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It is strange to need such distance to gain perspective. Somewhere in the cabin,  15,000 feet above the ground, I begin…

Having landed, I meet a geologist, whose home I will stay at for a few days. We spend the evening in conversation. We speak of lava flows and salts, glaciers and rock. Seattle, I learn, has several ridges formed by slow north-south moving glaciers.

The mornings are filled with a cup of coffee and additional glacial dialogues. After these exchanges, I will have traveled to every continent, over a span of sixty years, studied salt growth, and been among the first to enter Chauvet Cave.

It is night now and tomorrow I officially move into the university district, where I will be living for the next year.This afternoon, I decided to explore a nearby neighborhood.

There is something familiar about this place. The air is not unlike the crisp, bright air of Finland. The sun produces long shadows of pine and birch, not unlike the tree groves of Suomenlinna.. My initial feeling, walking around Seattle for the first time, is not unlike my first immersion into forests of Kiljava. 

…I would like to move through life with depth. Depth of exploration, depth of knowledge. Depth, singular.


Giants & Light in August 
for h.r.allen

It is not the sunrise itself,

that we remember,

but the long moments before

when the edge is stretched ad infinitum

in all directions.

She sat, coffee luke warm,

watching this, wondering that,

Getting up, walking away, and then

for memory, glancing back.

What did you expect to see?

Did you want this to be how you recall

your morning? Cell phone alarm, tranquil light,

hiss of coffee, and a quick walk to catch what you might be missing.

Meshes of the Afternoon

translated poetry from hidden text found along the spine of a copy of Don Quixote

Cartographic Errors

Found while sorting through my old books
11th May 201412:083 notes
An Early Learning Center
19th Apr 201409:082 notes

The best truths are found between moments, plants growing in the cracks

excerpt from Flores Raras by Marcela Solier

To write is to begin
a process of thought, my
mind wanders down
a path of which I cannot
tell the destination

from my sketch book, 2012

…out of curiosity I entered a courtyard and into Europe; a church sanctuary, 10 000 preserved stained glass windows; an atmosphere of Catholicism without the fluff?


from my sketch book, 2012

“We asked the captain what course 
of action he proposed to take toward 
a beast so large, terrifying, and 
unpredictable. He hesitated to 
answer, and then said judiciously: 
'I think I shall praise it.'”

- “Praise”, by Robert Hass
Robots watch the moon too
Opaque  by  andbamnan