ephemerality devoured

“Writing to you is like kissing you. It is something physical.”
— Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Nelson Algren c. November 1949

Elena del Rivero, Letter from Home #9, 2015. Watercolor on accounting paper & thread, 9.25 x 12 in

As an aesthetic, I like a hushed chorus,
but only when trust is visceral and
bent around a promise—or a threat.

Arranged curious, this casual normalizing devours.
As we follow a line or a thread until safely curated—

tangled into the finest shouting fragments,
subbed as loaded derivatives, and mocked influences
we have learned to manage public feelings to epic scale.

In privacy’s absence, such division is essential.
These inhabited suggestions become their own revenge.

virtue signaling

                                                                     data are so emotional

Stéphanie Devaux ___________________________ . LosT. .fOr. wOrdS. …

Our inherited risks are not equal. This is an urgent incantation.
As visceral affect, I want to disembody and divest.

My father tracked weather patterns in free pocket-sized bank calendars.
Constrained, he archived basic data (temperature and precipitation)
occasionally punctuated with significance: two daughters born;
weight and height nearly identical.

His daily notes arranged into a practical devotion bound by time and repetition.
For point of reference, children and livestock born in storms were not isolated incidents. Shaping a landscape absent of variables, his pattern recognition became a survivor’s catalog.

Our futures signal forced reliance, an intimate risk. This is an urgent incantation.
As righteous affect, I want to feel god everywhere.

false urgency

Julio Larraz (Cuban, b. 1944), The Fourth Amendment, 2014. Oil on canvas.

We practice small-scale empire building.
Our bodies conduits of conquest and currency.

There is an untouchable light
when reflections of past experiences
pull from distance and probable cause.

No longer placid as orthodox perceptions,
our over-reliance becomes reflex.

We just assume mornings start new—
uninterrupted       extraordinary.
Repeat until you believe.

sortilege

Efficacious Grace, notebook. Jonathan Edwards, 1703-1758

Thursday was a broken conversation.
My voice silent as the air around me.
Buried and born again,
I made the day useful to me.

Friday was open secrets.
My voice tuned the melody of a cable car.
Found ideas inside words,
I made the day useful to me.

Saturday was repetition of witnessing.
My voice cracked open at its spine.
Threading connections,
I made the day useful to me.

Tomorrow will absorb sounds
of irresistible landscapes
each graceful expression
making the day useful to me.