Loitering around the edges

6/9/2021 Cooking, Thieving & Loving

“By now, you should know, when I say you I mean me, although someplace between, where our unconscious loiters, where a rose has no association, signifies nothing, and is more beautiful for the lack, it becomes thou, although it is up to us to translate truthfully”
“‘Always sit on the edge,’ he tells us, ‘it’s where the juice is.’ And we know it’s true, but somehow forget, over and over. Along the edges of Life, between the inert, its artifacts and the organic, fecund, pulsating bloom, both panacea, and poison is where our transient hearts beat their singular rhythm”
“The tree who knocked me to my knees with the strength of their presence has developed a signature of being unwell. After we lay together the night last week I couldn’t sleep, I breathing CO2 out, they breathing back O2. I don’t feel responsible for the blackening leaves, rather a disquiet, a strong mortality vibe”

“Transpecies psoriasis? Maybe a nutritional deficiency? What do I cook for the maple? Possibly a fungus? Maybe the sudden heat and humidity are contributing to leaf morbidity? As often happens, I had a hard time composing this because of what I was listening to, not because it interfered with the process, rather they said it better and I felt like I was stealing the feeling from someone else: Invisible Bodies — Lost Girls, Jenny Hval and Havard Volden”

Much Love,

Con/Jur/d, 6/9/2021