Missing you

May 16, 2022

Orcas Island

Missing you,

We went camping. I mostly sat near the fire and stared into space, which was nice. I haven’t been able to focus and am even having trouble finding space in my mind to write this, but I’m enjoying the confusion I feel instead of fearing it. Having more than one day off for the first time in too long reminded me that we all need time to rest, so I want to find a way to prioritize that more in the coming months. I had ideas, wrote them down, and let go of them. [%%] and I read the story “Compulsory Games” by Robert Aickman aloud one morning, which helped us realize how funny and ridiculous it was.

I didn’t even feel bad when the main character (a self-absorbed man who thought everyone was trying to sleep with him) lost his grip on reality at the end, giving in to his hallucination of the airplane his ex and her lesbian lover (yes, we did project our contemporary queer interpretations onto the text! What of it?) flew away in. He was a jerk and never thought about anyone but himself, so deserved to be alone. Plus Elaine and Grace were badass — we wanted to know more about what happened to them instead of that asshole! We joked about exploring their story, and maybe one day someone will get around to writing their complicated ending. For now, I started a poem about someone I adore using lines from the story.

In the woods thinking about [!!!]

What was [!!!] doing at that very moment?

[!!!] mined more and more persistently into

himself without ever finding a trace of [!!!].

People in bed alone are different from [!!!]

in bed with someone else.

Field Notes from Mountain Lake Campsite 134

[**] & I are up. We slept well on the air mattress. Alacrán between us after it got too cold for him on his own blanket. The water ripples softly and bird chirps sound every few seconds. We’re now sitting on camping chairs looking out over the lake. Moved under the canopy when the drizzle came, leaving small dips on the water’s surface. Al is wandering, digging at roots in the dirt. The morning light is grey but in the distance geese get further away, I can tell by the quiet honking. Each one of these sentences is separate from the others, I won’t join them together.

Every second can linger on its own.

My mind returns to the same things, breaking the morning this day will be into pieces. The sounds of other people at nearby campsites ruin the illusion of aloneness. The car at the site next to us honks a horn and children literally scream, then the periodic chirping to focus on. The dog sits on [**]'s lap and looks around.

Our last morning, less people — just me, [**] & [%%]. And of course Al. We slept in until 10, a lazy last wakeup on the air mattress more lingering than dozing inside the morning light. It’s less bright now that we’ve gotten up and started packing. Drinking coffee with fire smoke. The dog entertains himself gleefully with a stick, tossing it about so he can retrieve it.

[!!!] began [!!!] & it makes me so glad. I was lucky enough to see it a minute after [!!!] finished, so of course I liked it for thirty seconds before unliking it. He seems to be investigating communication & the unsaid, opening himself and being honest in an entirely new way. I’m excited for him. I’m proud of him. I love [!!!] — I’d say I hope he knows but of course he does: I’ve been telling him over and over again for months.

Before I left to go camping, [#$] and I made zines: Eat Yr Manhood Issue 2. It felt really good to complete it after a few months of planning and putting it off. Holding the final product in our hands is satisfying. We are also working on putting together an issue of Stone Pacific with [#$] as a guest curator and already have a few people who are going to contribute. Taking time to remember what I love about making art, sharing it, and encouraging others to create and share things was like washing my face with cold water. It’s easy to forget when we’re all so busy but at the root of this living, I want to celebrate the beautiful ideas and objects the people I admire put into the world. [#$] went on a retreat on the San Juan Islands this weekend too, and I like being near but apart from them on the same body of water.

Seriously?

An afternoon moved as slowly as possible.

He didn’t need to be anyone in particular

*

in the stagnant heat of direct sun

amplified by the flat lake’s reflection.

*

The shadow imprint of his small body cooled

the wood so the only tolerable planks

*

were the ones he lay upon, taut

& scorching like a drawn trap net cinched

*

around a struggling rabbit dangling.

He couldn’t move but did not want to.

*

He wanted tan skin & to read a book

of jokes or poems, he can’t remember

*

which but anyway it didn’t make him

laugh. He felt several hours pass

*

in the time it took to read a single page

and for his skin to redden uncomfortably.

*

He hopped to the edge of the dock.

Her mouth opened and swallowed him.

I brought specific books and allowed them to get dirty and smokey. I thought about certain people and wrote letters, used my limited phone battery to check in on what they were doing: It was important for me to create tangible memories with objects and ideas that were important to me and spend time with people I love who were far away and couldn’t physically be there. I know presence, attention and praise, physical contact, and expressed adoration are usually better than unspoken thoughts but I have known so much love that has never risen above intention. I trust the energy embedded in my thoughts about someone and their thoughts about me. It’s so hard to be alone, but we all have to be most of the time. Now when I remember this camping trip, I will think of people I love who were not there as well as the people I love who were at the fireside with me. I feel a little bad I wasn’t as present as I could have been and on other trips I may work harder to be in the moment with my companions, but I don’t regret spending my energy looking into the flames thinking about you.

Woof,

Joe