New Poem It Is a Source of Constant Surprise

When I think of the way I used to think about you, it’s a rebuke 

to the mundane way I think of you now. 

In those days you were an apparition

fantastical goat god and that brief relief from diapers 

and the portable midden of culture that is this holy shit quotidian. 

Our ancestors, ringed ‘round us like eyes in firelight

are amazed at our carts and our flying machines

the little man in the phone

and the big man on the ceiling

who can put carriages in the firmament that carry messages here and there.

They in their silence convey stupefaction nor can they believe our dailyness

feeding our carts with an elixir of monsters from the centre of the earth

so they can go fast in careful rows 

They don’t suss the wonder of combustion while understanding very well

the long footrest makes it go. 

My contemporaries on this earth have worn through novelty 

come out on the side where all the natural dirt is;

all the glacial rocks flensed from the hide of our mother

ground down into grit are beautiful

mostly because they don’t have any fucking plastic in them. 

And yes, I am still thinking of you; you are an overhead projection in my life

I’ll look up and there’s a different quote, since you are that quotable

projected on the ceiling. The next time I look it will be different, as you will be.

Back then you were always the same, and that just isn’t true any more.

feeling pregnant

I don’t know if it will be a story, a song, a rant, a poem or a drawing but it’s not gas even if it must vent sooooon.

I have something creative in me that has to come out … is what I mean to say. This is a something creative that is not making a batch of cinnamon buns, which I did yestreen.

Today I bleached most of the coffee cups. I think a while back I ran the dishwasher with no soap and while everything was sterile when we were done there was tea baked on. Gave ’em all a thorough rinse and put ’em in the dish rack.

All the errands I’d run if I was made out of energy:

take that fretless bass ukulele back to Peggy. It was borrowed from her and a gent I don’t know loaned it to her and I CAN’T STAND THE SMELL it’s like it lived in a moldy basement for a hunnert years. BUT IT SOUNDS SO COOL (LARRY DAVID UNCERTAINTY GIF)

walk for 45 minutes at least

do a shop

bathe; maybe get really radical and brush my teeth

write a thousand words


pay bills

try to obtain my credit score

call at least a couple of my friends

play around on Bluesky, the replacement for twitter, some more (I like it so far)

What I’ll probably do:

Whine continuously and pause for my video call with my doc to get my scrips renewed. I do not want a holter monitor. I do not want a colonoscopy. We shall see. If she complains I’ll say, can you go back to the part of my file that says I have ADD? get corrected, sheesh.

Already got my first Notice of Assessment back, holeeee that was fast. Thank you Jeff as always my home guard!!! My taxes are again up to date, phew.

Suzanne comes today but this will likely be her last Thursday with us because her jobs are changing up and we need to find another four hour block – weekend most likely.

Watched a Russian soldier surrender to a drone on video this morning. The alternative was eating a grenade launched from a nearby chopper, so I’m glad he’ll eventually go home to his family.

Buster was a good boy at the vet and gets his teeth cleaned next week.

Glenda Jackson, 87, passed at home in Blackheath today. Rest well my left wing goddess.