I love the smells of the south
That slam me against color
After months in the white cold
I am this wildness too
Twenty nine years ago
My grandma Ruth died
On the twenty-eighth day.
A Swede, the opposite
Of Texas.
All in QIwP
I love the smells of the south
That slam me against color
After months in the white cold
I am this wildness too
Twenty nine years ago
My grandma Ruth died
On the twenty-eighth day.
A Swede, the opposite
Of Texas.
There’s something world making/queer in re-imagining our cities and homes. As we reshape the ideas about what private and public support systems look like. I’m curious about how to re-create and re-purpose spaces, especially our family and urban spaces, in ways that open up a wide range of possibilities for sustaining and practicing relationships with our anger, fear, pain, pleasure and an even more resilient love.
Oh! the transition from Queer Intimacy with southern Place to Queer Intimacy with northern Place. This post+poem is an ode to my Texas landscape, escape, adventure.
Thanks to a decade plus of dedication to my writing life, I now understand timing, materials needed, and spaces that serve my craft best. Ultimately it’s the balance between absence and presence. Slow Love Lake Superior is what I call the approach to loving the person/ people/places/practices I do ‘slowly and with quiet, steady pleasure’.
I fell in love with Manatee watching during a birthstate (Florida) visit last month. Here are a few tastes of that sensual watery beast of calm via live cams. Manatee “season” runs Nov 15 - Mar 31. Feels only fitting to give this month’s post to these examples of pure, magical, ocean pleasure. Who needs sports, or concerts, or restaurants…
In summer, I experience 20 minute orgasms almost daily. I drive, walk or bike my body 4 miles down to Lake Superior and stare into the wild eyes of bigLake beauty, my primary love, this place that gifts me water rich experiences everyday. I’m held by green granite hillside, long blue horizon, white lighthouses to my left and right.
I was recently asked, “What’s it like to be queer in Duluth? Will you write about it?” Hmmmm… a delicious and dastardly task, especially during Pride month when all kinds of queer are visible to the naked eye.
Author Richard Powers queerly writes, “We all travel the Milky Way together trees and [humxns], in every walk we take with nature one receives far more than they seek. The [queerest] way into the universe is through a forest wilderness.”