Down the Rabbit Hole

I recently rediscovered the Internet. Not that it exists, but that you can get lost in it, discover new things, and suddenly come up for air feeling a little hung-over and very unsure of what all your new discoveries actually mean in the grand scheme of things.

What else to do except share these discoveries?

I found Dear Friend through a long trail of links starting with a scathing article on the new "lifestyle bloggers" (sorry, I lost track of where that one was). Love the artwork, the blog design - something ineffable that speaks to me. Like this photo:

Through that same pathway I stumbled on Kinfolk - "a growing community of artists with a shared interest in small gatherings." Ok, so it's kind of in-your-face snobbery on one hand - on the other hand aren't we all deeply longing to get the hell off Twitter and out of "conventions" and get into each other's living-rooms and make some real friends? I work from home, it gets lonely.

Which is probably why I'm also in love with this textile letter project. That and I had already been thinking about returning to the art of letter writing. A year ago I collected a bunch of addresses from friends and every once in a while I send out something to one of them. The textile letter project makes me want to step that up. I just need to find more time, ha! Honestly, I don't know how you people do it.

Then there's N+1 magazine which is not actually new to me, but I had forgotten to check it in a while. Some really great essays coming out of there.

Lastly there's Street Anatomy for no particular reason except I love science and this merging of anatomy and pop culture is like candy to my brain.

This hardly represents everything my cursor touched in the last week. Just the high points folks.

Discovered anything good lately?

Snow Elephants in the Morning

In the morning we lay in my bed bonelessly entwined, breathing each other’s breath as we talked in that inaniloquent way of lovers. You laughed when I told you how Maria had called the snowdrifts pressing against the windows snow elephants. These were the incidentals we turned into treasure chests, the words in which we stowed the meaning of moments. Codes to hint at what words could never describe so that we could relive the fulsomeness in mixed company, hidden in plain sight. This is what the peculiar language of  inside jokes is about, and together we perfected it.

The Whole World Shrank

Is it seriously FRIDAY already?

I never meant for this week to get away from me like this, without even so much as an update on Twitter or Facebook for y'all. I'll be honest, I have been glued to the news, the social media networks, the Youtube, and in some cases to the street itself where the most important conversation in my lifetime is happening. A conversation about the state of our democracy.

Sometimes I tell people, "I have a soap-box and I'm not afraid to use it", but my silence here has been a reflection of not being able to separate from the sense of urgency about what's currently happening in our country as well as across the globe, but this not being the space to write about it. It wouldn't be right for what this space is about to suddenly turn it on its ear and mess with the focus of this particular community. Sometimes I tell myself I need another blog, but I already manage five (3 of my own).

In real-time I've never run into feeling the need to cordon off various quadrants of my "self". Internally there is no disparity between my creative self, my business self, my science-geek self, my political self, my philosophical self, my human rights self, etc. There's a synergy to all of it that works out, and it's all mainly fueled by a passion to examine and understand the human condition. It seems all my life I've been trying to deconstruct the mechanics of humans so that I might figure out how to best contribute to the bettering of conditions. It's a process. It involves a constant inter-disciplinary probing and discussing and thinking.

But here, online - I realize the internet just doesn't work that way. People don't come back to a site that isn't focused and consistent. And where I can't be solidly consistent, I can at least maintain the focus. Just understand it can be difficult for me. My mind doesn't naturally lean into separating things out - it wants to connect dots. I run three blogs because the internet needs me to only talk about one thing at a time within a space. And when none of these blogs can encompass what's hijacking my intellect at the moment - well, the airwaves go silent. But I don't.

This is just a long way for me to say that it's too late in the week now for a new challenge, so I'll post a new one on Monday (so long as I'm not crushed under a pig-pile of protestors over the weekend). I'm still very much in love with y'all.

100 Words - Alrighty Then

Alrighty then...

If you're not following me on Facebook or Twitter then you missed the explanation of how I blew it last week. I had a work report I had to get out and I ended up pulling an all-nighter (less because of a deadline and more because I was on a roll) which threw off the rest of my week. Note to self: "part of aging gracefully is knowing when to quit with the all-nighters. After 35-ish, they'll just mess your world UP."

In other not so surprising news, I'm an introvert to the nth degree. Introversion, by the way, is not even in the same ballpark with shyness. Just ask my daughter. She has about two dozen embarrassing stories about her brazen mom (don't worry honey, I've already started your therapy fund). As it turns out, this introversion may not have been my best friend when it comes to how I came to have Complex-PTSD. Introverts aren't very skillful at creating boundaries between self and other, so they need a lot of alone time to recoup and stay sane. And because we live internally, we tend to internalize. It's like this. The internal world of the introvert is vivid and full and maybe even noisy and it extends all the way out to the veil-ish thin layer between her and the outer world and for the most part things only pass through it in one direction - outside to inside. From the inside, that veil-thin boundary is nearly impenetrable. What goes in does not come out. 

It creates an illusion of strength. The veil is a mystery. It invites others to heap on abuses they think you can take. It invites broken thieves who think they can steal wholeness. It invites can't doers to leave it up to you to do. That one-directionality appears to others as a bottomless vessel they can dump their toxins into. Then there are those who simply feel the need to possess or destroy that which they can't understand. It attracts like flames to the moth's delicate wings. And the introvert obliges because she herself has come to believe in the myths about herself.

At least this one did.

I can't cure myself of being an introvert. It's not a disease y'all, it's a personality orientation with fringe benefits. I'm learning that being an introvert - living this way, all the way out to the delicate edges, is quite vulnerable and I've got to respect and protect it. It's foreign and unfamiliar to think of protecting it by reversing the directionality of what passes across the borders. What, how, how much, and to whom are questions that spring to mind. In this introvert's experience, when the inner world becomes too full and "stuff" bleeds over the edges, it is simply too unexpected, sudden, and messy for the expectations of those attracted to the introvert precisely because of the one-directionality.

I'm being too cerebral where I meant to be funny. I'm also kind of proving my point here. And I'm still not sure what ANY of this means about anyTHING. Will this blog change? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe I'll write more, maybe I'll decide that's a bad idea and will only dilute the 100 words project. Maybe I've already had this conversation with myself a dozen times and need to shut up now. Obviously things might be more sporadic (don't lie, you've noticed). I'm just sort of going with the process.

So. Last week the word was SPLIT. This entry by Seeking Elevation packed a wallop.

The vote was split down the middle: Timmy and Marissa were for adding another floor to the treehouse, while Jordan and Keith were firmly against. I, the tie-breaker, walked away, stripping the white birch trees to their pink meat, my mind the gelatin of frog eggs.


I'd like to believe he was consumed by the tragedy of his attraction to someone other than his wife. Maybe he wrestled with it. I'd take comfort in words like "haunted" or "torn". But I bet it was as simple as gagging the married half of his mind while fucking her with the rest.

This week's word is from the poem "Diving into the Wreck" by Adrienne Rich.


"the thing I came for:

the wreck and not the story of the wreck

the thing itself and not the myth"



My take on this week's 100 word challenge. The photo didn't seem to fit, and yet my mind kept returning to it. Perhaps it is the tendrils so beautiful in the depths, yet when we look to the surface of the water they are invisible to us.


A small crowd gathers to listen to the poet -- cramping into chairs, leaning against bookshelves, squeezing onto the floor. We sit separately and though I can’t see you, I feel you. A constant unseen wire stretches taut between us, transmitting what we dare not yet speak to ourselves. I feel you as you crane towards the poet’s words. I too strain my heart towards the words, hoping we will find each other there in the pages, between the lines, among the words.

Afterwards, we share breathlessly our love of the poem, and with our words delicately shrink the distance.