HASTY – Beginning again
I wash my face with midnight
As the moonlight settles in
I let it sink into my skin
And caress my every curve
Chilled from a winter breeze
I’m numb to its nimble hand
Focus and clarity do I seek
Breathing in frozen gusts
My lungs fill with rationality
And I can once again begin
HASTY – Storm Tossed
I found calm
Steady breath
A place where
The quiet feels…
Composed
But what if
I’m in the eye
Of the storm?
What if chaos
Has just settled
Like sand does
Waiting for the heat
To clash with the cold
Inside my brain
What if his screams
What if his anger
What if their words
And their actuons
Were created
Inside of me
And what will happen
When the wind
Starts to blow again?
The picture attached was taken by a girlfriend of mine who passed away several years ago. I miss talking to her. She lived with a disease that required many surgeries and always knew it would claim her life early just like it claimed her mother’s life.
Her life seemed so calm despite the chaos that her disease created. I knew her well enough to know that she lived inside a storm she didn’t create. But many…
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TheFeatheredSleep – A day in a life
The way she cleans
puts away the day
into lopsided drawers that do not shut
well even on easy days
their contents lost in shuffle and exploit
planes over head, mornful drone, a whine
of grief as they attain height
her hands chapped from slapping herself
back to life
rivets run like zippers down her nails
a light somewhere is extinquished
another turned on, sudden furnace, shadows
vanquished, she has not drunk
all day, for the trembling in her hands
betrays the wait.
Dusk smears sky, oranges hang like
tired bosoms pressed in a woman’s dress
amidst plump leaves, blue-black birds
caw their hunger into the cavernous pitch, cats
with arched tails, disappear potently, eternally
her ankles swell with want, her thyroid
a box of treasure, alight with waiting in chocolate dusk
she dozes in her reverie, business put away
the calm of darkening, a hot bath scalding
dry air…
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Calico Jack – Why do they do that?
Just what the fuck is wrong with white people in America?
If we take voting for Trump as a proxy for racist, misogynist, xenophobic, regressive, authoritarianism, then we’ve got to wonder why 57% — up TWO FUCKING PERCENTAGE POINTS from 2016 — of white people voted for the racist, misogynistic, xenophobic, regressive, authoritarian candidate? There is definitely something wrong with white voters that they’d vote for four more fucking years of Trump.
As I stated in 2017, if you vote for a racist, you’re a racist. If you voted for a misogynist, you’re a misogynist. You voted for the candidate, you own the candidate’s policies and the outcomes of those policies. You voted for the Ol’ Pussy Grabber, you’re responsible for his failed reprehensible #COVID19 response, the misery of 13.5 million+ infected people and the deaths of 270,000+ dead.
So…
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From Calico Jack, not exactly politics, but not exactly not either
One of our favoritest Thanksgiving holiday traditions is listening to Arlo Guthrie’sAlice’s Restaurant Massacree [sic] until Mrs. Psy threatens us with murder and mayhem and to flush the computer down the toilet. It has become the Charlie Brown’s Christmas of Thanksgiving. It’s not a Thanksgiving until that happens, amirite?
There are several things that delight about the shaggy dog tale sung talked by the youthful Arlo Guthrie not the least of which is are the eight by ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, the Group W bench with all kinds of mean, nasty, and ugly-looking people, and the snarling rebuke, Kid, we don’t like your kind!
Thanksgiving is a little different this year in the era of #COVID19. Half the country is isolating and wearing masks and the other half is traveling about…
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LuckyOtter describes her reactions to the portrait of dementia
(Continued from Part 1)
All artwork illustrating the stages of dementia are by Ivan Seal.
Yesterday I gave you a bit of background about Everywhere at the End of Time, a musical and artistic masterpiece by “The Caretaker” (James Leyland Kirby), a British composer and musician who became deeply interested in Alzheimers Disease and the process of dementia, and composed a six album work depicting what the descent from near normality to the empty void of total memory loss would feel like.
I suggest you read both these articles first (and watch some video reviews about it first), before diving into this thing. I will warn you right now: it’s dark and at times both tragically sad and existentially terrifying. You may feel overwhelmed or have strange physical sensations such as cold chills. You might feel scared or paranoid. You likely will cry. In my opinion, listening to this…
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TheFetheredSleep – speaking the unspoken
The lonely heart
of a girl
who liked her own
kind
is not written down in history
there are few
stories of this
quiet, often eclipsed, furtive, secret
kind of longing
less even spoke aloud or transcribed
for what could be said? Admitted?
Instead, there are, no doubt
trees growing exceptionally redolent
nourished with the grieving, private hearts
of girls throughout history
who buried their flesh
beneath tender roots of a sapling
when it became abundantly clear
their tongues served them no purpose
in speaking of a love
no-one wanted.
These girls … I wonder
about them, sometimes as I tramp
red cheeked and furious
up hill side, when sitting still and
desiring felt like cold bars of a jail cell
seeing above me the wielding kite and her
long expanse, mocking almost with her freedom
for fierce she is, unable to
be anything but predator
time lapses into a…
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Lucky Otter shares a review of a remarkable work of art.
Cover art for each of the 6 albums (each representing a different stage in the progression of Alzheimers/dementia) by artist Ivan Seal.
This is the first post of two.
I didn’t think the first post I’d write in more than two months would be about a six and a half hour long ambient album I stumbled across on Youtube because some Gen Z kids decided to challenge themselves to cry on Youtube after listening to it and thus made the original video (not their reactions, as interesting as they were) go nearly viral. But here I am and that’s what I’m going to write about (the album, not the bored Gen Zers). Life is weird, what can I say?
Actually, I have a lot to say. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you this was the most profoundly emotional musical experience I’ve ever had. It broke me, and then it…
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TheFeatheredSleep – Something cold
Almost sun up
the tinder box within my chest
is scratched free of ignition
I have nothing left to light
against encroaching darkness
for so long, it was only you
who kept me burning, fed the diminished
flame within
now, cold weather comes hunchbacked
like a visiting relation who has
no regard,
streets are emptied, as ducklings for feasting are
short-lived in their joy, for we live in a climate
spoilt with her bounty
the people proclaim Winter their enemy
hiding inside, till blessed sun returns
to bake streets into their usual direct lines.
I have always loved the cold
for it is somber, serious, it does not apologize
for not laughing or smiling toothily for a photo
the cold is an adult, a survivor
and my warmth is now swept out
into the street to nourish next years
growth.
You have left me ransacked, weighed with grief
or rather…
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Calico Jack – For Trump, it is never over.
The Ol’ Pussy Grabber is going to grouse about having the election stolen from him for the rest of his life. It is now and will be forever more the dominate narrative of his life. Even if he manages to steal the election, he will be milking this grievance forever. Just like he has never been able to let go of these grievances: Lock Her Up! the millions of illegal votes in 2016, Obama spied on me! the Russia! Russia! Russia! hoax, and Obama.
The never ending list of grievances that the Ol’ Pussy Grabber is increasingly focused on is all part and parcel of being an extreme narcissist, which, as we’ve pointed out repeatedly here on Ye Olde Blogge over the past four years, makes him very predictable and manipulable. It’s as if there…
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