Manuport

Tuesday, 12/10/24

Manuport. Carried by hands. 

Back in July, the river was incredibly low. It was hot and I had time on my hands so I carried it to the river, donning water shoes. I walked down a short path lined with stinging nettle to the river bank. I entered the long pull of water, amazed that such shallowness moved with such force. Every waterlogged leaf and skeletal shadow looked like a fossil. I moved slow and deliberate over rocks covered in slippery green, hair-like spirogyra. 50 yards upstream, I saw what looked like a piece of Corinthian column poking up from the sandbar. I made a weak attempt at budging it, the attempt muddying the water to the point where I could barely make out detail. I gave up and moved on past a foul, dead fish and other river detritus. When I returned to the Corinthian column, the muddy water had cleared and I saw that it was indeed a very large fossil. I committed to dislodging the 10+ pound burrow fossil. Then I committed to carrying it downriver, up the nettle path, and to my car. I drove it home and carried it to the back patio and hosed it down until its lines and curves glistened.

It is December and there it still sits in slush on the patio, exactly where I put it in July. Exactly in the shape it has been for lifetimes upon lifetimes. That same night in July, a bat greeted me in my living room. I managed to capture the bat and release them outside. I will likely move the fossil into a flower bed along with other manuports. Long after the bat’s body succumbs to the variables of life, long after I decompose and the library of my life is dispersed, this burrow fossil will remain, a long, hard remembering of what was once a safe place for someone long gone.

Wednesday, 12/11/24

It’s that time of the year where deer seemingly explode on impact, pieces of them all over the road. It’s that time of the year where we change the music station to Christmas music as we drive past a face separated from its skull.

Thursday, 12/12/24

I packed away my art supplies so that I can have a sanctuary in which to write. As I write away at the table, the bins of art supplies under the table support my feet.

Friday, 12/13/24

A man named Raymond Queneau created the book A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems in which ten sonnets are written but juxtaposed on separate strips (pages), line-by-line, which creates 10^10 poems. You would never in your life (or 50 thousand billion of your lives) be able to finish the book considering that there are only about 2 billion seconds in an average life.

Speaking of seconds and billions, Elon Musk makes $656 per second. The amount of money he makes a day is my gross annual income times 1,080.

Saturday, 12/14/24

Sometimes I want to fall into the tiniest pin hole. I’m here but out of the way. I want to pass the threshold into the woods without anyone noticing that I left. I’ll come back eventually. I want to scowl at the face in the mirror. I have been on-edge, prickly, and short. I keep using the phrase “my performance”, not knowing how I should and shouldn’t be around people. I want to slip in between pages of a book and have the book gently shut. Put me on a shelf until it makes sense for me to be read again. Let the glue and ink and wood pulp of me alchemize until the narrative of me is good enough for you.

Sunday, 12/15/24

I went for a walk in the local wetlands as the snow fell in a fury. A snowflake landed in my eye. What a gracious world we live in. We don’t have to take cover from rain or snow. To touch it is not harmful. For a snowflake to melt in one’s eye is not dangerous. It became a part of me or I am a part of it. Sure, there are poisons, venom, lava, gravity, mud slides, weather disasters, sink holes, fangs, briars, and claws divining their way into our narratives, but blades of grass will continue to bend under our weight as they conceal the snake. Snow will melt in the palms of our hands as mountains of it give way and thunders down toward us. Leaves will rustle in the wind of us.

Monday, 12/16/24

I would be able to express my thoughts better. I would be able to ask questions. I would be able to seem gracious. I would be able to smile more. I would be able to share my gratitude. I would be able to talk about such interesting things. I would inquire more. I would compliment more. I would complement more. My jaw wouldn’t be so tight. My tongue wouldn’t be sore from my biting it. My body would be more relaxed. I would be more pleasant to be around. I would be less perceived. I would be more comfortable. You would be more comfortable. They would be more comfortable. I would know more information. I would be able to do more. I would be able to drive more safely. I would be able to enjoy my showers more. My glasses wouldn’t be so smudged and spotted. My pockets wouldn’t be filled with tissues. I’d be taken more seriously. I would feel more hopeful and helpful. I would feel more normal. I would be less tense. I would be less short. I would be more lovely if I

didn’t cry so damn much.

wasn’t in my head so much.

wasn’t so reactive and overstimulated.

held all my feelings in.

was kinder to myself.

It was a hard day.