Environment Canada issued a Tornado warning for Prince Albert National Park.
Environment Canada issued a Tornado warning for Prince Albert National Park.
the map is decades old
some maps are old and valuable
this one isn’t
it’s a paperback atlas
that centres the US
(—for which a unique Indigenous designation
(—does not exist.
(—The United States of America does not exist
(—in law; it was founded on theft and genocide.
with a map of each state.
(—The states come closer to having
(—Indigenous names – every last one pronounced wrong –
(— and the borders often respect rivers.
this page I tore out has Montréal
(—People of the Flint Territory
in the bottom left corner
I pulled out a piece of plastic I’ve used for forty years
(I was going to say owned but
I’m getting skittish of the word owned)
and using that stencil I, in varying colours,
(bright blue, teal, bright orange, bright green
and lots of greyblack ballpoint pen. It’s hideous.
It’s supposed to be hideous. It’s a wretch’s howl
at cruel fate, not just my death but his. I could
have prevented his death. I could have never
given day to his mother.)
WHEN YOU ARE
GROWN, THIS MAP
WILL BE OUT-OF-DATE.
I drew an arrow to Dorval
which is just a speck on this map
This is where your mother used to live
I asked his mother if it was ‘too much’
and she said
He’ll appreciate it when he’s older.
I made this to acknowledge
that his world will burn and drown
and know such anger, and such kindness
wonder and terror
that I won’t know.
Supper was delivery from White Spot; the milkshakes were so recently made that despite the heat and the travails of delivery they were simply fantastic, a lovely end to a tasty meal.
We mostly took it easy for Jeff’s b-day and watched tv in the cool of the aircon. Jeff went for a walk in the morning, as he did this morning
Wordle in 3, quite by accident.
1156 words. I AM STRUGGLING so I’m just going to fallow for a while.
Watching a twitter fight in a marginalized group when you can understand how everyone feels but wish they’d behave better is kind of my look these days. I want to get involved, but I’m not trans.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how my interest in trans lives and rights might be an indication that I’m trans myself, but I’m just not. When trans women talk about the dysphoria they sometimes still feel and almost always did feel when they were young I feel like I’m listening to a piece of music I don’t understand. I’ve always felt right in my body. I’ve envied men their ease in walking through the world, but that isn’t dysphoria. So I consider myself an ally; I want to understand trans experiences as part of the human panoply but I don’t want to own them or police them or rank order them or gatekeep them by commenting on them; none of that is mine and I’m good with it.
But it’s sad watching a trans man and a trans woman that I follow slag each other on twitter; I am so fond of them in a parasocial way for being human in front of me, and for always having something worth saying.
We are all part of the system, we all contribute, and we all negate our humanity in trying to stay alive under capitalism. In the particular case I mention, a trans person who is a writer tried to fundraise getting a book published, offended somebody (I think I would have been disgusted, not vengeful, had I learned of it in the same way), and got doxxed. In the course of being doxxed the world learned they were both trans and working for Lougheed Martin in such a fashion that one could draw a straight line between their employment and children being murdered from drone strikes — so let’s just be glad we’re not at the concussion point of that dispute while remembering that the overwhelming majority of trans people on this earth don’t get jobs with decent medical coverage while assisting the US with its imperial ambitions.
Have something less contentious:::
Yesterday mini house filk at Peggy’s – we went page by page through an Echo’s Children songbook interspersed with songs memorializing John, who continues to be greatly missed, although his guitar is still getting a regular workout, thank you Paul. More filking next month! Peggy as always fed us and we were continually refreshed with spearmint tea from her garden.
Her recent purchase of a heat pump = great comfort in the stupendous heat (and it still wasn’t as bad as last year’s heat dome although it was plenty rude).
When Peggy was playing standup bass for a tune it was automatically 100% better. It’s a lovely instrument with a booming voice!
veering away from Echo’s Children (as usual I wept continuously through ‘Outward Bound’, that song is my fricking kryptonite lol), I played Warren Zevon’s ‘Shit’s Fucked up”, and “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” and Brooke’s “It’s Just so Nice When Someone Knows Your Name”.
Paul played “History is Made by Stupid People”, and the Hallelujah song (aka the Fighter Pilot’s song). As always we nagged the tar out of him for not practicing enough. HE’S RETIRED like me he has no excuse. He also backed me up on cross harp for ‘Spinal Clinic’.
Cindy played “Unexpected” which is a most wonderful song based on the first Vorkosigan books, held down the lead for most of the Echo’s Children songs (plus guitar) and was as always as delightful a voice to lean my alto harmonies against as I ever I encountered.
Jeff sure has been fixing people’s stuff recently.
Paul knocked a side mirror off his car so he won’t be giving me a lift to Peggy’s this morning.
It was damned hot yesterday.
Progress on Part II stalled. I don’t want to do that thing where I skip the hard part in order to get to the easy part and then never write the hard part. But if Omar doesn’t grill Blossom about her situation with Steve then it completely shoots holes in the next part of the plot. He shouldn’t trust her until he knows, and how can he know without asking, and how can he confirm it even if he asks? these are distinct problems and cracking open a case lot of story logic won’t fix it.
Wordle in three tries this morning, I’m impressed with myself.
Two kudos last night, good for the ego. I went back and read the ‘Spa and Grill’ story and it’s just a little perfect story, funny and sweet and adorable, just what you want when the word’s a cesspit.
Buster’s got issues with something outside – probably he’s smelling something he doesn’t like.
1117 words on Part II.
Found out that the printer I bought yonks ago can tell when you put in non-approved ink so IT DON’T WORK NO MORE so I have to replace the ink and it’s like 75 dollars so I’m pissed. Print heads were filthy, Jeff fixed it. Paul’s about to drop by with a misbehaving cell phone.
Suzanne was here and floors are clean. She’s looking forward to the camping trip. I don’t have a lot of camping trips left in me and solh temexw is the most beautiful place on earth so I’m looking forward too. She too dropped by with a computer and Jeff was able to say that while the behaviour of the machine is unusual it doesn’t seem to have anything fatal wrong with it.
I have been told to write more poetry. LOL. I shall cherish the conversation directing me so to do as long as I have memory of it.
Today’s the day for an appointment set up a while back that with luck will have a positive impact on the whole family. Fingers crossed.
Singing and playing at Peggy’s on Saturday.
IT IS FUCKING HOT AND WILL STAY SO FOR A FEW MORE DAYS.
Time to get up and make coffee.
NOPE JEFF GOT ME AN ICED CAPP AND PAUL IS HERE
He complained of a tummy ache the entire time he was here. “You are experiencing anxiety. If this was a real illness you’d be fucking hurling,” this is not what I said, I just wanted to sound like the Batman of grandmas to my 30 readers. Instead I said, “You’re concerned about Ryker, but your mother is doing all the right things, and he’s going to be fine.” I mean, he’s fine right now, he just may need some some surgical tweaking, I’ve had surgery, you know, it’s not an uncommon thing. So I am proceeding as I’ve done so far. It’s in the best hands in the world, my role is to be supportive and otherwise free of opinion, and I need to work on my grandma skills, ha ha.
He quit complaining, and fired it up again when his mother appeared. This is like watching three generations of children in one precious bundle. THEN HE PLAYED PLANTS VS ZOMBIES WHILE KATIE AND I ATTEMPTED TO CATCH UP WHILE yEllING aDViCe at him. It’s a damned good thing pOp wasn’t listening, he’d probably laugh until he cried. WE TOOK AIM — I TELL YOU — AT KEEPING A COHERENT CONVERSATION GOING but it did not happen. We hydrated and mocked our conditions. Then went back to tag teaming yelling strategy and tactics at Alex, who appeared to all the world to be enjoying himself, talking himself into additional games while Katie and I flopped in the blessed cool.
Jeff is best of brOs, he got me a device which takes jacks from both recording inputs and headphone jacks so I can hear what the hell is happening in the Kaossilator as I’m recording, something I haven’t been able to do since the second last Mac died. (It had completely different input jacks and there was something else that was different but of course… I do not remember. Something about being configured to deal with Garageband. I think. Do not test me on this, I’ll only cry.)
I wrote a letter to Alex. I put it in an envelope. I didn’t seal or stamp it. He immediately ripped it out of the envelope and threw the envelope on the floor. The only word that tripped him up was Kaossilator, so I told him what that was, then he finished reading it and said ‘Awwww’ like I’d handed him a puppy. My god, he is one of the most convincingly manipulative people I’ve ever met.
Cazart, I should do a backup.
Alex did some more art, he did letter art since I handed him a bunch of different stencils and he took it with him so you know he put some sweat into it. I just got the miniature shapshifters.
I think he’s happy it’s air-conditioned at GG and Grunkle Jeff’s house. But you know he was having too good a time to comment except to say that we weren’t going outside.
Now I gotta make supper it’s hours since I said I would.
It’s 8 am and the air conditioner ran all night, and today’s supposed to be worse.
Buster is easily startled thanks to the construction across the street. We’re trying to be extra nice to him, not that that’s hard.
Here’s a blast from the past (made while I was still working for Planetkiller Enterprises™)
I have lots of thoughts and feelings but I’m going to sit on them until they’re large enough to hatch.
but i don’t want to wait through this iteration of this sequence of derangements
i want a room with a door i can shut, a privy i don’t have to clean every day
and the rest is whatever else you want for a socialist paradise
what ho introversion! you give me all my best moments, the times when i can
lovingly and laboriously think about all this stuff before i go offline that last time
now i think, bending and bending toward the ground, of my good fortune
the “lucky bitch” invisibly stamped onto all of my life’s accoutrements
the way i’ve dodged virtually every responsibility thrust upon me so well
that you would think that i was born to it, a rich saxon baron’s wife, who not once
lacked for bread her whole life, no not though the whole world else were starving
Here’s a jpeg of the poem, with better font and blocking
Ordered from Cockney Kings Fish and Chips, watched the latest episode of Westworld, sat on the deck and enjoyed the evening. We hung out until the grand old hour of ten, and Mike declares the 0.0 Heineken beer quite palatable. I got Fat Tugs and drank most of two, so I was plenty plenty last night.
Mike has announced that he’s putting together a skookum gaming computer.
I’m content with the world right now and perhaps I shouldn’t be, but it is a nice feeling to see a friend.
I get Alex tomorrow afternoon while his brother gets his urology consult. Katie really stayed on top of it, she’s the matriarch now.