In Which I Am Happy

Sometimes I sit in class and take notes on basic threats to internal validity in psychological testing and their solutions and only think about beauty because how am I supposed to think of anything else when the sun is just on the other side of this cinderblock?

(Sunlight always births run-on sentences.)

Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them. 

- A. A. Milne

Extremes almost always, in terms of probability, regress to the mean.  Weeds are flowers, flowers are weeds, and both are beautiful.  People think beauty is an outlier, but I think it's the mean.

I'm humming some song by Vampire Weekend and the girl in zipped-up boots with decorative laces sitting next to me is trying to ignore me and I should be stressing about inferential statistics but it's Winds-day and I'm going to go home and drink honey in my tea.

Up

Maybe

My mind has

Fallen in love

With the crazy and

Beautiful idea of

A perfect infinity

Where

Losing

Direction

Doesn’t matter

Because every way

My feet fall my eyes are

Cast up and finding the stars.

If

The sky

And the stars

Are infinite

In scope and number

Then wouldn’t the heavens

Be ablaze with burning gas?

Why

Doesn’t

Darkness spell

“Ex nihilo”

When light is always

Sparked with verdant effort

And tracked down by moths and souls?

But

Although

My mind flies

Up and on and

Out my body aches

And sinks and falls down stairs.

I’m stuck with lurpy foal feet.

“How

Can my

Finite self

Be infinite?”

Is a problem for

Epistemology.

I’m distracted by dark skies.

And

Maybe

All I mean

To say is that

I’m wishing I could

Giraffe my neck closer

To the star-fire blazing sky.

& every breath we drew was Hallelujah

The sunset was so beautiful today that it was transparent.

Colors don't speak to me, they grey in comparison to the wonder that black lines on white paper can sing.  At 4:30, though, colors faded just as words and papers do, and the medium was lost to the meaning.

I couldn't smile big enough, so I opened my mouth and I laughed.

Joy is above letters and behind the sky--when my mind searches it is often afar off, but it is imminent in my soul.

lavenderpeach

It's raining outside and I can't see anything for all the water in the sky.
I'm bundled in an ugly mush of funny layers, a Peruvian hat, and one leg-warmer (I've lost the other for the time being) with darkening peach tea in a mini jam jar to my right.
My one class is cancelled.
I'm listening to my INHUT playlist and admiring my dance-chipped toenails and working on my essay about time.
I'm trying not to cry because life is slanting beautiful, just like lavender rain.
I could hardly be happier.

This was one:

"Little duck cabin place.
In an old boat on dry land with his guitar and the sort-of-company she provides
while writing postcards.
Strong sun plays Spanish chords and
Utah breezes carry the sweet scent
of dry baked pollen and manure.
(Each particularly strong gust ruffles the feather in my hair--I
was/am
pretending to be an Indian.)
I wish I had a disposable camera, because those capture this empty-happy
feeling.  Cow feeling.
I love it.
There are very few moments when I realize that I am happy."

Nothing Gold Can Stay - Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.