselves. into ourselves. the heartbreak we experience when those we’ve grown up/grown through with can not/will not travel with us, is organic. there is organic heartbreak. there is natural pain. this is a natural pain. having to say goodbye. or leave. because you are a different person to someone who has known you through all of your growing. is a tremendous altering. let it be so. you must be who you are. having someone say goodbye. or leave. because they are a different person than the one you’ve known through all their growing. is a tremendous altering. let it be so. they must be who they are. this is the wise and wide heartbreak of growth."
Through living in it, the landscape becomes a part of us, just as we are part of it.
— Tim Ingold, from “The Temporality of the Landscape,” World Archaeology (vol. 25, no. 2, October 1993)
Stories about places are makeshift things. They are composed with the world’s debris.
— Michel de Certeau, from The Practice of Everyday Life (University of California Press, 1984)
yo. just watch this.
cinematography | movements by Shar
choreography | Cat Cogliandro
featuring Cat Cogliandro, Sadie Jones, Christen Quattlebaum
jason gorman dance moves.
This is dancing.
Jason Gorman moves. Vickie Roan and Dani Scaringe dancing.
"Here and now, I have only these hands,
this mouth, this skin as wide as a shoreline,
this beehive between my ears, this buzz, this buzz.
You are the best thing I never planned.
This is the widest I can stretch my arms without
dropping things. This is the first time I don’t care
if I drop things. This is what dropping
things feels like. This is what happens when
the flowers wake up one morning and decide to
smell human: it confuses us, makes us
reach backwards into places that are sharp,
feel around for things we’ve dropped. I have
forgotten what I was looking for. It doesn’t
seem important. You brought me flowers.
You made the bed. This is the widest I can
stretch my arms. This is all I have right now."
The Wind Portal - Najla El Zein
"I stopped looking for the light. Decided to become it instead."
"I wanted to see where beauty comes from
without you in the world, hauling my heart
across sixty acres of northeast meadow,
my pockets filling with flowers.
Then I remembered,
it’s you I miss in the brightness
and body of every living name:
rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch.
You are the green wonder of June,
root and quasar, the thirst for salt.
When I finally understand that people fail
at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle,
the paper wings of the dragonfly
aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity?
If I get the story right, desire is continuous,
equatorial. There is still so much
I want to know: what you believe
can never be removed from us,
what you dreamed on Walnut Street
in the unanswerable dark of your childhood,
learning pleasure on your own.
Tell me our story: are we impetuous,
are we kind to each other, do we surrender
to what the mind cannot think past?
Where is the evidence I will learn
to be good at loving?
The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond
for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies.
There are violet hills,
there is the covenant of duskbirds.
The moon comes over the mountain
like a big peach, and I want to tell you
what I couldn’t say the night we rushed
North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers
and the way you go into yourself,
calling my half-name like a secret.
I stand between taproot and treespire.
Here is the compass rose
to help me live through this.
Here are twelve ways of knowing
what blooms even in the blindness
of such longing. Yellow oxeye,
viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms
pleading do not forget me.
We hunger for eloquence.
We measure the isopleths.
I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude.
The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries.
Fireflies turn on their electric wills:
an effulgence. Let me come back
whole, let me remember how to touch you
before it is too late."
"Most humans are never fully present in the now, because unconsciously they believe that the next moment must be more important than this one. But then you miss your whole life, which is never not now."
"I love the rain. I love how it softens the outlines of things. The world becomes softly blurred, and I feel like I melt right into it."