digitizing the life neurotic

Music: Loney, Dear: Loney, Noir (2005)

Watering the garden this morning, I thought to take some photographs. The garden has grown from when I first planted everything a little over a month ago: just compare this April 25th shot to today's shot. I've moved a few things, but clearly things are growing. I harvested two tomatoes a few days ago. I worry the zucchini I planted will not bear fruit, as I've yet to see a bee. The peppers are just starting to bloom (three varieties, and this year no habanero!). During my mother's visit last week, she bought me a couple of hanging plants. I'm sitting on the patio as I type this; it's 85 degrees but there is a gentle breeze. I'm trying to enjoy the garden before July gets here and burns everything up. I'll try to remember to take a photo then, when the heat of summer has killed everything. We are in the September of Austin's garden season. Here is the full gallery.

A lot has happened these past few weeks, and I've found myself impulsively grabbing the camera. School finished up and I threw a dance party. A few buddies visited and left. Then, glorious James popped by for a few, and this was followed by E!, who had a remarkably beautiful and intimate wedding. Then my mother dropped in for a visit for five days, and then I DJ-ed a "last hurrah" party at Dale and Hoa's much beloved gathering place (they sold their house, in anticipation of leaving Austin next year). On Sunday, I attended a colleague's baby shower, and then hooked up with some peeps for the Alamo's "Air Sex Dark Horse Final Rounds," which was hilarious. Finally, on Monday I got to see Jer and Sal's new behbee, Kellar!

In retrospect, here on the eve of school starting again, it's been an intense few weeks, and much of this has involved someone else's significant life events. In the lull between marriages and babies and teaching class tomorrow (and another wedding this weekend), I've been beset with the strange feeling of calm: what do I do with this calm?

I garden.

And write.

And reflect.

In light of the excitement and love and belonging of the past few weeks, writing and gardening are admittedly unsatisfying substitutes. These are beautiful, in their own ways, of course---ways that cannot really be digitized. I want to say that beauty is analogical, that the fantasy of presence is a repetition of sorts, that it is nothing born anew from a trace or coordinate.

There are events. I think about my work as a critic and teacher, and realize I am a satellite. I should put down the camera for a change.