the fish tank

We Float Alone-Daughters of Summer, Sara Ann Long
different fish
share
the same water
each sharp flip
pulling water back
to push water forward

2 same fish
chase
one leads, the other leads
who starts (not clear)
distracted by the rock
again
who starts (not clear)
chasing
seeking their twin

in their chase
missing colorful fish
horned fish
gently floating seaweed

in their chase
2 same fish
don't see

me in my chair
seeing the glass box
holding a universe
seeing the game
from outside

i know how to play

always seeking the identity
always chasing the reflection
recognize
reflection
as illusion
a game
with no winner
munich, germany // april 2020

a primal preparation

what is it about him?
what is it about me?

“Ich erinnere mich sich selbst.”
A part of me feels like he is everything, the one.
A part of me feels like he will never understand.

So I seek, myself, to find the answer.

I seek
What I fear?
Who I am. What does this mean, I?
How I block and ignore?
How I hide, how I shine?
How I love? Giving and receiving. 

I enter an experiment with others.
An inaugural gathering to my inauguration.
  
I give myself permission, to rest, to retreat by choice.
To see my strength, through the love.
I glow.
sintra, portugal // august 2019

1st and final manifesto

  • 1 / I am for the art that grooves through the stillness.
  • 2 / I am for the art that hears the silence within the groove.
  • 3 / I am for the art that cherishes the silence within the groove.  Embodies, senses, transmits.
  • 4 / I am for the art that reflects like a box covered with 100 diamond shaped mirrors.
  • 5 / I am for the art that says hello to the self that has forgotten to open its eyes.
  • 6 / I am for the art that is the before, the during, the after, in one breath.  That is the breath.
  • 7 / I am for the art that confronts that which lays dormant.
  • 8 / I am for the art is the earth, the fire, the water, the air.
  • 9 / I am for the art that gives space to each particle. The space each particle deserves.
  • 10 / I am for the art that has a forever home and knows it.
  • 11 / I am for the art that pushes your blood to your heart, pulls your tears from your eyes. 
  • 12 / I am for the art that spreads.  As quickly as dispersing milk through a morning coffee, as slow as dripping honey from a tiny spoon.
  • 13 / I am for the art that burns as hot as the tip of the cigarette meeting the flame, that silently swirls as the smoke after.
  • 14 / I am for the art that attaches shamelessly to the sweaty bodies making love in the lost ashes.  That is the love that is made.
  • 15 / I am for the art that floats above the clouds with its attention on roots below the trees.
  • 16 / I am for the art that hears the whimper and provides the embrace.
  • 17 / I am for the art that becomes the sun through being a ray.
  • 18 / I am for the art that realizes the moment it awakes.
  • 19 / I am for the art that realizes the infinity it inhabits.
  • 20 / I am for the art that realizes the harmony it perpetuates.
  • 21 / I am for the art that is an oasis of time.

[inspired by Claes Oldenburg]

as told by water

They say that water has memory.  Its chemical structure remembers, from the beginning of time, until now.  

Our story, surrounded and contained by water.
Formless and formed, adjusting and adjusted, absorbing and absorbed.

location:  Berlin, Germany  

water:  Mügelsee

Together in the sun, he is sitting on the bank as I swim to meet him through the grass of the lake.  I slowly stand up, sensing each drop of water roll down my naked body, each drop reflecting in the light of his eyes.  Hummus, pita, olives, red wine serve as sensory distractions.  The bliss floats out of our laughing mouths.  We wade through the water, our chests and lower bellies meet.  I feel the heat of a deep knowing and exchange.  A shy look to the left, a drop of fear joins.  The water reflects the sun back into our faces and eyes, encouraging us to trust in the brightness.  Do we notice?  We choose not to discuss the answer.  Diving back into the cool water, the heat of our connection and the heat of our impending separation dissolve.  For now, we are one.  Me, him, the water.

location:  Amsterdam, Netherlands  

water:  The Amstel

Five months pass with the Pacific calmly flowing between us.  I in the West and him in the East. I am consumed by the heat of our separation; I crave to slip into the cold, silvery blanket of the sea with him, to leave this behind; I do this.  We meet at the canal, time pauses, the moon shines down on our tight chests.  Did we see the brightness reflected back at us five months ago?  Do we choose this brightness or do we choose fear, do we choose darkness?  Holding hands, we step and step, slowly, deeper and deeper, matching the pace of the flowing water next to us.  Holding hands, we look at each other from the peak of our individual mountains, seeing a home in each others eyes but noting the dark abyss between us.  The only way to meet is to reach the base of the mountain and tread across the solid ground.  Our story begins its descent.

location:  Faro, Portugal

water:  The Atlantic Ocean

Seven months pass.  Halfway down the perceived inner mountains, we stand shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the European continent, looking out over the Atlantic with no land in sight.  The red sun stretches over the horizon, becoming wider and wider in a way I have never seen before.  It appears to be on the edge of the universe as we know it, someplace in an oasis of time.  I desire to go there with him, to hold his hand and step onto the surface of the limitless water, defying gravity as the pull of the sun and timeless space slowly melts us together. His lies and betrayal meet with my potential desires; the former wins.

location:  Munich, Germany

water:  The Isar

The river rushes around my calves and ankles.  My feat grip into the dirt, my hands clutch the stones.  He sits on the river bank, stable; I stand in the river, fighting the flow.  A storm cloud rolls in, covering us in its darkness and thick drops.  The space between us breaks, we becoming two people fighting the same battle.  Rain pours into our faces, matts our hair, clothes cling to our bodies.  The repetitive motion of the bicycles is the only familiarity.  A few times I drive meters with my eyes closed.  By this time I have gotten good at moving forward blindly.  We pause under a bridge and wrap ourselves in a dry cloth.  The smell of my palo santo cleansed home is in the fabric.  A sad attempt at protection from our reality.

location:  Tel Aviv, Israel

water:  The Mediterranean Sea

We sit together by the Mediterranean.  I can’t escape the heat.  The heat of the sand.  The heat of the air.  The heat of the water.  The heat of my lies in my stomach.  I am trapped, and so is he.  We are trapped in our own heat, and even the water isn’t cool enough to soothe us.  He throws his plastic bottle with enough force to break us into pieces.  It happens.  The bottle hits the ground.  Our individual truths come out with the shattering of our reality.  Everything flows.  The bottle is thrown away.  Recycling isn’t popular in Israel. 

location:  Berlin, Germany

water:  The Spree

I finally find the courage to say goodbye.  Water takes its most intimate form, now able to cool us once more, wrapping our hot faces in heavy drips of saltiness.  It pours down.  It consumes.  It transports.  A tear rests on his cheek, not eager to flow down.  I see it as an invitation to unite our individual waters.  My gentle kiss becomes a suck, I take the tear in my mouth and we become one.  Molecules meeting, bodies parting.