.:∴. d u s t ..:∴.

I should be grading, I could begin; there is, after all, no time other than the summer months when that little broken record is quiet.

"But habit is a great deadener" as Beckett says, so I try to find my true entry point.



I feel inspiration stirring inside me, and I know I just need to give it time and space. I need to quiet down the broken records of doing and just be sometimes to let the next thing I want to do (and do creatively and passionately) rise to the surface.

I feel dust stirring.

I realize even in my frustrations with all the hoopla surrounding Palin, I can't deny that I have been inspired. I've been inspired to read and question and wonder and write and express. This is all new to me, and I take it all for granted so quickly. No one else has questioned my passion, either; I only see momentary puzzlement on a face here and there when I mention something about not being able to vote if the topic ever comes up.

So I slow down and realize these are important times for me personally. A friend of mine and I have been thinking about writing a collaborative essay about current US politics: WWJBD :: What Would James Baldwin Do?© Maybe it is only appropriate that an expat living in the US write this essay.


I've been reading zines for the first time. (Is that weird? Do I care?)

Dust is getting stirred up and these particles need room, baby; they need r o o m .



After a long hiatus, I am finally going back to creating my wall/corner of inspiration in my apartment. Images, words, sketches, bits and pieces of imagined realities and the magical in the mundane, haiku moments both visual and verbal, the texture of leaves, of veiny forearms, typewriter keys, wood, sandpaper, rocks smoothed over by waves, yellow bordering on orange—like mangoes, orange bordering on yellow—like persimmons...


Dust is stirring, and these particles are just gonna have to get some room, baby; they will get some room.