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Media, poetry, articles, art, videos and random nuggets that tickle me.

A Prayer

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May the manner in which I live do justice to the beauty of the sky. May my eyes gaze upon the world in a way that is precise and full of permission. May the quality of my seeing make things and people feel proud to be seen. May I seek and grant forgiveness, may I know mercy and grace. May I not rush through hard things, may I not fester in easy things. May I act in ways that help other people sleep at night. May I hold and be held by life just like a baby’s little hand wraps around a finger. May I trust others without need for protection, may I be true to others without fear of reproach. May the veracity of my words open cracks in everything fixed and rigid, may those cracks bring light and movement into that which is closed. May my creativity both assuage and celebrate the loneliness of being. May I hand myself over to the intimacy of metaphor. May I remember that the fulfillment of my desire could never bring with it a feeling of permanence, may I remember that, with desire, I must also hold close the beautiful confusion that desire tries to explain away. May my growth be marked by the same force that makes a tree grow leaves. May I give up on control, may I rage against complacency. May I stay awake. May the boundary of me be soft and diffuse. May I take each breath in reverence, knowing that the air I breathe is what ties me to you. May I put myself second, and in so doing, may I live in love.

Erasing Infinite Jest

Artist Jenni Baker creates poems by erasing words from pages of David Foster Wallace's masterpiece Infinite Jest, and I just love them so so so much.

Lost And Found

reach your fingers into a saline breeze
and let your hand be brushed by the unseen;
there lives love—the death of possession, 
for nowhere is it not.

watch a tire thrust its warm rubber
into the sandpaper of asphalt;
there lives love—unguarded from a trampling, 
propelling all momentum.

pour oil into oil and venture to find where
one ends and the other begins;
there lives love—things at home because
they've found they’re always lost.

feel in your life for the years that went too fast, 
for the years that went too slow;
there lives love—its weighted hug so ordinary, 
the skin of things forgets its touch.

In Honor Of John Perry Barlow, 1947-2018

“John Perry Barlow was a master of all trades and jack of none. He was a wordsmith a songsmith, a tech wizard party maniac car mechanic and bona fide lady magnet of incomparable intellect. He was an angel and double agent, a prophet and pioneer of digital divination, a Master Mason, a Burning Man patron, an internet architect, and political maven, a psychedelic shaman, a counter culture statesman and a hero to great men. In the end he was still a Wyoming cowboy to the core, and above all else, he was a family man because to him nothing mattered more. John Perry Barlow, he set the bar high, with big boots to follow, and many will try, but no one will ever come close to the guy, for this grateful and graceful guru was one of a kind..” – Sean Ono Lennon

This is an excerpt from his 1997 interview for This American Life, one of many of his interviews I've listened to repeatedly. This one in particular helped define a very specific part of my insides. Enjoy.

RIP <3