in the sunlight

<center>small but hot. no smoke, so they couldn't track me.\n\n.\n\n[[that year i turned <<print either(6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13)>>|14]]</center>

there is a brown-wood negative on the image\n<<replace "when glass is fogged, I remember the fog">> when there is rain, I remember the rain, the racing drops <<becomes>> the world passes, and I remember the world<<becomes>>\n\nit is maybe impossible to know a window\nat least in the way one can know <<cyclinglink "a cup" "a chair" "a toy" "a car">>\n\na window serves you\nit is inherently what is behind it\nif it has a personhood, it is in its flaws\nor cracks\nor [[holes|24]]<<endreplace>>\n

<center><<cyclinglink "unable to run, i grab my knife and make ready to defend myself or" "i bravely stand up and half-drag myself to the woods, where i hide or" "i scream, they find me lying in the yard, breathing heavy or" "my bone snapped but i can't even feel it, i don't know pain, i float off into the sky or">>\n\n<<timedinsert 10s>> it didn't break at all<<endtimedinsert>>\n\n<<timedinsert 13s>>or [[something|11]]<<endtimedinsert>>\n\n</center>\n

<center>i remember a <<insert "window">>\n\nor [[really|ok]]\n\n<<endinsert>>\n\n</center>\n\n<<loopsound "music.mp3" >>

i planned on traveling the country by clinging to the underside of large trucks\n\nit seemed safer than trains somehow\n\n\nwith my getting on, and off, at the [[red lights|14]]

//~<<print either("a white-haired boy standing on the end of a concrete pier we had yet to visit", \n\n"a wide oak-covered hill and stormy skies, lightning clinging to the ground and kicking up at our heels like snow",\n\n"the forgotten island-bourough of new york where you moved after college, the one where no cars were allowed; the one with the dump and empty fields just over the footbridge",\n\n"dreaming in a barren hive, all my identical sisters already long woken, making stories and self out of the images, giving myself a fragile young name, teppa",\n\n"the bear lumbering out of the woods, learning to love the humans who lived on the front porch",\n\n"concrete structures making empty favelas in an airport hangar of a warehouse; the neon tubes weaving in and out like vines or snakes",\n\n"a bus terminal and the lottery-shops lining the main street, killing a few hours in the brilliant summer sunlight, so bright to make the trash into texture",\n\n"our grandmother's house all covered in ivy, the bird feeder full of sunflower seeds",\n\n"learning to float on the icy fog of the grocery store isles, all the glass-fronted cases of the frozen section hanging wide open",\n\n"the hollowed out inside of a small rocky moon, filling every burrow-corner with light",\n\n"the grass growing up to cover our small still bodies",\n\n"a girl's face we've only seen pictures of, recurring again and again, a haunting perpetuated through the medium of a buddy list",\n\n"the code that runs the looping processes of our new bodies, heartbeat, heartbeat, thought, heartbeat, breath, heartbeat, heartbeat, a movement, breath, thought, heartbeat, sweat, heartbeat, digestion, breath, heartbeat, heartbeat")>>~//\n\n\n[[keep sleeping|7_5]] \n\n[[wake up|9]]

on the right day, the slow speed of time is enough to make a <<insert "view">>\n\n\nthe windows of the train and ferry and cars and [[planes]]<<endinsert>>

a window accomplishes easily\nwhat art-practice <<insert "attempts">>\n\na complete dismissal of [[the frame|22]]<<endinsert>>

how lucky that we can move at such a speed now that merely looking at what passes is [[interesting|speed]]

<<replace "the attic window that looked over the train tracks">> the attic window that looked over my neighbors <<becomes>> the time I made a camera obscura and cast telephone wires over all the brown wood<<endreplace>>\n\nthe window that <<replace "the drought-killed garden">>watched the house-wrens that lived in the gap under the roof <<becomes>>watched the dogwalkers and bike riders and the train<<becomes>>bent in half the pvc pipe i used to prop it [[all summer|23]]<<endreplace>>

the winter cold, where the frame didn't meet flush\nmy pillow that i stuffed into the cracks\n\n<<replace "the small things that fell out of my window">> the stones and pencils<<becomes>>the knocks of neighbors on the window, their voices against the glass<<endreplace>>\n\n<<continue>>...<<endcontinue>>\n<<replace "sunlight hitting the prism i hung in the window">> sunlight hitting my face<<becomes>>. . .<<becomes>>finding my glasses in the sunlight<<becomes>>. . .<<becomes>>[[in the sunlight|end]]<<endreplace>>

how scary the outside could be\nhow i drew the fabric curtains closed, [[hiding|a]]

the big slatted windows of the apartment we rented, off st. germaine du pres\n\nthe <<insert "four of us in that tiny place">>\nwe cooked a lot there<<endinsert>>\n\ni loved <<insert "that building">>\nthe view of the courtyard where old moss grew<<endinsert>>\n\nsomeone above us owned a grand piano\nchopin would settle in the slats like dust\n\n[[then|21]]

i remember a window\n\n<<continue 'or rather'>>i remember a [[view from a window|frame]]

i remember the stretch of the flannel and the smell of the paper and the fog of my breath at the <<insert "window">>\n\ni remember tracing [[pictures|5]] onto the panes\n\nit was cold, then, winter\n\none can tell by the blue of the day behind me\n<<endinsert>>

it was a polaroid; i am small, wearing one of my father's shirts\n\ni am holding [[a book|3]] on my lap, but i can't see the title or the pictures so [[i don't know what it was|5]]

the picture has supplanted my actual memory and become a fable of my <<insert "past">>\n\ni wonder what i would [[remember|6]] before photographs were taken so obsessively of first-born children\n\n<<endinsert>>

<center>a picture of a <<insert "window">>\n\ni remember a [[picture|2]] of myself at a tall brown-wood window\n<<endinsert>>\n</center>

<center><<continue 'woods'>>\n<<continue 'nights'>> <html></center></html>these are sharp and shattered in the way that [[dreams|7_5]] are\n\nthey contain an inherent sense, but no narrative

i remember the beach\ni remember my birthdays\ni remember stuffed toys and games\n\ni also remember [[places|7]] where no one could have followed me to take a [[picture|8]]

my bedroom window looked over a treehouse\na branch hung long in front of the window and i was always watching the birds that gathered there\n\nit was almost [[close enough|12]] to reach

my photograph memories have <<insert "duration">>\n\nthey last in time, then are [[done|9]]<<endinsert>>

such is the use of windows\nthey frame an outside and define an inside\n\nthere is a quality of the cinema in windows\none can gaze without being gazed at\n\n[[one can watch a scene, impartial|sunlight]]

i would lie in bed, and plan my leave from the house\n\nfrom <<cyclinglink "fire" "flood" "bandits">>\n\ni liked to [[run away|escape]]

\n\n2012/2014 \n\n[[everest pipkin|http://everest-pipkin.com]]

hours spent gazing out of windows of classrooms on sunny days\n\nwindows in films\ncats in [[windows|17]]

<center>twisting live oaks and brushy junipers called 'cedar' even though they were not\n\n.\n\n[[that year i turned <<print either(6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13)>>|14]]</center>

the word [[window|sunny]] come from the old norse 'vinauga', from 'vind'- wind and 'auga'- eye

<center>so cold and so full of stars\n\n.\n\n[[that year i turned <<print either(6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13)>>|14]]</center>

like the photographs, i am unsure if i ever actually left\nor if my daydreams were vivid enough to make <<insert "their own truth">>\n\nthey too, exist in time\nI can find a beginning and middle but usually no end\n\nthose memories filter off into the [[trees]]\n\nor [[desert]]\n\nor my [[cook-fire|cookfire]] <<endinsert>>

the incessant memories of rain\nrain against glass\nrain in [[cars|20]]\n\nrain making floods down the side of the hill where my parents put a swimming pool <<continue 'eventually'>>\n\npaid for by the work in [[spain|15]]

i liked to climb out on the big branch and then jump to the ground\n\noften, in my [[reverie of escape|10]], i would [[break my leg|ouch]] in the fall

the dirty black sea out of hotel bedroom window\n\nhow i drew monsters and horses on [[wax paper]] and how my nanny helped me tape them on the [[high parts|word]]

for my birthday, my father gave me an old vhs camcorder\n\ni remember listening to my voice on the tapes, and being appalled at <<insert "the sound">>\n\nnow, watching them, i find that i sound normal, an [[excited child]]\n<<endinsert>>

san francisco\n\nbasil and orchids in the window of the desolate 5th-floor cement room in the <<insert "tenderlion">>\n\nthe steam curling up from the laundromat below and wetting the leaves <<endinsert>>\n\n<<cyclinglink "the fog rolling into the building like milk"\n"trying to get dressed in milk"\n"find my glasses in milk">>\n\nthen\n\n<<timedinsert 7s>>[[los angeles]]<<endtimedinsert>>

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i have never felt my inner voice shift in timbre\n\nbut surely it has [[changed|13]]\n

[[the man with the metal detector|word]]

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<<insert "culver city">>\n\nlaying late in bed with the apartment sounds of dogs, and playing children filtering through the blinds<<endinsert>> <<continue '...'>>\n\nthe long high window that looked onto our tomato plant patio,\nand let in little light\n\n<<timedinsert 5s>> and then<<endtimedinsert>>\n\n<<timedinsert 7s>>[[paris]]<<endtimedinsert>>

landscape flattened like a quilt\n\nmy hand on the window, trying to flatten out the <<insert "wrinkles of mountains">>\n\nmy breath on the window, forming crystals\nthe northern lights and the curve of the earth<<endinsert>>\n\nthese are real memories\ni know, because i remember <<insert "what i was thinking about">>\n\n[[prince valiant|word]]<<endinsert>>

the beach-combers that moved [[behind them]], fuzzy