Friday, June 25, 2021

Sparks: Beware Your Hair Is Locked!

  • We started, segment by segment, the Waterloo-Pinckney Trail. Yesterday we found ourselves on Sackrider Hill before I knew it the highest point on the 36 mile trail.
  • Only one car we can only out and back, we've hiked twenty miles so far covering the first ten miles of the trail but since we'd never done it either way it's twenty miles of new hike. Narrow and windy and up and down by bogs and ponds and through constant loud birdsong, sweet so far.


 

Pouring down rain today, all day, dammit
What happened to infrastructure spending?
What happened to defunding the police?
What's happening to your retirement?
Manufacturing (new normal) "reality"
The whitewashing of Rome
Winston Motherfucking Churchill
1619, 1776, and the politics of the past
The house on Coon Hill Road (people can vouch that's the name of the road) clearly centered in Trumpland, it's good for me to experience a week outside of the America I live and work in.
They seemed like Democratic activists
No revelations, no insight, no bad interactions, no crackerish incidents to report, but a different vibe, yes
*In* Capital Hill or *on* Capitol Hill?
The acres we bought in flatter Washtenaw County (the W-P Trail's eastern terminus in Washtenaw), the house (and the sections of the W-P we've hiked) in Jackson County, the Washtenaw/Jackson line the border, I'm told, between Blue and Red Michigan, gets redder the farther west on I-94 you go
Fuck Real FrancoCats and the good life
OUR CATSITTER JUST TEXTED PHOTO OF NAPOLEON TAKEN JUST NOW (AS WELL AS MOMCAT AND FLEABUS AND STANLEY AND ROSIE AND OLIVE AND OZZIE, THE CAT FROM NEXT DOOR WHO WANTS TO LIVE WITH US)
NewJoshua Cohen novelandCohen interview
Danreviews new Dumas collected short fiction
I've seen dozens of cats this trip, all outdoor rampant, well-fed and  happy, four of them playing in the yard of a house with a giant Trump 2020 Fuck Your Feelings giant sign
the second of three times with a grandmother and grandfather and grandchildren in the yard playing with the cats
THREE HOURS OF SPARKS!

 




THE WHEELCHAIR BUTTERFLY

James Tate

O sleepy city of reeling wheelchairs
where a mouse can commit suicide if he can

concentrate long enough
on the history book of rodents
in this underground town

of electrical wheelchairs!
The girl who is always pregnant and bruised
like a pear

rides her many-stickered bicycle
backward up the staircase
of the abandoned trolleybarn.

Yesterday was warm. Today a butterfly froze
in midair; and was plucked like a grape
by a child who swore he could take care

of it. O confident city where
the seeds of poppies pass for carfare,

where the ordinary hornets in a human’s heart
may slumber and snore, where bifocals bulge

in an orange garage of daydreams,
we wait in our loose attics for a new season

as if for an ice-cream truck.
An Indian pony crosses the plains

whispering Sanskrit prayers to a crater of fleas.
Honeysuckle says: I thought I could swim.

The Mayor is urinating on the wrong side
of the street! A dandelion sends off sparks:
beware your hair is locked!

Beware the trumpet wants a glass of water!
Beware a velvet tabernacle!

Beware the Warden of Light has married
an old piece of string!

1 comment:

  1. I was able to find a lock-picking set on eBray to unlock my hair. But then, I've been listening to Laurie Anderson and writing all day, so caged-in hair won't work.

    A quote from "Heart Of A Dog": "...her meditation teacher told us: You should try to 'feel' sad without 'being' sad. Which is really hard to do."

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