Blog Post by Annie

About Annie living while everybody else is alive too

Dear Everybody,

A cowlick is a little tornado of the head, where a massive being sought to cleanse you. Do you have a starlick somewhere on your body? Something seared by the light to keep the juice in? I wonder.

A strawberry flower blurts light out of the crotches and armpits of its green star. It floats out bobbles of yellow hope, our hope, hope for sweet-sunny red-blood tooth-seed berries! Us the bunnies, us the boys and girls, us the beyond… And even in the cave of a tooth, the seed is hoping. Even in the warm, dark throat. Are we in a throat, or are we in soil? Grow, grow, or never know!

I am writing to tell you that school’s out for summer. The presentations have been presented, the pdfs attached, and the assessments are now being assessed. I am grateful to have a swing set at school, and that my school is not a school at all! (I am imagining that I am in fifth grade, and I am writing a very hopeful dream of the future… and today it is real.) I was swinging and thinking, it really is quite sensible that we do not sit in that shaded, stuffy room for hours through the summer, when the breezy sun is available outside. It would be like keeping the cows in, and forcing them hay as the green smell of green grows stronger. There is much to learn out there! May my butter yellow with direct observation of this world!

When an image touches down to become real: Everything is transformed by these flames, and this impact. The dinosaurs are gone and everything becomes small. I am born, and you. We have smelled the lilacs and watched them melt and muck. We are already onto the poppies and irises, sparkling screaming and huge. Sun flies in droplets off and away, and it’s hitting us. Floppy tongue hangs out of your mouth as you ventilate. Breath is all the air.

I am writing like this and rising like a molecule in the heat. The water floats up even as it is coming down. The earth gets wetter as it dries. It’s a cool day, but you will warm up quickly if you get moving, gather heat, or be still, let heat gather on you. The cream-top of the pond is warm: lie in it. The dip below is cold: thrash through and beat it.

(Annie will you come touch the floor a moment and tell us what’s going on?)

Hi. Do you remember me? It has been a few months since I’ve typed words on this screen. Can you believe this pen still hasn’t run out of ink? It was November 8th the last time I did this. Some of it was yesterday, some of it is far away. It will give you a good outline of the time between. December and January and March and April all feel a little too distant to distill for you all now, for May has been so Much! It is a month of being at capacity and finding more. Of life-changing events and mind-changing moments. Of saying Yes. Of saying May-be. In May, you be. A spider on my shoulder, a spider in the kitchen, hanging from the ceiling, crumpled by the sink. Crumbs of bugs, dropped by the deceitful lamp. June bug banging on the window screen— Yes! Yes, you are next. After the 31st, which yes, there is. Some of the calendars in the house lacked it, but somebody came through and drew it in, because it matters to him, that we can be in this month still this Sunday. There is always room for another day, even if you need to squeeze it in the top left Sunday, we can go there.

I don’t have a screen door, and I don’t have a cat door, so I sit up in the night to open and close things. Somebody’s watching us sometimes, or somebody’s flying in, somebody’s meowing. I close my eyes to turn invisible, or I say shoo, shoo, or come on in. I have been dreaming of things that can’t happen— stories we’ll never live when we’re awake. Thank goodness there’s a time for them.

So my assignments are finished and I still have just as many hours in the day. I only lasted about a minute empty, before this all came flooding in! Recently I brought my smartphone to a post office and a nice lady took it from my hands so I didn’t have to see it ever again. Recently I watched Wallace and Gromit again and the perfect wool shop lady was imperfect because she didn’t like cheese. Recently I have been pulling wool from wool, so that we may twist it together again.

I am not sure about this, but there are three things that you might soon get to see! There is an essay I wrote about Angelic Autistic Autonomous Authors, and there are poems… How many poems? How many pages of poems? Am I the person who wrote them? Also, another Annietated Bingliography, in which I give you a scoop of each book on my bookshelf…

Well, let me tell you what I’m noticing. There is this lie out there. This lie in here, in me, and maybe in you. It says you had better keep up, or you’ll fall off the treadmill. And it says this even about art, about the spirit, about neighbors and family and friends. (there are some people I want to keep up with very much but grow unwilling to open non-essential Gmail rectangles, or spend time sending texts). Furthermore, in this lie, the treadmill is not on a padded gym floor, it is just floating there over the pits of hell. Try and bounce back from there! There is nothing to push your feet against! But here is a truth: I saw some people on this computer screen this morning, and they remembered me and I remembered them. We are still traveling on this road. I heard once about a couple who walked on either side of the Great Wall of China. I don’t know how it ended up for them, but it sounds very scary, but I think a lot of us do this in different ways. Being together does not mean speaking or touching or seeing each other. You could be on the other side of the wall, or the other side of the world. Exhibit B: The flowers are blooming again in the spring again! Even after there were no flowers for so long!

So I am asking, were there ever no flowers? Was it really that long? I see my whole life in an egg, And I am glad to have this part coming back around to me. You.

See you