there is something about the attentiveness of suspicion. threads and threads of it.

last night, loren talked about human self-preservation.
that i had to start understanding that's why you left me so many times.
self-preservation, delusion- that's why i have lied to you. that's why i am a coward.

we have such a built up sense of instinct, and it all funnels towards these instant reactions that sometimes we can't take back but we try oh-so-hard to. that's why we fight, for the epic feeling of overcoming.

but that's not why i'm fighting.

i'm fighting because every time a dark hole has swallowed us, you pulled us out, and made me fall in love with you again.

i know i may not have the same capacity. we'll swim somewhere else, and then it will be just us and the sea.

what i like about tango is that even when i am not thinking about it and someone brings it up, i can't help but start smiling. i know that after a bad day, i will be surrounded by friends and doing something i love. that's why i do what i do.

i am so lucky, i have the best friends and best family

notes on the weekend:
starlight, heavy with intention
feet, heavy with intent
hands, heavy with hope

notes on your skin:
soft
darker than mine
dimple in left cheek


i used to crush my dimple with my finger, wondering if it would make it deeper, wondering if it would make me more different from you

your face looks unfamiliar, but so much like mine, smile upon smile, mouth opening and closing.

i like the way your lips move, thoughtful. they move unlike anyone else's i've ever seen. but i don't watch my own lips much, either. perhaps i notice because we often eat together, and i have always admired the thoughtful way they crease.

perhaps they talk about you as if you are a concept, but everything i remember about you is very corporeal.

today i feel my hands heavier than normal, and i touch my lips as if they are not mine.

dreams from last night:
seattle, my sister lived in seattle
my twin sister, lots of her, more than i have seen in two years, everywhere in my dream, saturated feelings
calling you on the phone, asking you where to eat
vivid images of sushi restaurants i have never seen before

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.
-george eliot

what is it about geography?
i find such significance in travel, but i am always essentially coming back to the same place and exploring the same people with the same smoothing of my fingertips.

in denver, the light was low (hotel rooms are always lit in the same way).

i turned to you and said, "i am always writing the same thing, over and over again, in different forms. but still the same reincarnation"

you said, "really?"

and i said, "yes, i think all writers and artists (in all shapes and forms) are always re-making the same thing."

i turned to carrie and asked confirmation. she nodded, with that famous look of infinite wisdom and innocence, if such a paradox could exist. and what are we living then, if not a circle? and what do we breath in, if not a rhythm? and what do we love within, if not a cycle?


"As soon as you stop, it's because you've started again.
You can put a picture aside and say you won't touch it again, but you can never write the end." - Picasso