MattMain

Today the snows do fall; lightly, brightly, but still, falling. I wake to a gray world which I don’t so much see through as see. Dancing out the door, there are millions of winter verities dropping from the sky like birds that, having finally given up flight, are now coming to be amongst. The world addresses itself with needed silence. I sit beyond all conveniences, within the weathers, listening to nothing. When the machinations of your head are the loudest thing you hear, the gear whine of thought upon thought upon thought seems almost quaint, manageable.


(The coming season demands quite the tower of books, so I dutifully, obsequiously, fastidiously obliged. Avast! Adjectives as poisons of meaning. They’re in no real order, will be read in an order, and I’ve ordered myself to keep any and all curious of my current literary status. Tuned, stay.)

What’s with all these trees, in the woods (of the Bridger Teton National Forest)?

Today marks the 1st [or the 5th]. The first day of again living beyond in the Gros Ventre mountains of western Wyoming – though the Winds and the Tetons aren’t that far off – and the fifth day of the month, my father’s 60th birthday. Both are ideal moments that will, and have, stretched themselves into lifetimes. There is much to cherish, more to know, much more to cherish. I plan many things for the coming winter — silences and seeing through ravens among them. This site will be a satellite for shared thought. Check back often, I’ll be here. Or, please do call: 307.733.6262. The phone line will soon be above ground and hummingly connected.

BOO.

I don’t know…weird:

It all seems obvious, this clambering up sandstone slopes that you may better stick your nose, ears, eyes into the wind. There is a howling loneliness at the top as shared by this rowdy spruce. Tetons are distant, the blue of hanging exhaust, the Winds nasty and black, punctuations to resilient, lived sentences. I am perched on a perch feeling quite proud.


I’ve taken this picture before — floating out over the lived edge of things that I might look down the river, up the river, from whence I came to where I’m going. Blessed and ignorant am I in these unforgettable days. I’ll remember them as experiential and halcyon, but will I forget the individual leaves that sneak down my shirt or the endless parade of downed timber I monkey out, over, and across? I hope not. I deserve never to lose my triumphs because lo! there are always the weaknesses which support them.


The compass reads in every direction. Books read left to right. Suns set. The moon it rises just like its liquid form, tides. For each sentence we digest a hundred more are thrown back up and to the wolves. Complaining, I am not, rather quite happy I am.


Does anyone else wish for and with me? Is there sybaritic circus in the eyes that meet mine? Am I allowed my mind(s), aggregate and awful as we all know they are? Saints shitting smiles because we know exactly they types of thoughts given to us all.

Movement, a chaos, storming, neon buses traversing miles upon miles of lit, unlit highways. There is a tension within everything, a place between the lungs where heart resides. We walk up and out into a world that neither welcomes nor turns away. Seasons as splendid reminders that we love to forget. Ambivalence? No. But a resounding need to report happenings each and every time they occur? Yes. Here. I give you all fall; precious, imperious, and looking to score a last word (if this is what we are truly all about).

Thanks to god, late September sunshines, my aunt and uncle’s farm, and all sorts of maudlin, unforgettable technologies, I’m here to present all those in witness with a three frame set of this, my latest lived week of life:

The Solid Muldoon:

For now, I’m back; batching photos that came out of the oven at different, yet related, times. Blame a god, summer, or the very idea that I’ve been somewhat reluctant to look into a screen — it being like a room, you make peace with the philosophical ‘idea of a’ before entering. I’m still quite live, and [ostensibly] language will follow.