this has been a week I have depended on the rhythms and tempos of others to give me activity/physicality. if i hadn’t encountered others being, i think i could have convinced myself i was an android dreaming or in the limbo of cryogenics.
walking to campus i had the memory of a family trip to chicago in 2004. one evening my mom and brother were ready to retire to the hotel room after dinner while my dad and i wandered. we tried getting into a jazz club but were turned away for our casual dress and my obvious 17 year old appearance. we went instead to virgin records, wherein my local rock of ages could have fit one hundred times over. this was my first experience with shopping for music–looking at album art, getting to listen to tracks in store with headphones that made my own discman pair seem so juvenile. i picked up the postal service’s “give up” because i heard my indie friends talk about the band. my dad and i listened. it was bright, earnest, melancholic. it felt like the bittersweet existence of me. my dad described it “noisy, but hopeful”. we continued to walk the city streets a few more hours, now with the CD in a bag he carried.
i just looked for the CD but could not find it. i listened to that album so much that i like to think it is settled, fossilizing under the seat of my old dodge neon. waiting for someone to excavate bittersweet feelings and dreaming of.
noisy, but hopeful was what i needed to feel this week. i have played “natural anthem” no less than 20 times while moving. thinking of my dad, of discovery, of smiling up at the sky or at the horizon because hope leaks in.
[the week of february 1-7]
I went on a hike through Green Lakes State Park yesterday [16,540 steps] to find my head
and sing Fever Ray’s “When I Grow Up” to the point of meditation
When I grow up
I want to be a forester
Run through the moss on high heels
That’s what I’ll do
Throwing out boomerang
Waiting for it to come back to me
When I grow up
I want to live near the sea
Crab claws and bottles of rum
That’s what I’ll have
Staring at the seashell
Waiting for it to embrace me
I put my soul in what I do
Last night I drew a funny man
With dark eyes and a hanging tongue
It goes way bad
I never liked a sad look
From someone who wants to be loved by you
I’m very good with plants
When my friends are away
They let me keep the soil moist
On the seventh day I rest
For a minute or two
Then back on my feet and cry for you
You’ve got cucumbers on your eyes
Too much time spent on nothing
Waiting for a moment to arise
The face in the ceiling
And arms too long
I wait for him to catch me
Waiting for you to embrace me
and make a list of the first three professions that came to mind alternative to an academic: [lighthouse keeper] or [welder] or [miniature/diorama architect/constructer]. the woods make one daydream hands on.
in the rule of three, I came up with my top songs to break up with myself [for when I lose sense and thread— and composure] to:
The Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes”
Björk’s “All is full of love”
and Purity Ring’s “Cartographist”
When I started my doctoral program, I wanted to make a visualization for each week. It didn’t matter what the subject matter was or what tools/materials were used to create it. The idea was to have some sort of odd material record of important and mundane — an account of being in grad school. I don’t have data of those first two and a half years, but I want to start the exercise now.
Most listened to artists this week [from left to right]: Chelsea Wolfe, CocoRosie, Grimes, Boris, Melvins
And for last week (the start of the semester), three lines from my dream journal that give some sort of insight into my subconscious:
- Dad was prepping us for the end of the world coming
- I shoved moving stuffed animals and dolls into a Vintage PanAm flight attendant case
- She was helping me to swim, holding me like you do with small children, but I was swimming inside of her; she encompassed me and I could hear her soft reverberations