mesh aperture < 2µ

This wasn’t going to be a work of fiction.

Reality in context. 

I can’t be convinced that we live the same reality. Or certainly, what our minds have tailored as our realities are quite different. That’s almost my difficulty.

Your reality disturbs mine. I’m not sure if you know of mine.

I can’t call yours a reality, I’ll call these tailored versions worlds...reality is with elements of truth, and yours can’t be a truth. 

It’s disposable on an earth of finite, it’s selfish in a species evolved from community. It’s quick to decide, too quick to judge. It’s temporary. Not holistic. 

Hold this image. Everyone walks in a mesh sphere. It’s part of how we tailor our reality. Not everything passes through. Almonds in cheesecloth, only milk, warm from the blender passes through. You don’t like almonds you say. More marzipan for me. 

I live in a mesh too. It’s difficult to know from the inside what’s not passing through.

A mesh, sometimes it’s ignorance, choosing to be blind, naivety?  

Calloused fingertips, he doesn’t know the sometimes silk, sometimes velvet , always fragile skin of a petal. An open palm. A sensitive touch, sensitive to touch. Maybe it’s better without that. Wouldn’t make it a day in new york, too much touch. Too many shoulders.

My mesh sometimes sees what your mesh ignores. Whatever doesn’t make it in trails behind.

Slugs of inconvenient truths.

These left-overs don’t make it into so many meshes! Everyone makes them you say, part of the simpler landscape.

I can’t unsee the recyclable pepsi can in the trash. I’m not even convinced recycling is a viable solution for waste. But I’m certain it’s better than the trash.

I’m more certain that no thought was given to it any such way.

At least it wasn’t on the street! But you’ve been trained to know that that’s wrong. Those living in meshes like yours sometimes have plights of interest. Littering, they say, Not in my backyard!

While coughing through exhaust fumes and billowing clouds of black smoke [The word billowing there seems forced...but it gives a thick round feeling to the clouds, like warm tar].

Does a tree make a sound if no one is there to hear it? The answer is no.

And anyways, no one’s around. And really, it doesn’t make any difference.

She throws the sandwich wrapper on the sidewalk...but if anyone did see, it looked like she didn’t notice. She dropped it they say, she was going to throw it out.

passing through sieves, almost.

paradox

I once heard this variation on a quote: The shortest distance between two people is a story.

There are seven billion people on earth.

Every person needs to have access to clean drinking water and sanitation, and adequate food.

There are eight billion people on earth.

Every person needs to have access to clean drinking water and sanitation, and adequate food.

WHILE world=true THEN #i.e. if the environment sustaining us is still viable, if she’s breathing

x = people on earth

print( “There are ” x “ billion people on earth.”)

#!!URGET: print("Every person needs to have access to clean drinking water and sanitation, and adequate food.")

#“Every increase in food production is answered by an increase in population somewhere.”
#Ishmael, Daniel Quinn

x = x + more #don’t worry, this is temporary, population control remember? condoms

Do we need to stop producing enough food?

We’ve pushed the limits of population capacity with agricultural advancements and technologies, but we’ve only pushed the limits...we haven’t extended their limits to infinity…

so at one point the limit comes, and technology can’t create something from nothing…

so, it seems, we stop population growth now, or when the environment that sustains us (and that which sustains so many other forms of life) is too fragile to adapt to a previous resilience.

Privileged white boy! Racist! Bomb his Ivory tower!

That’s actually what I’m calling myself when I think these thoughts. Guilt wraps herself around my heart and contracts. At least, she says, you’ll have a pain in your chest if you think like this.

But,

I couldn’t possibly agree with not being in accord in the first millenium development goal to eradicate extreme poverty and hunger.

But that can’t be the solution. Because the problem will still come (/is still here).

But restraining from that solution is no solution.

There’s something missing. A paradox. With this set of axioms there’s only an end, no possible sustainability.

It’s our culture, agriculture? the story we’re playing out. But I’m not sure of an alternative. I’m in the same falling ship, trying to get a birds eye view.

A new set of axioms.

smile. life.

What day is it?
The 23rd.
We're getting there, aren't we?

To death, was the first thing I thought.

Where else could she mean? September? The end of summer? To cold weather probably.
The earth ship, it moves towards seasons. Rotating and spinning make less sense

And then what when we get there? What changes?

In fall everything changes. But that's probably not what she meant.
Well,
we're getting there. Wherever she's going and wherever I'm going, we're getting there.

post-yoga

a thunder moon (appropriately with summer showers, lightning and thunder)
a long walk with headphones instead of shoes
a yoga class
another yoga class
and veggie burgers served in compostable wrappers
(with an organic beer)

day = good

sunset in the central Himalayas.

fog

i was slow at adding today. double-digit numbers. second nature. look at the numbers and expect the sum. instead i had to look at the two numbers, and construct the sum. like fumbling while walking a dry mouth in speech or tripping over thoughts.
it's difficult to follow instructions, i keep referring to the same page, did i read it right? Or to memorize a password of letters and numbers. not easy.
like i can't multitask think.
is it the
infection? treatment? exhaustion? distraction?
my mind in fog.

early fog in the central Himalayas. 

plain

my mind is usually a dangerous place to be in.

thoughts flying every which way, voices speaking over other voices, busy and loud. 

and i like that, and i like in yoga and in breath when that all clears and its just me in yoga and in breath.

the past few weeks have been quiet. but not yoga (and post-yoga) quiet. 

without drive to investigate to probe to dive. 

it seems instead that that would all be very exhausting.

and that’s how i know i’m ill.

because this hunt for anything, this curiousness that i follow, is quiet. or blank. or rot. 

not helped by the sterility of this week’s hospitals and needles and IV

mind on a me-normal day

Day VI of IV

antibiotics for infections i test negative for.

i test negative for everything. nurses say it's probably some unfamiliar parasite.

india, she says, that's why I'm not going there.

what if they're (we're...although i'm not really involved in the process) doing this all wrong?

what if instead of antibiotics, the fluid was carrot juice (or beet, or kale, or some ginger blend)?

maybe i'd die. would require some preliminary tests.

but,

i prefer thinking of a hospital with juice blend IVs and rooms dense with evergreen trees and shrubs,

oxygen tanks.

and where admission bracelets are small potted plants you carry around your neck,

blue flowering plants for paediatrics and wild roses for emergency.

carrot juice IV

hello.

i am sufficiently awkward. 

especially with introductions.

so, 

a “hello” from my blog should be no different.

this will be the space i share my thoughts, my adventures.

and post a few pictures.

and maybe (i will) talk about music, dance. art. 

me.