post trans-siberian (and being manmade mountains)

back from eighteen thousand miles of looking and making, the constant act of leaving, along with the abandoning of familiar circadian rhythms one step behind as the horizon rearranges, warp and weft.

there are incidental details - imaginary boundaries between places, the exchanging of various kinds of paper for entrance, exit, dehydrated potatoes, points in a game. there is constant comparison, there is the increased awareness of infrastructure: close wooden slats arranged in the tempo of eighth notes, arrangements of interlocking logs and felt, simple structures and methods for the basics of warmth, the constant battle to keep things from falling down and apart. thousands of words in foreign languages which settle into white noise, occasionally punctuated by staccato bursts of momentary understanding. a constant process (struggle and endeavor) of trying to maintain certain necessary routines amidst these places of constant change. home makes and remakes itself faster with every temporary destination, parameters shifting until it simply becomes a space where you can rest for more than a minute. and in between these vigorous spans of disciplining the body, there are times devoted to empty bottles, familiar vowels and consonants reformed in slightly foreign accents, purposeful and purposeless walking while thinking holy, holy, holy;

coming back, there are hundreds of images to scan and examine, to fit together. simultaneously, trying to remember and evaluate the particulars of old habits. more soon.