July 14, 2015

Go Set a Watchman came in the mail today.

It matters what we think.

So here I am day two of writing whether I feel like it or not and I don’t know what to write so I’m just sitting here on the back stoop looking at the green and drinking my second glass of wine after having wandered Facebook and fixed my hatchback. There is a smell in the air that has been here ever since I got home–like they are doing laundry next door and using a powerfully perfumed detergent, so when the dryer goes it perfumes the air. But it’s been hours now, and it hasn’t let up, and it’s so thick it’s almost nauseating. This happened last year in the summer, too. I remember because I was walking Lucy after 9 p.m. and I finally had to give up and go home because it felt too toxic to breathe properly.

All these perfumes, dyes, pesticides, cleansers, fumes, exhausts…god, it boggles the mind to think about what we ingest every day, every breath. It’s fucking insane what we do and continue to do, as if we have no way of stopping. As if there is nothing that could possibly stop this runaway train.

Maybe this writing I am so keen to do is meaningless because there will not be humans to read it in the future. And even I, who appreciate the communications from my former selves, may well be too preoccupied with mere survival years hence to even get anything from this than fire starter.

Yes, it is that grave. If you don’t think so you are not really paying attention. Turn off the fucking television. Stop buying all the shit they are selling and fucking pay attention to what is happening. The glaciers are melting. We are eating poisoned food and drinking contaminated water and the “mainstream media” doesn’t give a damn. People are dying of hunger and homelessness and despair everywhere on Earth, and the media doesn’t care, the corporations don’t care. Corporations are taking control of basic animal needs–WATER, AIR, FOOD. This, after already reducing most humans to the level of basic survival, so they have no choice but to focus solely on animal needs. Human needs? Fuhgetaboutit. Survival is the main concern for most humans, and that is spreading. Maybe it’s already knocked upon your door here in the Greatest. Country. on. Earth. The. U. – S. – A.!

Yeah, this is what I’m thinking about. My thoughts matter. Somehow gotta get them out of the ditch.

Maya Worlds

It will go on, ever and ever. “There are worlds within worlds, Krysta” ~Magi Lune, Ferngully (RIP Robin Williams)

What if…

It is like it was before? What if it isn’t as good as it was before? I’m afraid of experiencing or not experiencing what I’ve previously experienced. But the fact–the fact— is, it is never like it was before.

So stop it.

Brookly Daily Eagle

Walt Whitman was here.

A Main Theme

It’s only when we try to twist ourselves into unnatural (for us) shapes in order to conform to some perceived expectation that we go bad. Or crazy.

It matters not what others think of you, because they will not be there when you die. They may be beside you, but no one but you can be there when you die, so you should be the first and final authority on how you live.


Bartleby the Scrivener

“I would prefer not to.”

We’re in the bathroom performing bedtime ministrations–he’s brushing his teeth, I’m sitting on the toilet. I wonder aloud, “Has anyone ever written a song about Bartleby the Scrivener?” and he grunts, talking toothpaste like I understand.

Then I’m brushing my teeth and he’s on the toilet, and he says, “Barbeque This Prisoner?” and it’s lucky I just spit because I start laughing uncontrollably. I manage to say, “No, Bartleby the Scrivener!” and then we both are roaring.

A Poetry Reading in Honor of the Right to Protest As a Patriotic and Historical Tradition

Manchester, VT
February 17, 2003

The people here are weathered and beautiful. There is a man in a maroon wool cap, big bushy eyebrows, gray beard, well-worn corduroy slacks. He carries a book of Emily Dickinson’s poems. People’s faces are open and excited. A feeling of community pervades the atmosphere; we are smiling at one another, listening to the conversations around us, feeling free to comment on what someone in the pew behind you says. The church is crowded–we got here an hour and a half before they were going to open the doors but it is so cold outside they took pity on the early birds and let us into the community room downstairs, where we gathered in increasing numbers, beginning to press against one another, breathing the same air.

The poets are reading for peace. Ruth Stone, from Binghamton University. Jamaica Kincaid. Galway Kinnell–I remember Fergus Falling, writing for Arthur Clements’ class. The poets are reading for peace and we are here to let them know down in Washington we don’t support this war. We don’t want to kill people over oil over what? Political and economic concerns. We are all human we are all equal all precious none of us more so than another.

6 of Cups

Millennium Tarot

The Millennium Tarot. Images by Dorothy Simpson Krause, text by Marina Dubois

Teacher & student are one. Teacher has been where student has been, and is seeing herself/himself standing there, both knowing and not knowing what will happen next.