Today is just a day I want to be away.

My two favorite things in life are libraries and bicycles. They both move people forward without wasting anything. The perfect day: riding a bike to the library.
— Pete Golkin

Perception and Sensation

A man during night

A man during night

She is disturbed. How can I be stuck in a bed with such a weak creature as she?
Her defenselessness was attractive once… on cold nights through snowed parks. It was so easy then to soothe away her fears with my hand against her reddened and goose-bumped cheek. I feel so distant from that alien thing in our small bed. She cries for help night after night.

I have not touched her since the honeymoon, she is too busy for it. Nights of sweat and screams, of shivers and shuffles are more company to her.
Why won’t she stop?

I tried at first to be there, but quickly she drifted farther to insanity. She knows not what goes on with her. When we used to talk, she’d always say she was afraid. But of what? And to that question she could never find an answer.

So, I learned by now how to hide from her night terrors…

Slowly with time, when she’d wake all unsettled, I no longer cared to hear her say she didn’t know why.. I simply, with so much ease, ignored her…

I hope she never finds out that when she wakes… I too wake, and I am there by her side… silently faking sleep, until her panting soothes away… then I sleep.

A girl during night

A girl during night

Shaken from breath i was (tonight), and in trying to recapture the air that was so quickly leaving me-

 empty…

i awoke to the leaving night. 

Farewell stars, 

 if such fright did not come to me by night, i would wish you to stay by my side. But,

i am awake now, i am here now. i am no longer there.

No one can explain to me how horrible visions come to me under a blanket of beauty as is the moon and its sewn on stars. 

i have done nothing wrong… i swear it. 

i have seen nothing disturbing… i swear it.  

i turn my head to see if i have bothered him- again.

No-

He is still and asleep.

i envy him.

And although he does not love me back… i love watching him …

and feeling him sleep through my fear. 

The silent yawns of tiredness are overpowering me…

My eyes are falling, 

But

 i can’t go back there.

Where are the wild things... in our minds but ALSO in the Wild...with the Wild

Depending on their organization, groups must have cognitive properties that are not predictable from a knowledge of the properties of the individuals in the group. The emphasis on finding and describing "knowledge structures" that are somewhere "inside" the individual encourages us to overlook the fact that human cognition is always situated in a complex sociocultural world and cannot be unaffected by it.

The phrase "cognition in the wild" refers to human cognition in its natural habitat - that is, to naturally occurring culturally constituted human activity.

Instead, I have in mind the distinction between the laboratory, where cognition is studied in captivity, and the everyday world, where human cognition adapts to its natural surroundings. I hope to evoke with this metaphor a sense of an ecology of thinking in which human cognition interacts with an environment rich in organizing resources.

-Edwin Hutchins "Cognition in the Wild"

(my professor- the father of Distributed Cognition according to Wiki... only he is not fond of the wiki page... very not fond of it)

what does it mean?

I don’t know who he was.
But I was in a crowd of vivid faces. Yet, paid them no attention.
There was only one figure that I cared about.

I could stare at him and never bore.

He tugged at his hood as he would lean forward. At random his cheeks would cave in, as if he was showing off cheekbones, but he wouldn’t do it on purpose it was just his manner. He wore grown-up shoes; brown. And he never touched his hair.

It was black- his hair.
short, and curved with a slightly wet-looking effect, like it was almost dry but not;
he had a right side bang that hung in a half loop.

It attracted me the way it highlighted his nose; thin but not high in the air. He wore jeans but I was more drawn to his ring.
A silver polished plain one that he wore on his thumb.

He looked at me and then I woke up.

can we handful things

how can wrists be so rough
and fingers clasped in a hand so sure of vulnerability
at the now of the event,

if ever something that weak
hit reality- to the point of returning to it's weeded real,
if ever it untouched back into that distance,
the wrinkles at the bend of the finger would stop
accumulating

i am here as my finger runs up to your knuckle
softly we warm playful trails that start from the tip of the nail
and lead to the veins and bone attempting to scratch out of skin

help! i don't need somebody.

i have not written
much of anything

i think i am sick.


since i've been back
i've fallen
changed
with
my thought occupied


my mind still writes
but
i have not let it write

i will.

translate this for me, please

little goodbyes;
it's easier that way-
to not tell you i'd miss you.
it's so you'd stay a memory
it's all for the best

i really don't love you
but
how do i say
i don't love you
but
i love holding your hand

how do i say that i enjoy you liking me-
and that being what i love,
what i'd miss.

so when i say
my little goodbyes
with a hug
and a kiss
i will miss that

just that

a room with a view

a had a view
that could inspire
even the weakest of feelings

where the wild things are, where the sidewalk goes on

it has been a while
i've returned
but
it's as if my mind was elsewhere

where i was
is where i want to be

where i am now
i am coming to dread

if ever i get a to leave
i know where to run to

there is this place i know
where i've been


















how do
i
fly away home

when i have found a place i want to call home
but
a place that i am not ready to sacrifice for

dead as night...

as windows open
in summer heat

i keep doors shut;
the shadows scare me.

as streets get lit
in invisible black

i mumble into sleep;
i need someone to talk to

about
how
i’ve been chasing nothing into the heart of dark.