… if we have the courage to let change happen, the grit to take action and follow through, and the openness to explore beyond what we know.

In Summary: * This Saturday has been spent mostly with moving related chores, and trying to destress from those.

One moment of spontaneous prayer during the move came unannounced and our work afterward seemed to go much smoother. I was unlocking the front door for the first time, trying to fit the key into the lock, fumbling a little with my arthriitc fingers and wonky eyesight, and with the wife standing next to me. Without any planning or forethought, I said out loud, “Holy Mary, mother of God, give me patience. Please help.”

And the wife followed up with, “Yes, Mamma Mary and Santo Nino, help us!”

That is not something we do, burst out in spontaneous prayer like that. But it just came so naturally. We are both very much praying people, but we pray quietly and privately though frequently and often. And our work did go much smoother after that.

Listening now to relaxing music, I'm getting ready for my night prayers and meditations, and another early bedtime.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 224.65 lbs. * bp= 141/87 (71)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:50 – 1 peanut butter sandwich * 08:00 – ½ peanut butter sandwich * 13:30 – mashed potatoes and gravy * 14:25 – home made meat and vegetable soup

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:00 – wake * 04:20 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 05:00 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to music, nap * 09:30 – 14:00 – pre-move chores * 15:30 – continuing with mostly pre-move chores * 18:00 – listening to relaxing music

Chess: * 16:22 – moved in all pending CC games

Han entrado al escenario como Pancho Villa en Zacatecas. Literal. O sea figurado pero no. Han entrado así y yo ya era feliz.

Todavía no sabía lo que el vibráfono de Eva Catalá iba a hacerme. Pero quedaba poco para averiguarlo. Polvo de estrellas me ha hecho llorar de pura belleza. Ha sido un Silvia Pérez Cruz de manual que no habría existido sin la magia de las manos y la sensibilidad de Eva.

La canción siempre ha sido preciosa y profunda. Pero esta noche ha pasado eso alquímico del arte. Eso que ha pasado luego muchas veces en la noche. Me he conectado digamos que cuánticamente con miles de personas que no conozco (he vuelto a ver Fringe, no lo sé explicar mejor).

Primero había rabia en la voz de Drexler. Rabia de cuando el mundo no entiende lo obvio y todo está en peligro. Y luego el destello metálico de la percusión haciéndonos creer a todo el Arena que vamos a conseguirlo. Vamos a salvar lo sagrado. Que nunca es lo divino aunque intenten confundirnos. Había un eco que retumbaba en el centro de mis huesos. Y el final. Y el suspiro. Inmediatamente después de que el polvo de estrellas se posase ha llegado la bronca de Drexler porque damos palmas muy fuerte mientras habla.

Drexler llegó a Madrid en febrero del 95 y a mi vida en marzo del 96. Cuando Madrid era para mi un plan a dos años vista. Su disco me hizo entender que hay canciones que siguen mis procesos mentales. En octubre eran fiestas de Pucela, tocaba gratis en una movida de Condena Dial en la plaza mayor. Fui. Nos echó la bronca. Yo solo le consiento a Drexler que me eche la bronca desde un escenario. Os diría que no sé por qué pero lo sé de sobra. Es un maniático. Lo que hace le importa. A veces es puro nervio y si esperas un par de minutos algo pasa y todo se recoloca. Lleva literalmente 30 años siendo fundamental en mi vida y cuantos más pierdo en el camino a base de aburrirse a sí mismos hasta que nos aburren al resto, más valor tiene para mí que él siga poniéndolo todo, arriesgando tanto, aprendiendo, jugando con los instrumentos, los ritmos, las formas de componer.

Estábamos tan emocionados, sentaditos todos en nuestra butaca pensando si nos gustaba más Miryam Latrece homenajeado a Morente o Flor Gamba intentando que no echásemos de menos la crudeza tierna de Young Miko. Estaba yo diciendo que no a la chica de mi derecha que insistía en invitarme a una cerveza creo que precisamente por esa conexión de cuando la piel desconocida a tu lado se eriza exactamente como la tuya.

Estábamos en eso que pasa siempre en los conciertos de Drexler cuando él ha atravesado corriendo la pista hasta llegar a un escenario secundario ubicado en el mismo sitio que el botafumeiro disco de Rosalía. Pero Drexler ha conseguido todo lo que ella no logró en su propio viaje por el Movistar Arena.

Él era el sol, cada alma del público un girasol creciendo hacia su voz. Poniéndonos de pie como en trance. No queriendo sentarnos en la hora y media que quedaba. Guitarra y vos siempre fue un manifiesto. Sigue siéndolo. Fue la primera pista que nos dio de su negativa a enranciarse, envejecer asustado y mirándose el ombligo. Guitarra y vos tiene 24 años. Él 62. Sigue reluciendo feliz como un chiquillo. Sigue siendo energía que nos hace revivir. Bendita la felicidad del amor al arte. Algo ha vuelto a colocarse cuando todo el público hemos gritado al unísono “uno solo conserva lo que no amarra”

Todos lo hemos notado. Él también. Había risa en su voz. Risa como agua cristalina. Ha remado entre nuestras voces, disfrutando de nuestra armonía al cantar al otro lado del río. Hasta quienes cantamos mal hemos cantado bien esta noche. Porque estábamos cantando genuinamente juntos.

En la votación de la canción sorpresa ganó la más madrileña. Mi segunda favorita de las que se podían elegir. La trama y el desenlace es mi filosofía de vida. En serio. No es una forma de hablar. Y juro que la ha cantado para mi. Ajustandose a mi ritmo. Al vuelo de mi vestido que casi tocaba el suelo. Que me miraba solo a mi aunque ni me viese desde donde estaba. Así funciona la magia. Una lo sabe y con eso vale.

Luego se ha salido del guión para cantar la milonga del Moro Judío, que ha quedado segunda.

Algo ha vuelto a unirnos a los, yo qué sé, 8.000 asistentes? Los que fuesemos. Todos. Todas.

La loca que ha interrumpido todo para aplaudir el solo de contrabajo de Ale López como si el exWizink fuese una Jam de jazz he sido yo. Ya he dicho muchas veces que Alejandra es una bajista espectacular, una música brillante. Hoy ha vuelto a dejarme sin habla cantando y tocando más bonito imposible en Soledad. Estaban de punta a punta de la pista Drexler y ella y esa distancia física ha sido como un baile. Mirarse mientras cantaban y tocaban como si no estuviésemos todos allí gritando de emoción ha sido inolvidable. Hipnótico.

Seguíamos de pie. Con la boca abierta. Felices. En una conexión que no necesitábamos entender, que no queríamos terminar. Flamen le ha quitado la guitarra a Drexler y yo he pensado si él comprará la diferencia entre públicos apáticos y esta entrega absoluta. Empieza Viaje. Drexler vuelve al escenario grande. Queda una hora de tambores y baile. Vamos a seguir todas de pie. Vamos a sudar. A despeinarnos. A querer desnudarnos. Vamos a bailar como si lo fuesen a prohibir. Ante la duda baila. Baila en la cueva. Mueve el culo, grita tocarte. Tócate la piel que destella mientras la canta. Tiende y cruza todos los puentes. Haz un tratado rítmico mientras tus pies tocan tierra y la mano del tambor chico te hace volar. Grita que la vida es bonita como si estuvieses otra vez en el Samba un sábado cualquiera. Y que sea lo que sea. Y que vuelva a sonar Todo se transforma y tú sonrías pensando que esa canción es todavía más importante desde aquel puente en Salvador donde la felicidad te sacaba guapa en todas las fotos, donde llevabas puesto el primer vestido que el Nómada te regaló cuando iba y venía del desierto a Madrí. Cuando Brasil parecía una fantasía inalcanzable y no la realidad que te cambió entera. Un vestido con muchísimo escote. Morado y blanco. Uno que le hizo a cierta guía yoruba regalarte una cinta de Bomfin blanca como tu aura en medio del Pelourinho.

Cada uno da lo que recibe así que tú sales del Movistar Arena pensando cómo devolver toda esa euforia, calculando la hora de São Paulo. Marcando un número que suena a media tarde de un viernes de primavera con alerta por ola de calor y los mismos trentaytantos grados que en Madrí solo para contarle a alguien que sales de un concierto y has vuelto a pensar en aquellos 3 días inolvidables donde fuiste todo lo feliz que se puede ser. Y que nos quiten lo bailao. Y qué bien los que se quedan en tu vida y la mejoran. Y bendita la música que te recuerda que tú no crees en el aura pero sí en que las personas se comunican sin darse cuenta. Crean alianzas cómplices que nos salvan. Que tú no crees en el aura pero crees en el entrelazamiento cuántico, has vuelto a ver Fringe, a bailar con coreografía, no paras de escuchar a Drexler y tienes la absurda esperanza de que todo va a mejorar. De alguna forma. Aunque todo lo importante siga bien y lleves muchos años disfrutando de tu suerte.

Tags #música #Drexler #Taracá

Our Father Who art in Heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

Raise The Alarm (National Gift)

Thoughts to hue Red and blue The nights unbumb and the same A fit to his lot This truce End of Summer by day The willfold at his view An oxymoron Full of life and goal The sympathy to laws Rest and the days A pile of good omen Fighting this figure roe And this and that Fight nights to olive The curse is what we knew Brave and oversteer The Earth was his angel Prebuilt to evident style The rock of strength in gold Petty Ford The difference to atone This hurt and all I, of twenty years,- saw lost regret Twelve and made Thoughts between this In cue of the overclass And simple award to free at nothing Vengeance in the night And game centre I was a hockey puck And I gave you the flu For year-get and acting tall Nice and nice actually Different pay by style And across the deep account You wrote me in- Magic to the tap

And as the point Verity of the day More for war than true I was the Defence Minister Harming the economy Hard and our people Nervous, anyway I lightened the load with Olof And therapy old There were games to pray for Final play,- in this neck of Sweden Finding uncure And she made me wept Crawling on Water And to this tap we threw Like the night of three men And wind that battered I was the only one,- And I knew.

When I was younger, I thought the choice women my current age made to be alone was strange and sad. Now that I am this age, I see it in a very different light. I think they just grew tired of constantly needing to tiptoe and wear masks around partners who claimed to like them as they are, but showed otherwise. At some point, it's simply no longer worth the energy.

Tonight, I am sad. I am tired. I am alone. But at least I can mostly be myself. It is too bad I prefer having a partner. I'm not sure I still believe one exists for me. Sometimes, it would seem, that knowing ourselves becomes a liability. This world breaks my heart.

Also, I still think macaroni is disgusting. It's mushy, cheesy, bland, and I don't like the way it feels on my teeth. I don't care if the world loves it or if it's been baptized by truffles and lobster. It's still gross in my book, and I refuse to pretty up my words so that someone feels better about themselves. It's macaroni! I'm sure there's plenty of food I like that another might find beyond disturbing. The utter ridiculousness baffles me to the point of a mind-numbing stillness.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

This morning we picked up keys to the house and have already moved a few things over to the new place: two small tables, two small chairs, some bottled water, a bit of food, paper towels, just things that could fit into one trip with her little Nissan Kicks. The big move, when strong, young men with a big truck come to move the furniture, will happen next Saturday. Until then, most of our “free time” will be spent boxing, bagging, and doing what in the way of moving chores we can manage.

And the adventure continues.

« Qu’est-ce qu’un artiste ?

Un philosophe qui n’a point besoin de philosophie. »

---

« What’s an artist?

A philosopher who doesn’t need philosophy. »

Tawsert

What is love? What are its ingredients? What is its formula for success? These are questions that have inspired scholars and philosophers alike, motivating some of the greatest human creative achievements and masterpieces, from Dante to Shakespeare, from Cohen to Cave. My contribution here is only a tiny contemplation, one among an endless line of such contemplations, from the start to the end of humanity — a drop of rain in the wandering river of life.

Attraction — the pull that draws one in as if recognizing a deep chasm and falling into it all at once, where the power of gravity prevails before reason can respond. It is unconscious, erupting overhead like a cloudburst. It carries delight and electricity to the one whom it has befallen, even if unrequited. When shared, it flickers before either party has consciously acknowledged their choice. It can initially appear as fascination, desire, or lust, confounding the most mature of us.

Care and affection — the subtle dimension of small but powerful acts. The healing hand that appears suddenly to soothe the suffering. The pleasure that feels selfish but is always reciprocal. The attention that remains when all other eyes have withdrawn. The hand that meets one’s own when the journey seemed solitary. The kiss on the forehead and warm embrace when the pain has nowhere else to go. Its beauty lies in its endless manifestations.

Respect and devotion — attention held steady long after the novelty is spent, and the initial spark of electricity has transformed into a new kind of energy that tightens and stabilizes the entangled orbits of two bodies. It is neither vow nor worship per se, but the integration of vows into routine, and seeing through the eyes of another as predisposition. It is satisfaction by another — and only that other — where all other doors remain open — unforbidden to both — and yet both always choose their same-shared door. Exclusivity that is neither confinement nor imprisonment, but a unique realm known only to two, co-created and cohabited.

Unconditionality — giving that expects nothing in return, where the fundamental connection between two cannot be transacted or commodified. This facet holds nothing back, showing up without pretense or mask, to be wholly known without fear of judgment, ridicule, or rejection. Two people, their bodies and souls stripped naked, standing before one another, both saying to the other, “I accept all of you.” A beautiful and unparalleled dynamic only of partners who are able and willing to see connection as effort may live to experience.

Sacrifice — spending oneself never seen as loss. The give of surrender that is never extracted or exploited by the other, paid out in presence and in absence alike through the grief and longing only love can create, across unimaginable distances and extraordinary circumstances. Of all the facets, this is the one where both parties willingly give of themselves in ways the outer world never sees, where joy and sorrow, togetherness and loneliness, contentment and longing are all one and the same.

Love may or may not be universally experienceable, but each experience of love is unique to the those involved — a special and specific dynamic they create by the nature of who they are and the energy born between them — appearing differently between what others outwardly see and what the partners experience inwardly, inside and in-between. The world sees two people sitting across a cafe table from one another, but hidden from sight is the realm shared between them, a whole universe only the two of them can enter. A place called love.

#Intermundia #Excultio

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Notes:

1. This post may not look it, but its writing took nine months of patience and discipline. Love must be lived before it can be written.

2. Love is itself a bond, but not bondage — one that frees rather than shackles. Not two halves forming completion, but two wholes choosing something more in each other — interdependence rather than dependence, domestication rather than adventure, contentment rather than euphoria.

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By D. Bowman | Nomina Numina is a journal of my reflections, moments, and meaning-making between worlds. Reply by email.

Note: event in Serbian, for local audience.

Shared Vision tokom jeseni povezuje Suboticu i Novi Sad kroz niz radionica, razgovora, predavanja i zajedničkog rada posvećenih novim oblicima umetničke saradnje, digitalnim alatima i kolektivnim modelima organizovanja.

Prvi deo programa biće održan od 18. do 20. septembra u prostoru Klara i Rosa u Subotici, gde će učesnici kroz razgovore i praktičan rad razmatrati načine na koje umetnici i kulturni radnici mogu da dele resurse, znanja i infrastrukturu, kao i mogućnosti za razvoj održivijih oblika zajedničkog rada.

Program se nastavlja od 19. do 21. oktobra u Galeriji SULUV u Novom Sadu. Poseban fokus biće na razvoju i testiranju digitalne platforme za umetničku zadrugu, na kojoj SULUV učestvuje kao partner iz Srbije. Platforma se razvija kao alat za kolektivno upravljanje, razmenu resursa i transparentnu saradnju među umetnicima i kulturnim radnicima, i predstavlja jedan od važnih rezultata međunarodnog projekta Shared Vision, koji se realizuje uz podršku programa Kreativna Evropa.

Tokom trodnevnog programa u Novom Sadu učesnici će kroz predavanja, razgovore, radionice i zajednički rad nastaviti da istražuju odnos umetničkih praksi, digitalnih tehnologija i zadružnih i drugih kolektivnih modela organizovanja. Cilj programa je da se kroz razmenu iskustava i konkretan rad otvore pitanja o tome kako mogu da izgledaju drugačiji modeli kulturne produkcije, na koji način se resursi mogu organizovati zajednički i koje vrste digitalnih alata mogu da podrže takve procese.

Rezultati rada biće predstavljeni kroz multimedijalnu izložbu u Galeriji SULUV, koja će biti otvorena od 21. oktobra do 6. novembra 2026. godine.

Program se odvija na srpskom jeziku i otvoren je za umetnike, kulturne radnike, kao i za širu zainteresovanu publiku. Učešće je besplatno, uz prethodnu prijavu zbog ograničenog kapaciteta prostora.

Prijava je dostupna putem prijavnog formulara.

JOURNAL 26 septembre 2026

Alors d’abord l'ex de shie était spécialiste en sécurité informatique. Il utilisait un vpn+un autre dispositif que je comprends pas, il est extrêmement difficile à pister même impossible. Il n’a jamais consulté de cartes et il devait utiliser un moteur de recherche qui n’enregistre pas les données. Les flics n’ont pas le disque dur, il avait disparu dans les deux ordis, et le mieux les caméras du quartier ont enregistré sa voiture trois fois avant jeudi et mercredi dans la nuit, mais jeudi la caméra de la rue est tombée en panne vers 4h du matin, pas toute seule, elle a été piratée. C’est frustrant mais ça donne quand même des informations sur la préméditation. Quand chie est sortie la caméra ne fonctionnait pas mais il était sûrement là avec sa voiture. Donc la voiture est au laboratoire ils vont la regarder à la loupe.

On est toutes fatiguées mais on tient Midori chan et asu reviennent demain, on se voit toutes demain après-midi, on va essayer dormir ça devrait le faire on est crevées .

#shieko

One week from now is my 5k event. I'm in the very final days of prep. I would say I'm in the second phase of it. I did all those interval runs, and stairmaster sessions, while wearing the weighted vest. Now I'm on to doing non-stop (no walking) runs without the vest. The plan for this all along was to do 7.77km runs. Intentionally longer than the event. I have done two so far. They went quite well. All the vest work has paid off. One more run to go on Monday morning, then stairmaster on Wednesday. Then that is it. Two rest days, and then the event day will finally be here. These last two sessions are really all about maintaining. Not gaining. The final run that is longer than the event is not necessary, but it is important to me anyway.

I do all my running here in the dark at around 3:00am. Nothing but me, and sometimes rabbits and skunks. A week from today I'm showing up at a start line in the daylight with over a thousand other runners. I'm quite anxious about anything that involves other people, so naturally I’m quite anxious about this. It is probably good for me even though there is a voice asking, why the fuck am I doing this?!? lol.

It feels quite good to feel this strong and fit. It also feels quite good knowing that after the event I will be off work until the 13th October. I find that the approaching event and vacation has pushed The News away from the forefront of my mind. It think it is healthy to allow all that to be on the backburner for awhile.

https://write.as/thingsleftunsaid/event-prep-2

Let today be sad. Breathe into it, feel the weight of it, and let it wash through you without judgment. You don't have to fix it. Sad days are perfect days too.

San Juan County, Colorado

Abbeville, Alabama

My friend Audrey