It occurs to me that for all my love of brain chemistry and social science it makes absolutely no difference when I am in thrall. "Ah yes," says the little chemist in my head, her hair tightly bound and glasses perched on her nose, "you are building white matter. The brain is currently firing neurons and creating chemical connections in a way that didn't exist before. The way you think and feel about these things is changing now, and in the future will have different chemical reactions and a more sophisticated set of biochemical associations." Thank you, nice science lady. Now when can I shut this shit off and get some sleep?
Thank goodness for inspired, inspiring friends. I've got Val and Carissa at yoga, where after a great class we sit around the studio and talk fashion and socio-economics. You ladies rule. Then yesterday my dear friend Jenny, in town from San Fransisco, invited me out for a walk. She showed up just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation with my beloved Mearcairs on how efficient it would be if we could run cars on injustice and outrage. Traffic would run better at rush hour! Finally, a use for Glenn Beck! Jenny and I laughed and said goodbye and headed out to the Olympic Sculpture Park.
We caught the moments of beautiful brightness that broke through yesterday's storm. I love that part of the waterfront, where the ocean curls right up to the city's edge. The sky was a Pollack canvas of white and grey, with the brilliant orange slash of sunset carving the top of the Olympic mountains across the Sound. We'd never been through the Sculpture Park and I was delighted with the art and layout. By far my favorite was Mark di Suvero's
Schubert Sonata, a huge steel abstract piece balanced on a towering point:
The wind whipped my skirt as we walked though the sculpture and talked. Jenny and I have been friends a long time, and she makes me think and laugh in a way no one else can. I met her at an amazing show of women musicians, video dj's and visual artists back when Neumo's was still Playland, and she introduced herself by sitting on my lap. She was there the night of Critical Jenn, a house party where I realized that every person in the room was named either Jen, Jennifer, Jenny or Jenna. She is also the woman I went to when I started work in non-profit, for she possesses keen insight into the workings of non-profit offices and can keep the mission at heart. I still marvel and count on her for her astuteness and sense of humor in what can sometimes be a social justice swamp. Jenny girl, I hope you always do what you do so well, and look damn fine doing it. Thanks for a great afternoon!
After popping over to the charming
Panama Hotel Teahouse for a pot of jasmine with ginger we parted ways until she comes back to parts North again. A couple of the Hanta Haus denizens and I made it out to The Moth Seattle story telling night at Calamity Jane's, which while the stories were good the room was echoey and it was kind of hard to hear over the restaurant conversation. I came home and cranked up Swing Years and Beyond and played with Ursula until I fell asleep.
Oh blissful, not interrupted by the chemist in my brain sleep. I lingered long in bed until the internal chemist was replaced by my internal little kid, that woke up ready to play and oh! Oh! Apple cider! Can we go to the Farmer's Market?! And I want to take over quiz night at Georgetown Liquor Co., can we call Topher RIGHT NOW?
*sigh!*
**
Round the world and home again
That's the sailor's way
Faster faster, faster faster
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing-Roald Dahl
Tags: art, internal labyrinth, poetess
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Current Music: Improper Dancing- Electric Six
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