All Blog posts
Off the Grid
When the earth was correcting
our cabled bodies were sprawled
irreparable, most sensory inputs
disconnected, transmissions down,
smashed by careless hands wielding
boulders. When networks were down,
when communities were rewiring
like dust scattered in sunbeams,
We stayed immobile in deserts,
newly separate and confused
listening to automated number
stations, comfort in the night.
Masks
CW: Body harm
Ocarina
Do you remember the first time
you saw those mountains? How they
towered above you? Do you remember
your unbounded freedom, how paths
lay before you, infinite in choice,
how the sun spun above you and grass
regrew at your feet? How you would play
your strange instrument to bring forth
new light upon the surface of Hyrule?
Awakening
Don't climb up those ancient stone steps
carved into the slope of our tallest mountain
up to that egg that sits on the summit,
the size of a temple. You don't need
to draw those eight strange instruments
or watch them hover in the air before you
to play a melody you always knew, no
hands strumming strings, no breath over
the reeds. You could simply stay here.
Me Elsewhere
Hello, here is where you can find me elsewhere on the internet:
End of the Road
Statues continued
After yesterday's post, I happened to be reading The People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn. He writes about the reaction to the protests about Columbus statues in the nineties:
Colston and the Myths of History
Every country is deluded in how they narrate the past. No history is complete and each history is a story shaped to make the narrators feel better. But I think here in Britain, we are more deluded than most.
Revelations
The Sky is Damaged
From her vantage point of the second highest branch, Cassie saw it first, growing over the horizon like a bruise. She often spent afternoons by herself in the garden, away from the noise of the house- The music pounding from her brother Jamie’s closed door, Sampson barking at nothing, the rumbling of the ancient boiler. Her parents constantly screaming at each other. Or worse, being polite through gritted teeth. Cassie preferred the relative silence of the garden. Birds might chirrup at each other, but it never sounded angry. For most of the Easter holidays, she had got into the habit of marching out in the morning, her current book under her arm, with cheese and tomato sandwiches and lemonade in her backpack, plus another book just in case the first ran out. Suggestions of family days out and trips to places had been stubbornly resisted. She didn’t want to hang around her loser family at all, even if it meant going to a cool castle.