dealin’ the cards: click on anything to advance

          In the summer in Ktaqmkuk/Newfoundland, the lupins scatter the side of the road. Outside of box stores, out in the open, in the yard.

In the spot where I keep my summers, deep in the velvet of my insides – I keep a lupin growing. Warm and tended to.

I’ve been growing my lupin long before I had seen one, long before I had seen the cold deep blue of the Northern Atlantic.

The lupin suite is what this land gave me.

I grew up in central Florida, Highlands County, a little cow pasture in the middle of the state, not too far from where they make Tropicana orange juice.

The sun shines on on my shoulders and I carry that with me. In freckles – with the ebb and flow of the Atlantic.

The orange suite the Florida I carry with me.

It takes 19 riding hours to get from Corner Brook to Millville by bicycle on the T’railway of K’taqmkuk. Just a milkcrate of goods and a bungee cord, and all the gumption one could muster will get you from Corner Brook to Millville in 19 riding hours. Black fly bite, sandwich, coffee, rock to the shin, repeat. An embodied practice, and a meditation of something merciless, the T’railway will get you to Codroy Valley in 19 riding hours. Riding to feel closer to god (myself as a part of you, myself as the dust to which I will return), and to practice a delicate compassion through an interdisciplinary understanding of that riding as a valuable pool of research.

The bicycle suite is for getting there, and where it got to.

When my Gramma died she left me her sewing things. I used them, and I still use them.

I carry my Grandmother in her pair of shears. I make my clothes with them (I feel my Grandma on my backside with her scissors making the cuts of my shirt).

The scissor suite is a prayer to the matriarchy that gave me making.


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