Emotional Typography

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Emotional Typography

I know as soon as we get to the airport that once we are in California I will want to be by myself in the hills. Though I haven't yet seen the yellow hills that roll up around us like huge haystacks, dotted here and there with black cattle. Yellow hills? They burn the hills seasonally, to trigger new growth. Black cattle? Where are the Jerseys, the Holsteins? Those are beef cows, not dairy cows.

My family is going to California to celebrate my cousin's Bar Mitzvah, and I am going to California to celebrate land. I haven't yet seen the hills, but I know what I am looking for when we are in the airport and it feels like an infirmary the towering-white-floating ceilings an empty cathedral hall an unfinished apse an artificial environment that belongs to no one, no one - and my father is fighting for our tickets six hours in a middle seat, us scattered around the plane, you don't even know how uncomfortable, for six hours? On the plane they come around offering me peanuts, warm, wet towels, plastic blankets, refreshing drinks-as if I am meant to feel numb.

I feel small and slightly blinded swaddled into these tall wheaty structures; it confuses me that they should surround us on all sides as we drive the highways, because I know only the flat, straight, tree-lined roads of the northeast. Once you are in those hills, there is nothing else but yellowness; it blocks your view to the outside. Round shapes molded of it, live oaks soaked with it. California feels like another life.

I become my landscape. A photograph my father took of me hiking in the hills: my face is embossed, dripping with the yellow light.

This is what is touchable. Life, or where life lives.

Life lives in life. (See: Gai...

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...seeing. Along the same lines, it doesn't matter1. I read about plants on a wooden-plastic signpost board and happily hopped among the rocks stopping to examine plants this might be yarrow, too bad it's all dried up and everything is the color of the ground. The sign also wrote about wild strawberries but having seen strawberries before I was certain I hadn't seen any and for that reason didn't write about them. (But I wished I could have.)

I did not see them but I knew about them. So I wrote based on what I knew.

Though that may not be true. I wrote because the words were too delectable. Bush-monkey. Snapdragon. Stickyglands. Yarrow.

I didn't know what I was seeing, therefore, I am unaccountable for falsehoods.

1It doesn't matter for these purposes, but it would matter if I wanted to use any of the plants, for medicinal purposes, and this fact plagues me.

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