When it rains we don’t walk. When we don’t walk, fears pool in our joints, collect in our mouths. We spit them out as frustrations. Early afternoon sky clears and we finally walk, flush out the system. Walking is precious. Faces of weary friends, viewed at safe distance, are precious. Dogs screaming at each other are precious. Electric green new grasses are precious. It may be rabbit scat or it may be deer scat and we debate it but regardless it’s precious. Tomorrow we will walk earlier to avoid the poison.
Some days playing music feels like getting a root canal with no drugs, brutally scraping us out, but we know the pain’s not gonna leave on its own. Awareness of abundance. Relief of old frustrations showing themselves out, slipping away humiliated.
On March 25, 12 days into quarantine, I said to Chafe, “If we both live through the next month the spring’s gonna be glorious.” Red winged black birds and chorus frogs.
A dear friend and respected creator of thoughts and things gave us this calendar just before the new year. When we received it I thought a lot about calendars with days with no room to write things on, never thinking about not having things to write on the days.
Hey, good people of Earth. Chafe (and Anne*), here. We’re excited to launch our new website. Anne and I are active creators and collaborators in Kalamazoo, Michigan (free college tuition, celery, origins of Gibson Guitars, Elvis at the Burger King). We’re always looking to try something new and to work with and support others along their artistic and academic journeys. (Collaboration is our mode made manifest in many formats. Let’s all make things together forever and ever.)
WW grew out of a desire to share a digital space together (finally, after sharing varied actual spaces for 25 years). Anne and I just celebrated our twenty-year wedding anniversary in August 2019 (we did, which feels both impossible and elating), so we thought it was a good time to anchor our creative partnership online.
(Here I would like to point out that you may be wondering why “weirder” and, more specifically, why I called you a weirdo. It’s counterintuitive but true: the specifics of how we differ, person to person, are the exact sites that ignite our humanity. Those deviations we often fear exposing are precisely where we connect. Weird doesn’t have to look freaky. Weird is simply the individual, and expression is most potent when it’s a detailed demonstration of the individual. The weird in us is the source of generative collaboration, and we need generative collaboration, weirdos. We need it acutely.)