Zines, bloggers & INVESTMENTS in love that I WANT YOU TO MAKE

Two of the grl bloggers I read both wrote this week about love.

Specifically, about how they dont blog about their love lives bc that part is private and they want to show respect for their lovers.

I was sitting in bed yesterday morning with coffee and quiet, writing poetry and listening and capturing this song that runs and runs so deep. I wrote, and wrote more and more and in slow-mo saw a circle I've been edging and rounding and sort of I guess repressing come through. And soon as I saw it, felt it snap closed.

Laura Veirs played Life is Good Blues and without wanting them to the tears started to come, then came hard. Cuz that's what happens sometimes to me when a soul-circle for me closes. It is relief, and also maybe sadness, and bittersweet thankfulness, over the awarenss that it brings.

And in bed there I had a witnessing, yet again: the ailment of my own human imperfection. How deep and personal this equalizing, impersonal pain can run. It hurt hard and I thought about not only things you aren't aloud to say, but the things you dont get the chance to, or dont know how.

It is true, there are things that will never be witnessed here. It's amazing isn't it? I have a blog that imports to facebook, that gets a decent number of regular visitors and even more random hits, and seemingly it's all right out there...But wow. This last year and my struggles with love...

I have a green hill of burial in my soul and only sometimes, when I am not expecting it, I kneel down there but there are no words; and too, a book with a poem that is endless and a vision I often now am too afraid to own. Like a child I submit to this, to this place of burial and to this holy poetic epoch of ruin, my arms upraised in soft acquiencence to the sun. I lay myself down. It is this wordless hill & this endless poem inside me that each teach of such imperfection, that submit me finally to the real and human me once again.

Maybe one day I will paint a picture of it, that green hill. Maybe one day I will make a Zine about it, that endless poem.

But in the meantime, I want you to go here and buy Carrot Quinn's new zine hunger, love. She is such a rich writer I love to indulge in her ramblings, how her tender quaking outlooks on this hard-edged imperfect world make it all a little better and often make me sigh and remember, oh yes oh yes it all is so okay.