diary 5

[ w/ bright green large format dot grid & black ink ]

in june of the same year we waded into pushaw lake in our clothes. some memories
pull cut fruit from the cooler. anticipating loss was a strand tied at the wrist, one strand
for each day of distance. tying was about naming colors, and then it was about
sending the present somehow forward & backward at the same time, and then about
anticipating the ritual of removal without understanding what would be removed.

we did not plan what happened next.

some memories are made of what we wished we were doing. heaven help the strand
to change the rules. over time, the strands would begin to weave together because days
become weeks, because we didn’t account for how distance multiplies. i said
let’s always begin with what we can put our hands on
there on the same page where i instructed myself to wait. i forbade myself to enter
the houses of others. i was not the object in question.

//

here’s an object to house the questions temporarily:
have you forbidden yourself instruction? have you ever seen true devotion?
can we let’s always begin?
where on the page, if anywhere, would you wait? how does distance multiply?
what are the rules? what strands are created by the rules? what weaves that also
discloses? who accounts for what’s heavenly? what remembers us?

what will have happened after?