Sunny as a bee’s behind, isn’t it.
Tiny little plants are coming along. Do you suppose we’ll get peppers? This year in the cage we aren’t liable to lose them as they finally ripen. Elsewhere all kinds of experiments including growing curry. Who knew. Thought that came off bottling plants, little glass tubes plucked off full of powder.
The tube skylight installed over a few hours is casting a diffuse light over the half-ripped out kitchen floor.
Going out without camera gear. No phone. No way to instagram, email. No way to tweet. Not even a notebook or companion to point. Left with the thing itself without being intermediary conduit. Citizen reporter is culpable for the world. As citizen is paying attenti
My intentions outpace me. It feels absurd to make a list of all I want to do. If it mattered, surely it would be unforgettable? But I get caught up in immediate things. Urgent vs important. Vying importances. Life maintenance vs long term. Pacing vs. racing.
Weeds outrace me.
Also there’s this swelling that distracts.
Not that swelling.
On my finger joint.
I like weeding without gloves even when it dries and roughens my hands but yesterday I grabbed something under the Variegated Leaves Whose Runners will take Over the Universe that turned a slash of my finger purple and raised. It was only like that for an hour but today the same area is swollen red and feels to bend. Hm. Oops. A lump under there. A thorn in my paw? The immune system seems to be on top of it and it goes down by the hour. But still.
What you feel immediately is in contact. Sure other uncontrollables are constantly erupting, earthquakes, greed, avarice, disease, racisms, a raft of -isms and smaller stupidities. Seeing what happens when you try to recook unpopped corn kernels. Smoggy orange fine mist of smoke that makes the cat vomit and causes the house to be aired out for hours, as it happens. Now you don’t need to test that rule yourself. I’m going to write that under Be Of Use to Others. Check.
Much to do. Distinct lack of Give a Fuck. Motivation seems to have fobbed off to Guatemala or somewhere. But then, it doesn’t matter how you feel. There’s following thru on plans, doing a good job. If you waited to feel well to do anything, nothing would happen except bed sores. When I try to apply myself to my ostensible goals, I write another poem on cows. Really body? As directable as dreams sometimes. Cows? What’s with all the cow poems?
And chem toilets. But that makes sense. Why do we filter and purify water just to defecate in it. It makes no sense as a system. Like cutting down trees to bleach to soak blood then landfill. 1 generation system. Menstrual cups exist. Why a disposal war-century type program? Bah, humans.
She is really a jumping and roaring beastie, not a smiling snorer only.
One moment always is disproportional.
And this article on Dying of Exposure by Aruna D’Souza on the writer’s life is good. example,
the impact their decision, to write for free, might have on the larger economics of writing. There were comments from artists who felt guilty (I assume) about their decision to forego pay in order to make art at any cost. These commenters were, for the most part, people who still believed in passion projects and who may not have wanted to admit (to themselves or others) that they weren’t buying their next meal on passion—that they had the privilege, perhaps in the form of a wealthy partner or a previous career or family support, to pursue their passions without ending up destitute.
Patrons have patrons have patrons. An interconnected web.
I hate to explain the dardnest things, because that makes me seem, and be, grumpy, but periodically I seem to need to say, “be positive”. No hate and fear of rodents or nasty things to do. It’ll be deleted. I don’t get paid enough as a blogger to have to do therapy work in my digital salon.
We’ve been doing a lot of gardening. We added bee balm, sedum, forget-me-not, Canadian anemone, more lily-of-the-valley, bergamot, toad lily, more hostas, more ostrich fern, coreopsis, oxeye daisies, more bleeding heart.
Still not dead: a late-comer fern, ghost fern, columbine, lavender (despite my botched pruning attempt on one of them). Eaten: the tomato plants and pansies. Dead and gone: cucumber plants, basil, chives, garlic, solomon’s seal.
Hanging in there: creeping thyme, asparagus, grapevine, blueberry bush, heuchera and 4 bean plants. Thriving: rhubarb, mint, raspberry, dill, dandelions, some of the bleeding hearts, ajuga, that vine of a purple Star-Trekky flower, and whatever that variegated thing is.