friendly stranger //

Aristotle on techne

ἡ μὲν οὖν τέχνη ὥσπερ εἴρηται ἕξις τις μετὰ λόγου ἀληθοῦς ποιητική ἐστιν ἡ δ᾽ ἀτεχνία τοὐναντίον μετὰ λόγου ψευδοῦς ποιητικὴ ἕξις περὶ τὸ ἐνδεχόμενον ἄλλως ἔχειν

// nic. ethics 1140a20

so then techne is
as has been said
poetic hexis
with true logos

while a-techne
is oppositely
poetic hexis
with false logos

( poetic hexis is
present practice
of poetry )

about what might
be otherly

//

(Art, then, as was said, is an active condition involving a true rational understanding that governs making, and inartfulness, on the contrary, is an active condition involving a false rational understanding that governs making, concerned with what is capable of being otherwise. — trans. Joe Sachs)

//

ælizabeth is

(for a new about page)

moonchild
mother of cats
mask-maker’s wife
wholly enthused
by gift of life
dust weeper
and dabbler in
girlish games
waggle dancer
rhymes with rain
inexpertly forgets
how to explain
sassy
midnight train
seer of self
in silvered waters
beggar’s bowl
auditioning
translator of one
worldly thing
porous
and learning
how to breathe
(again)
sayer of no
didact of pain
ambassador of monster
in the main
decaying
maybe insane
but fascinated by
reptile wile
lover of light
but versatile
hallowed home—
if in a dream—
maker and
amatrix in æxile
meeter of Muses
student of Prophet
rememberer of Names
servant of Allah
humble as ever
always on
the way and
doubtless never
lost for words

//

the inky

i dream of an intruder in the house and i wake up screaming when they turn their face to me. but if awake and i imagine an intruder in the house, my fear goes silent and still. heart pounding in darkness i listen for my life

the same idea
but what felt
differences

complete sentences
drag heavy lately like
costumed excesses

shed
the inky
extra

//

assalamu’alaikum 🌒

dog asleep

dog asleep
in the middle
of the street

i slow the car
unsure who i
feel sorry for

homeless
undisturbed
territorial
tired

thinking

will demand
no less than
loving

//

photo of the sea with the horizon near the bottom of the image, with two passing ships at a distance in the center of the image, with dramatic fluffy expansive clouds wafting up into the sky, and shadows of wind-blown rainfall visible nearer the surface of the water, the whole image in a dusty lavender-grey cast with portions of mauve-tinted rain or bluish-tinted sky.

atmospheric passage //

if leisure

if leisure in the morning

then spare me a glance

if leaf-buds are forming

then we have a chance


if dew-drops are adorning

then the roses free

if leisure in the morning

you’ll also have me


if dreaming at noon

let’s meet in the shade

if weary come june

then put down your spade


if love is a simple tune

and laughter the key

if dreaming at noon

you’ll also have me


if easy in the evening

then let’s read a book

if lazy to be reasoning

come hide in your nook


if candle flame is flickering

close your eyes and see

if easy in the evening

you’ll also have me


if longing at midnight

go walking on the sand

if reaching for moonlight

you will hold my hand


if starlight is the invite

sing beyond the sea

if longing at midnight

you’ll also have me


//

Assalamu’alaikumwarahmatullahiwabarakatuh 🌔

Æ.2

ok computer whereto and from
dragging chains against the sun
the name of both is Æ

(orthœpy in play) and
ælizabeth is setting honey traps
for dragons

//

Æ.1

we visited your grave the other day
how’s that thought for you?
Æ went there to kiss the sky

because a chariot
is life’s emancipation of
the written word

//

photo of the beach with moody layered gray clouds in the sky, pale yellow light at the horizon, steely blue-green but calm water, white lattice froth over reddish-brown mixing into black sand, with white chunks of coral and black rocks scattered above the tide.

salt on skin //

Writing about “hereness” //

“If not in America, maybe it’s a little alright. But if in America, it’s not alright at all”, said E. We were looking at this Naomi Klein article on “end times fascism”, specifically the propaganda photo with tattooed prisoners. I said yes, pretty much. We noted the irony. He said he remembered similar propaganda photos from Suharto’s regime. Those guys look like Blih, I said. Tattoos and all. He’s our closest Bali family and one of my protectors. That means if anything ever happened to my husband, I would call Blih first. I would usually abbreviate his name, but that isn’t his name, although it’s the only thing we call him. Blih is Balinese for Brother, and he is a brother.

Back to Klein’s article, she does maybe the best work accounting for “what’s happening” that I’ve read, encompassing the mood and seemingly-conflicting realities of it. (Tech billionaire TESCREAL and apocalyptic Christian prepper cultures coming into alignment as xenophobic bunker-building fascism.) But she also manages to be somewhat uplifting, or maybe that’s not the right word. It’s a nice piece. She mentions the Yiddish concept of “Doiykat, or ‘hereness’”, as a possible antidote to the surrender of Earth inherent in an apocalyptic mindset. Although I find her elaboration a little flimsy (maybe too abstract?), I like the suggestion and appreciate the reminder, especially having recently spent so much time contemplating a vehicle of travel.

Spend too much time on chariots and you might lose a sense of “hereness”.

As a recent expat/immigrant (almost 6 years), at first I wondered if I had been under-emphasizing “hereness” in my thoughts, feelings, or writing. Maybe it doesn’t come naturally for me? Have I been too online? But then I began to list examples and think of ways that I write about it. (This is my interpretation of the word, not that of a Jewish tradition.) For me, “hereness” is the work of embodiment, including yoga asana, as well as prayer, veganism and fasting. Islam is an embodiment practice. Also, my marriage. Marriage is an embodiment practice too.

Then my “hereness” work is to figure out life as an always-somewhat-stranger “here”. On a community level, I try to do as little harm as I can (spending money in responsible ways etc). To support local governance and cultural organizing, we donate as much as seems right to several kampungs, including Mosques here and in Java. But not so much as to draw weird attention or throw anything off. We socialize, including with neighbors, they come over for lunar ceremonies on the full and new moons. I’m working on language, although I haven’t been studious about it. The more socializing we do, the faster it comes along.

My sense of “hereness” also comes through the non-human world, the animals, plants, rocks and dirt, weather, and all of these other things that I do indeed write about. The driving, lol. Almost every category in the archives is a nod to “hereness”. “Hereness” would also come through a feeling of home (there are different versions of this e.g. from house work, from husband, from cats, chickens, etc., from the plants in the garden, from our accumulating memories) and of figuring out how to be myself here. You aren’t at home if you can’t be yourself. It’s all work in progress.

I’m a Cancer, I come with armor and pincers, (also Scorpio rising, lol), but we are in no way bunker-builders. (Well, we’ve contemplated a small one, if we ever live in Java, but that’s for an active volcano, which is a totally different kind of bunker.) Our protection will be in the community connections we’ve made, or we’ll have no protection. It’s that simple. There’s a community philosophy in Indonesia called “gotong royong”, which means people are always helping out their neighbors. Having seen it in action, I find it comforting. In turn, we actively keep our eyes and ears open for ways to “help out” in the village. My husband explains this as preparing, in case something ever happens to him, if he’s gone. But it’s good preparation in case of any kind of emergency.

My “hereness” will always be a little weird or deviant because I’m an expat/immigrant and I rely on E as a cultural mediator. But it’s still often on display. This makes me glad, and a little relieved, because I am indebted to it. I’d like my blog to have a strong sense of “hereness”.

Myself here isn’t the same as myself was there, and the selves of the blog can go off-and-around sometimes, but all of this is written by Elizabeth, of her body and of Earth. There is a body and a planet behind all of this wordiness without which it wouldn’t be what it is. The point of “hereness” is perhaps not to be uplifting, but to be grounding. The ground is an important thing to cultivate.

It’s excruciating to imagine Earth as past-tense. It is literally the worst, the most terrible vision, and it does require an antidote. This beautiful one, where I feel the sky on my face, this place of friendship and delight, is my only planet. I remember myself here. I have no doubt I would forget myself on Mars.

a chariot is

reply to Isthmian I, via Phaedrus 227β

//

a chariot is artifact entombed

beneath packed sediment

an imprint on the earth

of acts not of the earth

sightless as solitude

lifeless as time itself

rotting perpetual

vehicle disposed

it falls apart


a chariot is

impervious

to crying


a chariot is a paragraph

about ancient technology

symbols illuminated by

old photos from museums

shaded settings in relief

straight lines on pregnant-bellied vases

fragments of singed and tattered verse

reasons described almost

as spatial motion re-constructed

of kingships and bloodline races

past endings to beginnings of

gods animals and man

words used as tools

each one to fix and justify

as evidentiary groping at

a world of human things

we still don’t know


a chariot is an easy gift

against a multitude

of horses


       the machines we used to get

from place of rest to planet mars were splendid

magnificent creatures in their own

                golden-

                ratioed

                grammars

and dragons that took hold of drivers' eyes


they thought the wind but caught to ride

a flaming sword instead between her thighs

maidens of modern mythologies arrived

on cliffside edges wearing white

                translucent coats

                arousal com-

                partmentalized

to celebrate new body parts cognized


the jewel-tones of her lacquered toes

the scent of ozone taste

of toxic fizz behind

her sucking nose

her mouth disclosed

she swallows apples licks

a rose the absolute

glory hallelujah

ravenous grows

vulva exposed for clicks

each flick a seed she sows

from echoes loaded lead

her rainbows red as victory


she was the counting down to blasting off

she was four hundred thousand horses yoked

by arc of axel angel burnt tendrils

smoke billows over rocky rough terrain

past battlefields and nations past

her recent childhood and

arsenic smile

their eyes went to

          her nippled curves and angles

          her thorough flexibility

          her starry nights and spangles

          her lashes cruelly clawed

          her pussies pawed

          and oh how they

          to her with her and of

          her came

as realism

inscribed by god

rendered maidens un-made

oiled python sheen of ageless skin

she was the beauty left in violence

they were materials for war


sapphire eyes emerald or amethyst

you chose the crystal the correction and

the facets for

some child in Africa

was orphaned by each armored scale to feed

her un-weaned toddler burger meat

( at least the blacks buried

and did not eat

their very

fathers


a chariot is

from-dust-

arisen life transcribed )

annunciations posted inter-angel

a holy home a web apart

filters of pale ethereality

content implicitly divorced

from earth’s divided continent

baptismal diamantine written

laws skinlessly conceived that we

may find and hold as work of art

your child’s hunger as forgiven


a chariot is

          already cleansed of blood it is

          excerpted rage it is

          brave forms we made

          from partial purpose or

          how to make pure

a brilliant woman true to life

but honestly a whore


a chariot is what you drive to get

to work your nightmares harnessed by

engines of piston pretenses

at likely sentences


a chariot is nothingness herself

but full of manliness

the games we play when we

make love in light of day

driving endlessly divine

at origins as orifices flying


a chariot is

a summary

of dying


//

selamat purnama 🌕

photo of a batik bedspread with graphic curvilinear pattern with a cat-sized mound made evident by a distortion of the pattern.

no cats here //

(Lalah under batik)

3 cats

//

Lalah loves nothing better than to get
her cat smell all over a freshly laundered
human and then go and scratch some wood

//

meanwhile Ismail
is trying to puke
something unwanted up

//

Sri Rejeki
gets scary
after dark

//

body’s most wondrous lesson was

turning raw wounds into desire

as ripening longing to be eaten

as eyes longing to see and be open

//

broken machine of tentacles and teeth

war is what monsters are and what they do

monsters are monsters at war with monsters

useless becomes another name for peace

//

Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh 🌖

marigolds

what a week to take vacation

some time to recompose

to get back from the deadness

questions that i never chose


my instrument is alien

my hands remote-controlled

i cannot see my own two feet

the way is lined with marigolds


i have no numbers to report

no news in a ghost town

there is no story to be told

the wind already took it down


go diving in the deadness

go breathing in the deep

go dancing in the marigolds

but never fall asleep


what a day to wade back in again

the sunlit flowers cold

what a way to chase the day again

to watch the underworld unfold


//

a dream

a dream

swimming

diving under

taking a deep breath to do it

not knowing when i would be coming up for air or knowing it was never

//

our exercise as exorcism of time —

the oddly-staggered rhyme leaves bruises

on buds stringently-steeped, the undisclosed

grays of grass groped in dark of morning that

took hold as roots in midnight, not knowing color

not knowing how seemly to be in sun —

steps right into the rhythm of blinding fire

this prism of shadows is highways home, revealed

in daylight’s reconciliation with desire

//

Selamat Idulfitri, Eid mubarak, blessed Eid to those who observe. 

Alhamdulillahirabbil’alameen. 🌙

//

Is it power //