I didn’t expect it.

In my deep aching for books I finally remembered to look into the public library system of Hunterdon County. Found the site, found a “search online” function. Except every book I tried to find came up negative. No Helene Cixous. One book on Ether, but not the ones I was looking for. No translations of Derrida. Absolutely nothing of Ponge. I want to get back into reading things that excite me, things that blow my mind, but the library has best hits and that seems like it.

Books are now my answer. I need books and I feel like an addict looking for a fix; the thing that will open me and make me once again the person I was.

Gaby’s book, Controlled Decay, and Helene Cixous’ Stigmata: Escaping Texts are now on their way through the ether and over the roadways to my doorstep. I shouldn’t be buying these things but I can’t help it. And then I can build stacks around me of my page-ed friends and be surrounded again.

It’s raining here. A sudden rain, summer kind of thing that I heard approaching through the fields, building on itself until it was against the porch and the roof, pouring over the house. (The house. What that article now implies. The Apartment. Where is my?) It will be over by morning, the grass damp as we back down the driveway and head towards things to be lifted and cataloged and replaced. But my books are on their way. Oh books.


metal slivers

I smell of grease.

This morning I went into Bethlehem with my step-father to help strip a machine for The Doc. My hands are sore, a bit scraped up and there are thin shards of metal in my fingertips (mostly removed by now, I think) but I don’t see any of this as a bad thing.

It really is fun to strip something down and make it work again. Though not as metaphorically complex as the work at the shop, where we strip, clean and piece back together, there’s still something satisfying about simply replacing the bearing casings and getting covered in grease. Though I have to say it’s ridiculously hard to turn a screwdriver when both it and you are slicked with food grade lubricant.

Additionally, I’m inspired by Eireann Lorsung to, instead of crashing right now, start creating. There are more hours in the day than I allow for, and I should be painting, writing, sewing and all sorts of other things. Enough of this funk, it’s time to shake out.

Out before the day lilies had opened this morning, and I hope to be working long after they’ve shut again. I like the idea of using flowers as a sundial of sorts. Always, back to the flowers and the way chickory looses it’s color as soon as it’s pressed. The fireflies rising out of the lawn towards darkness. There are things to write about here, and I’m going at it again.