417's a mess, beirut's venice, mitchell's away

wendel barry's manifesto

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

i saw this written on a strip of birch bark, hanging on the wall in tchell's room. he is thinking about this. so much attention and concentration to create that- the words must have been necessary to write down. this whole idea of having to read mitchell through anything but his spoken word is a skill i have learned to develop. it is by noticing the birch bark poems, the sticky notes, and the books open on his desk that i understand how he is. like laying clues, he leaves open pieces of his heart in subtle places for people to find. often friends are frustrated because he isn't blatant and vocal about this thoughts and emotions, but these friends shouldn't loose heart. he is expressive.

the house is a wreck. unkept, abused, and irresponsible use of a blessing. i'm embarrased to call this place home sometimes- i don't have any other place to call home.

matt noticed the bookshelves being cleaned straight away.

nof listens to me talk about the burdens of my family. the death of my sister and father.

heidi, lydia, ben are all separated individual people who are unable to understand their thoughts and actions alone, but there is no one else around them who listens and supports and encourages and loves. no one is letting each other in- this is what i've encountered so far.

venice sounds like sensitivity to change. photographic paper's sensitivity to light, eyes' sensitivity to the midday sun, a person's sensitivity to a change in another person, photosynthesis.