q&a for a dear friend's MFA thesis project. (their part is the "q", my part is the "a")

Protected: June 22-28, A Wild and Feral B-Sides Kind of Week

The Mixtape: a Field Guide to (Wilderness) Interrogation & (Feral) Appropriation

(**note: images should be sent to winberrl@onid.oregonstate.edu** / all writing should posted below, anonymously, pseudonymously, or otherwise)

Please submit responses, in writing AND in image (photograph or illustration or other), to the following 14-question vertical interrogation:

1. How is it that you have come to breathe?

reply: 

i breathe via community, and hope i will come to stop the same-

the image in a child's mind of the way a game named "light as a feather stiff as a board" should look-

that is how the life stays in me- 

through the love of people, and their figurative fingers-

some who have no idea how brave they are, or how much they hold up-

for this, meditation can be a thousand thank you letters in my mind 

image: 

the dusty pile of unopened letters, tied with twine, in the sunshine beneath a budding Sycamore. a field alongside the tree fills the air with the rich smell of hungrily poised soil. just out of focused sight, a swing hangs untouched by the young love that once moved it, day-in. now it loves in the wind.    

2. In which ocean has your heart landed and how did it get there?

reply:

my heart/soul/spleen/trigonometry-equation is a thing that begs no explanation or parameter-

the thing, its attempts to explain the nature of the unknowable, and it's shape related to a bread box are unknowable in themselves-

its affliction to knowing a home is a question it begs of me and you both-

this knower has landed where it is through opposition and thoughtful miscalculation-

it has never passed a fucking quiz, and can create beautiful pointillism with bubble sheets- 

image:

a vision more like sound. the sound of wind blowing as hard as wind can, through a chain-link-fence

3. How will you let it be different every time?

reply:

the ache would have it no other way-

it will always be different, so long as i act as a subject of my own understanding, upheld by aforementioned fingers-  

refraining form the object of ideal types and gaze and unnecessary judgement- 

image:

a bible with some of the words cut out to reveal a beautiful piece of literature

4. What does underwater smell like?

reply:

 a mixture of fear and fun-

in the best way that can make sense-

image: 

bubbles. lots of them. followed by the sound they make when they reach the waves. 

5. What value do you place on your sacrum?

reply:

enough that i had to look up sacrum when i read this query- 

i cracked it once-

jumped off a rock that was about two-of-me-tall and landed on a rock that was less than a bread box below the water's surface-

i had to walk with a cane and sit on an ass-pillow for several months-

image:

one warn ass-pillow, spinning wildly around a hardwood cane in the air-

6. What does it mean to be made in the image of god?

reply:

regret, ache, heavy guilt, & confusion. not in that order, & with no temporal significance. 

image:

a beautifully veined elderly hand slips gently off a wine glass and lets the liquid fall deep to soil-

dark stained soil-

every onlooker is gaze-locked on the soiled wine-

no one offers a mop, or to fetch more wine 

7. Where do you go when you cannot move?

reply:

when the chain comes off its gear, the air becomes honey, my skin feels dead, i have to walk through chewed bread-

i go to the shadowed forest-

the smell of things dying and growing, all being warmed or rained clean-

that is the closest to a home my heart has ever allowed-

some people are the forest-

the occasional urban tree-

often the desert works well for these things-

first, it is a smell of good dirt-

image:

i am lying under a stand of Bull Pine that i climbed, covered in pitch, sleeping on a giant black Newfoundland puppy.    

8. What is the sex of your language?

reply:

i am hopeful that there is not one for me- 

this is part of my personal ache-

sex/gender/sex are not things i want to be who i am-

i find the identity versions hurtful-

image: 

two bathroom doors-  

9. What do you remember about tomorrow?

reply:

one of my favorite phrases is  to "remember something new"-

this is an entirely secret one, but i will say it fits well as we learn to love our age-

image:

flannel sheets drying in the wind-

young people wiping flowers across the white cotton face-

creating shapes-  

10. What is the meaning of the color of your eyes?

reply:

there are things about myself i don't know, no one tells me about, and no one judges aloud-

i am troubled to find these things feeling good-

when i smile with my eyes they say certain things that work well with strangers-

that means i like to be as kind as possible with people-

image:

just enough water to keep the office plants alive-

no more than the least necessary-

the plants are as beautiful as the people who water them 

11. What are the consequences?

reply: 

how hard do we push, and with what-

truth might keep consequences coming in the warm window-

if it takes anything other than love and honesty i am not buying a ticket-

if the reflection is one of systems on rational vomit, i am staying in for a bit-

telling myself something i know. something i can tell you.

no matter of curtains will cover what comes back, nor need to do so-  

image:

the wizard of oz. some gentle form of naked

12. Who told you it was ok?

reply:

i did not ask-

image: 

a 97 yea old person with one hand on their stalwart hip, and the other fist shaking air in protest-  

13. Where is your impetus?

reply: 

to be with the earth, animals, other things, in the ways they want to be- 

to never not ask, no matter the cost-

to create until it hurts too much, then create harder-

to give, as much or more than feels good, followed by a forest-

my drive is to never stop learning, form the fingers and all others-    

image:

middle aged tattoo artist-

waking on a long winter morning-

covers pulled back just enough-

staring at their toes-

asking for the first time, "who's idea was it?"-

14. How will you continue?

reply:

with the same strong fingers-

& some new ones of varied sturdiness-

beyond that, i hope i don't know-

knowing, planning, scheduling, are things that give me pains in my body and mind-

i have an agreement with me that i will continue, until something gives out-

the momentum i feel is stronger now, but ultimately my compass-rose is playing darts with a borderless map-

image:

a young child wearing engineer-overalls, lying across chilled train-tracks, shoes rest propped on one side, head rests bent on the other-

the neighbor's gifted globe spins round in one hand-

a faint vibration of wonder in both ears-