a u g e r v i l l e 8.2 miles || listed on the map with certainty. when i arrive to the place, there is nothing, just more road and field. i try to consider if the place means something different or feels different with a name than it did when i didn't know i was already there.
s a v o y 11.1 miles || walking along I-45: cars rushing by, quarter pounder sandwich offerings. injured moths fluttering one + a half wings attempting to rise. out of savoy: a pylon + peak of a cross rise side by side into the sky, both constructions of man, artifact, testament to belief in system [ spaces of inflection + crossing ]
follow u n i v e r s i t y a v e n u e until it ends 8.7 miles || maybe i am not doing anything new.
my research this past year is not new. but now i am giving words to what i've been pursuing. this makes way for the choice to do the thing more or do the thing less. to choose different intensities boundaries thresholds. to know the thing more intimately.
mayview, st joseph, homer lake 28.7 miles || it is on the bike, settling into the cadence of pedal breath pedal pedal breath. it is in the walking, (my stride so specific in its 1 +2 + 1 +2) that i find the space to imagine places that resonate with hope and futurity and the belief that I can keep on keep on in order to will find that which I do not know
this is not a narrative
i am unquantifiable distances of-
i rewrite the score daily + follow it
walk long + far/ practice moving/ begin again
how simply can you move?
how simply can you live?
how do i proceed?
time, the revelator
how do i proceed?
continue to soften
continue to not give a fuck
continue to care too much
clarity coming fitfully, in sudden glimpses in slow revelations
\ \ i don't pretend to offer a transcript of long ago conversations, or to document settings + events as a camera might do, but merely to say how these scenes have stayed with me / /
out west. i rode a bike up a mountain and met a family of desert evangelists at the top. we spoke of the prophet ezekiel, living simply and the end of the world. i met an angry drug addled hotel owner- toothless- barefoot- who screamed to me nonsensical words. i walked away shaken- thinking we are both female bodied beings, americans, inhabiting the same land. young queer navajos who extended kindness towards me in ways the rest of their town would not- a beautiful old soul who cooked me a meal and spent the night next to me. [i miss him unexpected.] i met a disaster relief worker who biked with me for miles and sent me twenty two text messages out of kindness. homeless men that made sure i was O K as other men keptaskingmetogetintheirfuckingtrucks. retired makeup caked women riding amtrak to see the grand canyon and living in florida dispersing life lessons to all who passed by. truck drivers who called me e l l e n and told me to figure out what i want already. in a bar where all were wearing jerseys and caps, i turned to my right to converse with an out of place body- a beautiful artist who had just bought 36 acres of land to begin an artist's residency in a tiny town out west. she told me my fortune and future before i gave way to a single utterance. i followed roads to their end, to dirt dust. side of hiway walks from rodeos to casinos. a ride in a minivan with no ac [1 0 0 d e g r e e s] with the owner of crazy fred's whorehouse + truckstop who recited prices of all the motels we passed
motel 6 el trovatore arcadia lodge ramblin' rose i lay my body down in the desert sand, on striated rock and felt the earth groan telling me of how many suns had passed and passed again. histories upon histories played out in this very spot i lay- fetal position giving in to hot stone. supine hands cupped, wind whipping around me for days- sand in my hair ears crotch, i wait for revelation there is none. i'm not sure what any of this means except that i'm allowing myself to be shifted swayed s t r u c k by these encounters on american soil. i return to the midwest and walk overwhelmed by the sweet smell of the fields [almost summer] the safeness the predictable flatness the inevitable end of the day. i watch twin peaks and listen to josephine foster. i read delillo. i dream dreams i cannot remember. i wake and feel sand in my teeth.