safe and sound

several years, cannibalism (redux)

"But on a night of water I went under, and saw your break again—the tide to a lung, the moon she wrote down, quickly to courage."

Ian William L.

microwaved angels (redux)

"I just need to see the light through my own tightly bruising eyes, what are microwaved angels, and the neon rattling spittle of want and death and beast."

Ian William L.

the dance

"Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.”

Rumi

happy cows

love alone is worth the fight

holding something

"Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive."

Eleanor & Park; Rainbow Rowell

keep your head up

"Keep your head up, keep your heart strong."

the breach

In the meantime, escape the Sunday heat, with this song of heavy water.

"But did I show you love, in the author on my face."

our finding kind of hope

All things change—move nearer, further from. I am 26. It is time to stop hiding from what I want. I want to be a writer. I want to write. I have always wanted to write. I see words. I feel words. I throw those words. They are ugly and jarring. They're in whimsy and kind. They are slow, and they are guilty, and they won't ever not fall.

And what I want to write is a blog, a book, a flock, a vignette. The story between Chelsea and I. The story between me, and you, and spinning. All things fleeting and made of gods.

And the death of a typewriter was only always going to be a chapter, somewhere halfway between the hiding and the hurting—the hope in both of those moments. But it is not the story.

My name is Ian William L., and this is Our Finding Kind Of Hope. New bravery. New strangeness. New too much. New pictures. New music. New words. New hope. New love. New place. New now.

Stay tuned.

(Still ironing out some name change issues.)