#whatlightdoes

[whatlightdoes]

. . . perhaps the same

bird echoed through both of us

yesterday, separate, in the evening . . .

[whatlightdoes]

Soundslice transcription of Thom Yorke of Radiohead playing piano and singing "Motion Picture Soundtrack". This is the version that was on the white oknotok cassette tape. Soundslice link: https://www.soundslice.com/slices/zXPRc/

[whatlightdoes]

“Yes, we have lost track of the light, the mornings, the holy innocence of those who forgive themselves.”

Albert Camus, from The Fall

[whatlightdoes]

“It’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.”

Theodore Roethke, from Straw for the Fire

[whatlightdoes]

Took a photo of my painting. Need to learn how to adjust the photo so I can make prints of my art.

[whatlightdoes]

Today was Claire's last day. We said goodbye to her this afternoon.

[whatlightdoes]

This is a low resolution sketch of some of what I've been working on. This is a hybrid of photo and painting. Right now most of the painting has been done digitally, but I'm working on techniques for applying this to paper and to canvas using digital ground, watercolor ground, acrylic medium, etc.

Anj at Corpus Christi July 18, 2024 Sony a7rii, Bokina 90 2.5

[whatlightdoes]

FRAGMENTS FROM THE LOST CENSUS

The boy with the spoon tongue asked if our names still burned. His mother said Yes, but only in lowercase. We hadn’t seen the lake since it borrowed our mirrors.

There were three kinds of light that year: emergency, supermarket, and father. We folded all three into the lining of a stolen crib.

Someone mailed god a baby tooth and never got it back. The return address was just a bruised shoulder and a song about mowing the lawn.

My sister bit her prayers into the bar of soap we weren’t allowed to use. She said cleanliness is a place you leave, not a thing you become.

A fish in the neighbor’s driveway had my brother’s voice. It only sang during rain delay.

I used to have a secret name for grief. Now I just call it menu and let my son order from it.

The attic plays home video in reverse. That’s how we know who left.

Mom says don’t look at the moon if you’re bleeding. The dead are territorial. Dad replaced our dog with a dial tone. We fed it fingers.

Once, a tornado braided itself into the hair of our aunt. She said it made her feel seen. Her obituary was just coordinates and a taste.

When I’m tired, I sleep with both hands open. When I’m sad, I pour water into my mouth until I lose the century. When I’m honest, I tell the baby: you were never the first wind to believe it could stay.

The moths think my spine is a circuit. I let them try.