and time wrinkled

I love having friends who are honest and actually call me on my shit. and I love being around people here who have known me for years, who supported my move to Alaska, who stayed in touch, and whom I can finally explain the Various Anchorage Snafus (Snafi?) (hereafter to be known as VAS?) with. and I love the reactions I've gotten, because they were honest and brutal and scornful and wise, and I totally deserved them. 

moving anywhere really shows you who your friends are. I fucking love you guys. you know who you are. 

I am so incredibly glad to be back in Seattle. 

*

I finally moved into my new lair last Saturday. entre-vous ma château d'amour, mes amis. 

the southwest wing. the Herb Alpert album is waiting for one's emergence from the surprisingly blissful shower. great water pressure, hotter'n fuck, and a south-facing window casting shadows of leaves! the secret? 1960s plumbing in a 1904 building, baby. 

a direct pivot from the above image leads one to the eastern wing of the galley.  

the loft. if I stretch my legs almost straight I can touch the ceiling flat-footed. By having an actual loft I am living my nine-year-old-self's dream. 

the view from said loft. 

this is a small place. 

the wee Tillandsia, aka "air plant." run 'em under the tap, shake 'em off, and go about yer fuckin' life, you wily botanist you. 

scenes from a shelf. 

and a reminder of Alaska... 

I actually ordered this pin off eBay when I lived in Seattle years ago. I remembered this slogan on bumper stickers from my youth, back when the Kuskalana Bridge had no guardrails and Chitina's crumbling buildings all had ghosts painted on them. I remember being about 7 and sitting on a bucket/makeshift toilet behind a tarp on the windy beach while my folks dip-netted, being too traumatized about possibly being seen to be able to pee. i think of Chitina and I think about fireweed and dust and eating Kudos granola bars in the backseat of the Jeep Cherokee and pulling over to grab railroad spikes out of the gravel....

...so, I dunno. it's this sort of nostalgia that makes me do things like buy pins and move to Alaska. not necessarily "great" memories, but formative ones.

still life with the face-scratchin' shit-cat. 

and my first photo taken with this new phone. I'm ferociously chewing gum on the 347 somewhere around North City (a twee scrap of Shoreline-ish) and didn't turn the fucking thing on mute, so the cheesy CLICK resonated through the bus. whatever. first shot. 

"this is the space between spaces, this is when the ever-war relents for just a moment, this is when you consider the inconsiderate years: 

the fight has been wearing.... but, at times, interesting, such as 

resting quietly here in the 

afterdusk as the sound of the centuries run through my body... 

this 

old dog

resting in the shade 

peaceful

but ready." 

-Bukowski