Week 13-23 - Haibuno

27 March 2023

Almanac edit
writing, laundry, town, again
time keeps on ticking

There’s dust in the air with a side of snow flurries. It dropped 30 degrees overnight, a dull gray descending. Grateful that the crick in my upper back eased overnight. It takes time to tick through the lists, between bouncing back and forth with the extremes. Less time, less money, more bureaucratic BS. Feeling like we’re slogging through by pulling teeth, and setting bones. How does this even exist? A whole year of showing up and doing feeling like the wind keeps blowing away all the interesting bits. Are any still in there? Push through, push through, push through…

28 March 2023

Awesome day skiing
ticking off iconic runs
Al’s, Kachina Peak

I psyched myself up all season to do two iconic runs. The training wheels paid off. They were conquered and ready to be run again. Only now the season has ended abruptly, and the excitement of a couple more days to conquer others is denied. It’s a disappointment that everyone saw coming - eventually. Only it arrived much faster, and much more catastrophically than anticipated. One person wants the moon, everyone else is more pragmatic. Competing interests in a battle tug-o-war royale, where everyone ends up losing.

29 March 2023

New fan is installed
2 loads of base course arrives
excitement sneaks in

One day we will have the space we need to fulfill the dreams of doing. The pace of progress is infuriatingly slow. But progress is happening regardless of our impatience. This is the lesson of now - this is enough, this rough and tumble progress toward, with excitement sneaking in around the edges.

30 March 2023

Mullein friends are back
swaying in the violent winds
nesting imminent

Waiting for our friends to take up residence for the third year in a row. Half the party hasn’t arrived yet, or so it seems. Will they make it back? Or will another arrive to take up the tradition? Or will the entire enterprise be abandoned for good? Our other set of friends is clearly setting up shop. I come around the corner and surprised them, a bright blue blast rushing to the berm. They rushed back happy to see that I wasn’t a giant cat stalking them from behind the coyote fence (that the coyotes can just walk around). I notice that every patch of fresh bunch grass poking up is carefully mowed to within an inch of the ground. Who needs a lawnmower when you have the cottontail brigade!

31 March 2023

Excitement building
a sonic and visual
human natural

We put in our piece, and regardless of the circumstances will push forward a connection between human supernatural. We will record the voices of the land, the voices of the people, and a distinctive hum of the inner ear vibrating incessantly. Then we will broadcast it on the artist statement channel as a hollowing hope that ceaselessly stretches. Coupled with a symphony of ragamuffin felt hats sailing in spring winds. We can make up whatever words come to mind that have a pleasing symmetry and symbiosis. They will massage your pecs, pluck your heartstrings, and spank your sinuses. They will endeavor to endeavor. They will build excitement with their self-grandiosity and largesse. A true bounty of moving, yearning, admonition for repair, that will be bestowed and bedridden. It will disrupt. It will imply antediluvian. It will be a redundant nexus in a mythological context. It will overlap. It will be coded. It will take on sexual mores and roles and neuroses. It will affirm and disenfranchise. It will be simultaneously inoperative and adjectival. It is the alchemy of a broken spoke. Haphazard and alive.

1 April 2023

Workshop chaos STOP
impatient organizing
more space incoming

From the top down there were useful things in there. We are learning from abandoned dreams. Maybe that fuels the urgency in some respects. Better to seize the dreams as they appear, than to allow them to linger nebulously.

2 April 2023

Tropical greenhouse
hot water unlocks body
floating amongst dunes

At least for a few hours the perpetual tightness was alleviated. We drove past ‘the flats’ where everyone is armed, and wants you to leave them alone. Dust devils dance past the hood. Children slide and scream into the warm water. Mountains sit idly by, caked in snow, and silently nodding. An albino raven flies overhead, or is it a raptor with black tips on its wings, or is it a silver kite with prayers tattooed on its wings? Is that an old sand dune over there wondering why its alluvium doesn’t shift sideways any more? A perpetual angle of repose. Unsorted. Scattered. Forever silently floating.

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Jamie Larson