CAMERON'S PAGE
A series of identical keys on a ring. What are they for? Morning after we walk around the facility and learn more about the flora, you pull an ornament from a tree, this is an empire apple, you say. You name the others as we walk along the rows: ashmead, winesap, jupiter. We clean the dirt off each other's backs when we go inside. The air is warm and dry, far from the cool and wet veil of the fall morning. The thing about randomness, you say, is that it is full of patterns. I laugh and say yes, not knowing how else to react. Inside and clean, we eat oatmeal and run diagnostics. You can low-hear the electricity from the transformers outside the facility when you open your mouth to speak and the room quiets.
01. RISING ACTION
WE SINK INTO THE EVENING LIGHT. SCULPTURE GARDEN SILHOUETTED BY OUR OWN UNJUSTIFIED ANGER. A TERRIBLE NEW IDEA BLOSSOMING LIKE A CHORD IN YOUR CHEST
We go on several walks per day, some merely across the room and back, some the miles to the boundary, where the particles ping and blister against the fence, melody like piano when they hit, reminding us of having our first children, or losing our first parents, the fits which that caused in us we wish to not forget. On the walk back from that ledge of grace you do not know what to do with yourself or the rest of your day. This was all unknown when we chose to settle here. No one knew any of this. Sometimes a generator goes out, and someone gets injured. Really injured, I mean, and it's always some new unforeseen problem with the thing. But someone always finds a way to fix it. And the field cocoons our littlest world once more. So there's that. These memories rippling on the floor.
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A catalog of things you cannot say, written on the window of my neighbor’s home, in the condensation that has eaten our little mountain town.
Some words unpronouncable, others too easy on the tongue, viral and sweetnosed. Some like the spinning cogs in hymns, syllables of some terrible machine. Then after dinner they are gone. Then I remember that I didn’t move the bin to the street before collection. This is how the days proceed.
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When you remember that you have forgotten something trivial, but cannot recall what it is — Acquiesce? Bloom? Well, whatever it must be called, it dripped into me like the first drops of a cold rain sink through your hair. Then was luscious, thrumming, like how rich cake hurts the teeth. Then tiresome.
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Neighbor mowing grass — I ask him to stop, He smiles at me
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Sewing machine like birdsong — let in the evening through the windows
03. DENOUEMENT
internet neighbors
Things I like
- this essay on different translations of Antigone
- the locked tomb series of novels
- everything anne carson has ever written
- ron paul funeral city
- this curation of images and quotes
- variations on the right to remain silent, by anne carson
- the structural work of gordon matta clark
- the early horror photography of zdzislaw beksinski
- the design and sometimes contents of these websites: dna lounge practical typography gwern.net with hidden noise celeste's website judah's website alice maz piper haywood are.na your world of text studiocult online-ceramics praxis society canal swans whole earth catalogue (pdf) lowtech magazine eliza weisman
- these artists (mostly photographers): maroesjka lavigne marcus glahn chris maggio alexander gronsky sarah sze julia coddington
Strategies for conflict resolution
- Don't ignore conflict
- Clarify what the issue is
- Bring involved parties together to talk
- Identify a solution
- Continue to monitor and follow up on the conflict