Someone asked me once who I admired and I racked my brain trying to think of someone.
But I’ve come to realize it’s YOU, my friend. I admire you more than anyone I can think of. I admire your wisdom , I admire your bravery. I admire your sobriety. I admire your storytelling magic, your beauty , your intellect and your humor.
Jennifer, what a beautiful and kind message. I can vouch for the sobriety and the bravery and the laughs—the rest I'll have to take your word for, and I am deeply grateful for this. xo, your friend from the road
Your introduction of this piece at this point in time instills in me a desire to revisit the melancholia in my own past; all the thoughts and events my mind connects with that feeling. Not to _examine_ it as I might once have wanted to do, imposing a new lens on it that could generate answers or explanations, but simply to sit in it exactly as it was, to the best of my recall. Such a piece of writing reinforces, to me at least, the relevance of marking the past with words.
I've asked myself why I've never sustained any habits through my whole life except biting my fingernails and keeping journals—both with absolutely zero regularity—and the answer is that not to do so would impose too much of a soft-edged dream quality on my recollections.
Isn't that funny? I have no real desire to plumb the past for evidence or proofs of theories retroactively imposed—what I have feels like a treasure trove of places I've been and remembered, things and situations and images and moments that continue to shimmer but don't need to serve any purpose other than to be appreciated for what they were. Thank you for reading, and sharing your thoughts too.
I live in a tiny corner of paradise in Canada (at the end of the world) and I’m officially inviting you to come here. We have cozy suite by the ocean—a perfect writers retreat, or just a plain old retreat retreat. Please come whenever you want/need. I would be so pleased to host you so you can rest. Recover. Recharge. Whatever you need. You would be so welcome. xo
P.S. I don’t have a tiny Zeke, but I have a huge lovable Ryder who would also welcome you when/if you arrive.
You make me want to be a better writer. That is all. Captivating.
Jaime! I don't think a writer could ask for a higher compliment—thank you so much!!
Someone asked me once who I admired and I racked my brain trying to think of someone.
But I’ve come to realize it’s YOU, my friend. I admire you more than anyone I can think of. I admire your wisdom , I admire your bravery. I admire your sobriety. I admire your storytelling magic, your beauty , your intellect and your humor.
Thank you for being you.
Love , from your friend in California
Jennifer, what a beautiful and kind message. I can vouch for the sobriety and the bravery and the laughs—the rest I'll have to take your word for, and I am deeply grateful for this. xo, your friend from the road
The line “.. it was only in the context of you I existed..”
so powerful, so complete in everything it conveys.
thank you.
And would it be harsh of me to say that I’m glad you’re not there any more? I hope not. Because I mean it.
Enjoy the quiet of the woods.
Not harsh at all. All things have their place; that wasn't mine, and I'm lucky I eventually got a chance to drift into those that are. xo
“A temporary resident, a breeze passing through” this is beautifully written, and it resonates.
Thank you, dear one!!
Excellent description.
Really cannot express how much I loved this essay and your reading of it.
I'm so glad, Kate! Thank you.
Your introduction of this piece at this point in time instills in me a desire to revisit the melancholia in my own past; all the thoughts and events my mind connects with that feeling. Not to _examine_ it as I might once have wanted to do, imposing a new lens on it that could generate answers or explanations, but simply to sit in it exactly as it was, to the best of my recall. Such a piece of writing reinforces, to me at least, the relevance of marking the past with words.
I've asked myself why I've never sustained any habits through my whole life except biting my fingernails and keeping journals—both with absolutely zero regularity—and the answer is that not to do so would impose too much of a soft-edged dream quality on my recollections.
Thank you for sharing.
Isn't that funny? I have no real desire to plumb the past for evidence or proofs of theories retroactively imposed—what I have feels like a treasure trove of places I've been and remembered, things and situations and images and moments that continue to shimmer but don't need to serve any purpose other than to be appreciated for what they were. Thank you for reading, and sharing your thoughts too.
This passage took me physically, mentally and emotionally in the soul of all the characters. Conjuring understanding, compassion and shame.
Your spoken words add depth and intimacy that truly sooths the spirit.
Funny thing is, when I read your writings I now hear your voice and for some weird reason, it brings me home.
You know I am a great believer in all sorts of things having the capacity to bring us home. I'm so glad this does.
Wonderful. 👏
<3 once again I'm on my laptop and without emojis
Cheswayo Mphanza
Frame Six
These days I wake in the used light of someone’s spent life.
I am often a stranger to myself;
I have no place of origin, no home.
I keep remembering everything in two time zones at once.
Who knows, maybe I myself am called something other than myself.
Not so much a name, but the result of a name.
It’s a strange sensation to yell out: This is me!
In every place I’ve watched caravans of sorrow—
I run like all the other men, chasing my shadow down alleys.
Sometimes in the spaces, there is fear—
my mind deepens into them.
From calm to fear my mind moves, then moves—
in light part nightmare and part vision fleeing.
The voice rises on a storm of grackles, then returns—half elegy, half serenade.
Anna, I must have read this seventeen times since you posted it and it takes my breath every time. Thank you.
Your hair looks fucking great!
ahahahahaaa....it has a mind of its own, there's no telling it what to do so I just appreciate its many moods
I live in a tiny corner of paradise in Canada (at the end of the world) and I’m officially inviting you to come here. We have cozy suite by the ocean—a perfect writers retreat, or just a plain old retreat retreat. Please come whenever you want/need. I would be so pleased to host you so you can rest. Recover. Recharge. Whatever you need. You would be so welcome. xo
P.S. I don’t have a tiny Zeke, but I have a huge lovable Ryder who would also welcome you when/if you arrive.
I will be there. xo
Such stunning prose!
Thank you, Jan!!