December 21, 2016

song of myself

"i believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journeywork of the stars, and the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, and the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, and the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, and the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, and the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue, and a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels, and i could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer's girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake."

— walt whitman

March 17, 2016

post title

hunting flowers down the Amazon

trading buttons for lives

competing finches in birdsong

getting approval for gender dysphoria

collecting bodies in Afghanistan

living in on the Mount of Olives

keeping Rams in Iceland

entering the ecstatic dreams of moustaches

campaigning in Bolivia

renouncing Catholicism

running across Canada

returning to the riverbank

finding love at a conference

breathing through pancakes

community organizing in queens

on the lam in Florida

on house arrest

watching my mother die

ruining a family

dating a pair of friends

setting resort furniture on fire

driving a taxi in Ethiopia

lost in Rio

selling real estate in Sydney

singing through the financial crisis

hiding at a Swiss hotel

secreting the body of Eva Peron

a Lebanese immigrant in Paris

conversing with Hitchcock

walking through a ghost palace