Justin has a stoned spongebob toy that’s crammed in a corner in his basement; I sat on his bed and played my violin into his mic, Alexa sang and Alex played guitar – I watched our voices rise and fall on Justin’s computer.
School and work and more school and texting and messaging and phone calls, and nothing new, and i’m tired and confused and okay.
Katie and I got beers and talked – I am forever grateful for my ex-evangelical radicals, they ground me and remind me where I’m at is okay, and where I’m at makes sense, and that we’ve come so far and we have so far to go and that is really fucking okay.
We sat in the living room Becca’s 1970’s cabin quietly, waiting for spirit to move.
The Quaker church is in distress, and so is the United States – all eighteen of us sat in the smell of bacon by the gas fire, and tried not to talk about it, but there’s no way.
Josiah sat on my couch as I worked and did homework, four of us drove to Sun River and sang and laughed and sat quietly too – the gentle ease of old friendship is one of the best things I know.
I made some new friends and we played resistance songs, we descended their staircase into their lawn- the stars and city lights illuminated us as I drank beer and they smoked.