And then...

*But what kind is it? Must a snake in the grass mean danger, or is it all in my head?

poem

Walking


feet






Carry


me


through


the


woods





To


my




daily


work.

It seemed important just now

Take a moment to listen.

Shades of Death*

Yesterday, we went for a little hike in Shades State Park. I didn't bring the still camera-- I brought the video camera (I am experimenting on something right now), so I have no images to show you. Maybe I will have time to upload video, but for now, I want to say:

Even in the beginning of spring, without the full greenness unfurled, it was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. And I have been to Yosemite, the redwoods, Joshua Tree, etc. It was surprising. And when I looked online to find images to refer to this entry in place of my own, I came up with slim pickings. Mostly from blogs. So, until I can upload some stimulating video of my shoes walking around, these links will have to do. Know that while the images linked here are perfectly lovely, they still not as inspired as the place itself was. I commend you, brave bloggers, for posting the possibly unpostable!

*Please Note: There is a series of rather peculiar legends associated with the name of the park/this post. Far be it from me to propagate a rumor, I will not repeat them here until I have found some hard evidence.

A little California(n) in Indiana

There was an earthquake this morning. I thought there weren't supposed to be those here. Not that I mind, or am worried. It is actually a little funny to google Indiana earthquakes and see the biggest ones here only brush past 5 points on the Richter Scale. Sure, some walls crack, some chimneys have (in the past) fallen down and pictures sometimes fall off the wall. Cracked walls? The plaster walls of the two houses I have liven in here are more cracked to begin with than my old house in California. Fallen chimneys? Many of the ones I have seen standing are crocked to begin with. Knocked pictures? May as well remind you they are there and should be switched out as the kids get older.

In short, I am unphased. Bring it on! I am hardened to the shakings of the earth by my hearty California upbringing.

I have found more wildflowers for you (click the pictures for texture). In high school we collected and cataloged them. I feel as though I need to do the same here to truly understand the place. These ones are yet unnamed, but I will pull out my old science neurons and try to find them out.

Wildflowers and empty egg from the lawn

new rental

I am determined to live stylishly.
Click for details.

To the past

Dear M,

Could you believe this town has two of these? I pass one each day on the way to work, depending which route I take. I think of you each time. Do you remember? It was so funny; we laughed and laughed. Well, you did, I guess. I wasn't there, so it was never as funny to me. But you laughed and I wanted to make you laugh, so I thought of you whenever I saw one. They are such weird things, and it is odd they exist at all. They are both more rare and more common than I would have thought.

Anyway, there it is. Back from a time when we were still together, but you could already see how we would end. I denied it, which is why losing you hurt so much. I thought we would be old maids together, fighting in the same room of the nursing home.

I meet someone here who reminds me of you, is even the person I thought you would become (back when we were kids). It is both painful and wonderful to see her, even though we do not have the same friendship you and I had. Being friends as an adult seems like a tragedy, compared to those of childhood. To laugh as riotously at nothing, to not need alcohol or exotic food or fancy clothes. It was enough to stand in a circle, feet touching, to take a picture and think it would last forever.


Oh nostalgia, how you stab me in the eye when I stare at you too hard.

found in the grass, on a cold day

something like a stone, something like a piece of candy.
blue like the Mediterranean was, heavy like a silver dollar.
seem impregnable, yet so cold and exposed.
how do you know if something is (still) alive?

it incubates under a lamp in my bathroom.

new template -- and homework for you!

i have finally broken out of the template. hooray! by purposely opposing my web design training and the look of "main stream" blogs, i expect all kinds of mad things to happen on different browsers and monitors! let's toast to spontaneous technological creations/failures!

the good thing about it-- i can now have much larger pictures and videos. yes, they will occasionally cover up columns and words-- that is part of the fun! expand your browser window if it is too much, or go look at it on a public terminal with a high-resolution monitor! i suggest the Apple store, public libraries, the Sony store, Fry's, etc!

send me a picture of you looking at the site in a public space and i will post it!

Spring Forest

This is the fourth day in a row I have walked to work. In those four days, it has been sunny and warm, a joy for walking. (OK, this morning is a little cold and overcast, but that breaks the flow of the story.) Each morning, I walk a certain route, cutting through the north east corner of the campus, a forested grassy area that doesn't seem to serve a purpose for the students (not quite large or natural enough for hikes or research, too large to comfortably study or have lunch, no place to sit, etc.). Each evening, I walk a slightly different route past the big, declining, old houses, so I can imagine what it would be like to fix one up.

View Larger Map

Each morning, I have noticed slightly more green on my walk to campus. The first day, the ground was green with moss; the second day, clumps of grass had appeared; by today, those clumps have passed my ankles and are covering the ground. I may not be able to cut through soon, at the rate it is growing.

Last night, after class, I changed my walk slightly, to cut through a tiny section of this forested area. I looked to my left (to the west), and I saw a photograph. No, I saw a landscape, a sunset. But actually, I saw a photograph. The way the light spilled over a building, around a tree and into my eyes, the way the tree cast its shadow like a finger pointing at my feet, the clumps of grass looking like a cheering crowd. When I returned with camera in hand, of course the photo was gone. I don't think I will find it again-- the grass has grown two more inches, this weekend calls for rain, the earth moves around the sun.

This morning, I saw my friend walking through to forest, on her way to her office in a different direction from mine. I emailed her about it later. This is what I wrote.

Didn't that seem like a scene from an early 20th century poem about "2 young faculty enjoying their morning reverie on a walk through the woods, come upon each other and exchange a wave." :)

moving in a small town

our postwoman noticed we were moving and has begun forwarding our mail to the new house across town. the mailfolks in California still forget to forward even with our forwarding postcards.

Denver and Hair

My Hair in Denver

A letter I received

"Dear KSW,
... We regret to inform you that you are not the recipient of this year's grant. But of the thousands of images that we looked at, we found yours to be of exceptional quality. We would encourage you to send us your work in the future...."

What does it all mean?

I'm out there

I just found a picture of me on a website. It is a website I didn't know about, but was excited to find. Then, there at the bottom, is a picture of me. Like it knew I was coming and would want to be there. And it was waiting.

Sound Experiment 1

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

-- William Blake

Virtual Reality Politics

Performing the Academic

In case you didn't know it is beautiful here.

I hope it is also beautiful there.

twenty-five days

Dear J,

It has been twenty-five days since I have seen you. This is the longest we have been apart since we met, August 20th 2004.

The second longest was twenty-one days in September 2005. There was an amazing thunder storm that month. The clouds rolled in slowly and turned pink in the sunset. All the neighbors came out of their houses and marveled at it. As the sun set, an incredible rainbow appeared before the storm that rocked the house that night. I made a picture of that cloud. I will remember it forever.

Now, it has been raining for four days. The news man said there were 4800 lightening strikes yesterday alone. There is no sun, so there has been no rainbow to soften the blows.

While you have been gone, I have gone about my business. I work at my job. I work on my art. I am fairly prolific. I cook meals. I answer emails and phone calls. I clean the house. I can't help feeling the whole time, however, that I am waiting.

After meeting you, I finally discovered the ultimate way to sleep, a position in which my body is completely comfortable. I lie one my stomach, my left knee bent in the crook of your knee, and my arm around you and holding you against me. I have always loved to sleep on my stomach, but weight or allergies or age have made it difficult to breath comfortably in the last ten or so years. With my arm around you, however, I breath comfortably, and I am warm throughout the night. This seems to be the best position for you too-- if I remove my arm, you begin to snore and be fitful. This is what works for us. It's how we both breath through the night.

I haven't figured out how to sleep alone again. Nothing is comfortable except lying on my belly. I toss and turn. I go from the left to the right side of the bed. The house shakes in the storms, and the weight of the blankets needed to fend off the cold crushes me.

I wanted to you know I realized something. I can live without you. I just can't breath without you. Come home soon.

K