# data[].attributes.body
These are weaves that hold us, sing ceremony with us, heal
our spirits and bodies, shelter us, transport us, and help us carry life to others.
In the basket weave, the before, during, and after wind toward each other.
The hundred-year weave continues, not onward nor afterward, but toward. (p. 163)

# data[].attributes.body
Simone, N. (1966). Love me or leave me [Song]. On Let it all out. Phillips.

Tuck, E., & McKenzie, M. (2014). Place in research: Theory, methodology, and methods. Routledge.

Washington, K. (2015). The rhythm changes [Song]. On The epic. Brainfeeder.

Yang, K. W. (2022). Afterword: Before, after, during the 100-year weave. In A. R. Tachine & Z. Nicolazzo (Eds.), Weaving an otherwise: In-relations methodological practice (pp. 159-163). Stylus Publishing.

Yoon, I. H., & Chen, G. A. (2022). Heeding hauntings in research for mattering. In A. R. Tachine & Z. Nicolazzo (Eds.), Weaving an otherwise: In-relations methodological practice (pp. 76-91). Stylus Publishing.

# data[].attributes.body
"But people have grown weary of the sour taste in their mouths. A great longing is upon us, to live again in a world made of gifts. I can scent it coming, like the fragrance of ripening strawberries rising on the breeze" (p. 32)

# data[].attributes.body
Hauntings have shown up again, this time as a "process of distorting and repeating time that is instigated by violence and challenges boundaries around reality and possibility" (Yoon & Chen, 2022, p. 77). This strikes me as a reminder that I'm not only working with my own baggage, but with the collective injustices of the communities I belong to and work with--it's another conceptualization of how to notice and return to what is (seemingly) absent. A good thing to keep in mind while developing my reflexive practice.

# data[].attributes.body
"Have you ever found yourself
spending more time than you ever wanted to spend thinking about how to
out-do people who do work similar to yours?"

# data[].attributes.body
I think about how I got to be here, in a Master of Social Work program. Was it by being in relationship with others in a good way? Not really. It was mostly by performing according to neoliberal logics "grounded in values of hyper-competition and false meritocracy" (Museus & Wang, 2022, p. 17). I had to have a better CV, better resume, better program proposal  to stand out and be selected.
What a bullshit way of doing things that is so engrained in me. I am pretty firmly entangled in the system now, but my hope is I can model this reflexivity to engage in self- and collective-transformation.

# data[].attributes.body
having made preparations, now beginning (again)
taking what was a mess, (sort of) sorted out,
arranging carefully and then
methodically, over and under,
interlacing what were tangled knots
and loose threads
into cloth, fabric, a new whole
to be put toward another use

# data[].attributes.body
cleaning up after sorting out the mess
getting ready, organizing, preparing
as a way of being kind to me
(don't want to be mad at a past self for having put things off or done of a poor job setting up)
but always knowing i will have to be forgiving,
since i'm bound to have missed something
and will need to go back and start again

# data[].attributes.body
as a "generative force that cannot be recorded well in our data" (Yoon & Chen, 2022, p. 76)

# data[].attributes.body
for me, a metaphor (and more-than-a-metaphor) for (un)learning
my thoughts and feelings did not come neatly wound
in a ball, hank or skein
i had to pick them apart, pick out what was stuck (somethings that surprised me)
whose positivist epistemology is this? mine?
not to be flippant about it
but to keep myself in good spirits despite the mess
while undoing knots, sometimes having to cut them out entirely
and find a way to rejoin the thread

# data[].attributes.body
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/53gKWEDIWgFl39zYShjCyz?si=df0820f16c8644a6
(dis)entangling | Bach - prelude and fugue in c major
re/winding | Nina Simone - love me or leave me
warping&weaving | Kamasi Washington - the rhythm changes

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Prelude and Fugue in C Major (WTK, Book I, No. 1), BWV 846: II. Fugue

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.metadata.title
Prelude and Fugue in C Major (WTK, Book I, No. 1), BWV 846: II. Fugue

# data[].attributes.body
there is a link to a playlist below meant to accompany the surrounding photos and artwork; please sample each (as much or as little as you want) while you spend time with what's gathered here

unless otherwise noted, all writing, photos and other artwork were created by me over the past three weeks, though i don't claim any ownership over them; i'd prefer to think of them as Gifts in the way that Nelson and Shotton (2022) might--as "a being, one who tethers us to other humans, two-, four-, six-, and eight-legged relatives, trees, plants, and even the perceived inanimate" (p. 96)

# data[].attributes.headline
references (also uploaded to d2l dropbox)

# data[].attributes.subject
references (also uploaded to d2l dropbox)

# data[].attributes.body
Bach, J. S. (2014). The Well-Tempered Clavier, BWV 846–893: 1. Prelude [Song recorded by Pierre-Laurent Aimard]. On Bach: The well-tempered clavier. Deutsche Grammophon. (Original work published 1722).

Kimmerer, R. (2013). Braiding sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Milkweed Editions.

Nelson, C. A., & Shotton, J. (2022). (Re)considerations of answerability through gifting. In A. R. Tachine & Z. Nicolazzo (Eds.), Weaving an otherwise: In-relations methodological practice (pp. 92-106). Stylus Publishing.

Silverstein, S. (2011). Every thing on it. HarperCollins.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
discovering "true" self, identity; with thanks to Ana and Krisoula

# data[].attributes.body
A spider lives inside my head
Who weaves a strange and wondrous web
Of silken threads and silver strings
To catch all sorts of flying things,
Like crumbs of thoughts and bits of smiles
And specks of dried-up tears,
And dust of dreams that catch and cling
For years and years and years…

from every thing on it (2011, p. 109)