To Portland: Cold in the summer

I know there is no difference, at this moment, between believing something will last forever, and then time ends, and believing something will last forever, and then it doesn't.

There is no difference between you laying here, listening to this, and you laying here, sleeping instead.

If you ever want to say you can't imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone, or with me, then I believe that is an acceptable conclusion. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life, and I am scared of dying every day. Don't take a bullet for me.

All the weight of all the things I will lose rests on this day, alone. It is heavier than freezing rain.

Summer in Sydney

As I celebrate my second summer for the year, I am making the things I miss a lot. Sometimes it's hard to find things you love just as much as the ones you left behind, and sometimes the remedy is to make them yourself. There's not much to complain about, when you have every opportunity to make things exactly as you wish. Maybe I am in Thanksgiving mode, making things from scratch. But I don't miss Thanksgiving, as much as I miss the proximity of comforts of home, including family and friends.

Iced Coffee:

There's not much iced coffee, as I know it, available here, but there is really delicious quality coffee. I won these beans in a silent auction, along with a barista training which I am looking forward to.

So I grind the beans, coarsely. And put them in a jar where they can stay, at room temperature, overnight.

It's one part coffee, to three parts luke warm water. It's supposed to sit for 12 hours, but I like to leave it for as long as 24 hours. At the end of that time, you can strain it with a regular coffee filter, or I just used a tea strainer, and ran it through twice. Once strained, it will still be pretty strong, so you might want to add water. Some recipes say 2:1, but I didn't add that much water. Maybe two cups. I just kept tasting it, so I wouldn't water it down. Then, I put a lid on it, and kept it in the fridge.

Ginger Beer:

This is the beginning of my first attempt at making ginger beer. This concoction is 1 tsp. granulated sugar, 1 tsp. fresh ground ginger, 1/2 tsp. dried yeast, and 1 cup luke warm water. It's the ginger beer plant, and it takes 7 days to grow. Each day, I add 1 more tsp. each of sugar and fresh ground ginger. It's just in a jar, covered with muslin, which will be used to strain the plant, at the end of 7 days.

I am changing colors

I do not portray being; I portray passing...My history needs to be adapted to the moment...I may indeed contradict myself now and then; but truth, as Demades said, I do not contradict."
-Michel de Montaigne


fossils from fern like scrolls:
a beautifully marked high altitude crystal
elliptical
toothed
mass of feathers scattered upon glass
delicate background





















we are a beautiful example of two distinct types
one, graceful feathers with curling ends
the other, a design of frost from the land of pointed firs



















protein









the winter tabular hoar frost resembles
flesh becoming stairs, column, sky, and architecture


















As I grieve the realization that you can live without me, my relief is a wave (in the most general scientific sense). We are fossils made from the sediment of past crimes, and this hardness preserved us. There is a place where the past is unremembered, but that place is less a space than a moment, where living organisms breathe disbelief.

An Essay to Disguise Giving Up

There are the mistakes we make after trying very hard without success, and the ones we make and attribute to divine intervention, for their favorable outcome. But I am interested in the tangibility of intention- the end we can attribute to ourselves, our perception, our experience, or our next step.

I feel temporary, the impulse of time's momentum relative to my actions, like I'm sifting through peanut butter, my thoughts fall like concrete from my ear to break my foot, the opposite of amnesia.

I recognize myself as an animal, most, in my impulses. And I think trying things over and over to eliminate mistakes is an evolution we can benefit from in our lifetime. So I am in love with momentum, and feel like a caged animal when I come to an unfamiliar point and don't know which way to go. I am learning the graceful way of going back the way I came, or leaving the path altogether. Some may call it quitting. But we are too temporary to attribute meaning to all of our mistakes. Sometimes patience prevails. Sometimes things are plain wrong. I am learning when to stop, abandon ship, give up, or quit in whatever connotation the situation requires. The truth is, leaving is movement.

Here is one thing I decided just won't work, for now.:

It was going to be a comprehensive catalogue of all the techniques I learned in my undergrad.

I was pretty far along in documenting the process, and close to finishing this task.

It's made from an old music techniques book, some of the record books that have pockets in which to hold the records, davey board, and fabric. I planned on finishing the

cover with an image transfer of the altered cover with my name, new title and content in place of the old technique book's title, and content.

I will return to this project, with a strong foundation for format, and a better understanding of durability in construction. I am really interested in categorizing information in the most efficient, usable form. For now, though, I am in Australia, working on a smaller scale, with ideas I can hold in my hands, while my mind takes in everything else.

Owl Mother, Daughter

To: Ellis Anders

This treasure is a song book I found in Arles, France.

And has become a place for my new niece to keep her treasure.

The Comforts of Home

While I was cleaning, so that I can pack lightly, I found this old project (left) from my Computer Arts 100 course from 2005, and noticed a moderate resemblance (right). I may not be very good at designing logos (the economy is where I get stuck), but I might have a knack for envisioning the future?

"He did not know where a suitcase was, he disliked to pack, he needed his books, his typewriter was not portable, he was used to an electric blanket, he could not bear to eat in restaurants. His mother, with her daredevil charity, was about to wreck the peace of the house.
If you bring that girl back into this house, I leave. You can choose-her or me.
On the contrary: she had not made any choice. She was counting on his attachment to his electric blanket."
From The Comforts of Home by Flannery O'Connor

While I think that Flannery O'Connor's knack lay in her ability to pinpoint human nature, and I am in love with the way she uses words to let us know, I am looking forward so much to leaving the comforts of home, behind.

A Simple Thank You

Tools: Text, 2 pieces of paper, a ribbon, needle and thread or sewing machine.