Pig and farm report
transforming the terra
I bought these struggling coleuseseseses for 99 cents on sale at the local grocer a few days ago I have always loved these plants I have one thriving inside my elderly terrarium they were sickly and weak and completely waterlogged this morning I drove to the Country Store and stocked up on hummingbird nectar and clay pots then replanted the coleussessessses and now they look brilliant on the table in the redrum kitchen soaking up sunlight and forming a friendship with my aloe and my new terrarium here's my rescue op
my depression is truly gone for now there is always will always be a caveat and the only way I was able to get out of it was to spend three days in a religious stupor high on thc and cbd edibles the only thing that worked that made it possible for me to read again and sleep again and function as a human the cure for now
this new- not-new experimentation with pot as medicine coincides with our fucked government right now and feelings I swam in during the Nixon administration living out here in the North 48° extends the rightness of that era as I wander around the island every day every day every day I feel like I'm on the commune again the air that makes me heady blue endless water in my blue eye living at the edge of the world the trees and sun through the leaves that greeny dapple the sheer overwhelming beauty of the earth's skin the divine terra as I drive listening to Neil Young and CS&N and the Beatles mostly alone the main differences of course are that I have a car electronica and now of course I'm old
I'm reading Kate Zambreno's new book Appendix Project a companion book to her Book of Mutter she writes about being a new mother and of photographing her baby girl every day of documenting her child's daily movements about Barthes' Mourning Diary and how she Kate continues to mourn her mother in this incredible section titled The Winter Garden she wrote:
"I take constant photographs of the baby, of me, of me with the baby, of the baby with her father, of me breastfeeding the baby, of the baby and the dog, of me and the dog. This constant, casual, documentation. Perhaps I wish to remember something of how this felt, of the life of the thing. How to record the shifts of her darling face. A mournfulness that can suffocate me. The energy of my baby. How I cannot believe four months have passed."
the first thing I thought of when I read this was how lucky this generation is to be able to document so freely such intense intimate moments with a camera always at hand and the second thought I had was of Mary Moon how she so ardently and adoringly documents her grandchildren and how amazing it will be for them as adults to see this record I have so few photos of my son from when he was about 11 years old and up he the photographer resists the camera's eye on himself
the other thing Kate's book sparked in me is how the lack my mourning my mother might affect me in my deep damp thriving bloody heart is it a necessary mourning with a mother even if she was evil and I didn't not for one hot second I shuddered when I saw her box of ashes pale blue ribbon patterned paper with a cup ring stain from where my cousin must have rested his coffee I don't even know if my brother or cousin has scattered her ashes and I don't care
that's it for now I am long winded and busy today
love to you Darkling and intrepid travelers
I bought these struggling coleuseseseses for 99 cents on sale at the local grocer a few days ago I have always loved these plants I have one thriving inside my elderly terrarium they were sickly and weak and completely waterlogged this morning I drove to the Country Store and stocked up on hummingbird nectar and clay pots then replanted the coleussessessses and now they look brilliant on the table in the redrum kitchen soaking up sunlight and forming a friendship with my aloe and my new terrarium here's my rescue op
my depression is truly gone for now there is always will always be a caveat and the only way I was able to get out of it was to spend three days in a religious stupor high on thc and cbd edibles the only thing that worked that made it possible for me to read again and sleep again and function as a human the cure for now
this new- not-new experimentation with pot as medicine coincides with our fucked government right now and feelings I swam in during the Nixon administration living out here in the North 48° extends the rightness of that era as I wander around the island every day every day every day I feel like I'm on the commune again the air that makes me heady blue endless water in my blue eye living at the edge of the world the trees and sun through the leaves that greeny dapple the sheer overwhelming beauty of the earth's skin the divine terra as I drive listening to Neil Young and CS&N and the Beatles mostly alone the main differences of course are that I have a car electronica and now of course I'm old
I'm reading Kate Zambreno's new book Appendix Project a companion book to her Book of Mutter she writes about being a new mother and of photographing her baby girl every day of documenting her child's daily movements about Barthes' Mourning Diary and how she Kate continues to mourn her mother in this incredible section titled The Winter Garden she wrote:
"I take constant photographs of the baby, of me, of me with the baby, of the baby with her father, of me breastfeeding the baby, of the baby and the dog, of me and the dog. This constant, casual, documentation. Perhaps I wish to remember something of how this felt, of the life of the thing. How to record the shifts of her darling face. A mournfulness that can suffocate me. The energy of my baby. How I cannot believe four months have passed."
the first thing I thought of when I read this was how lucky this generation is to be able to document so freely such intense intimate moments with a camera always at hand and the second thought I had was of Mary Moon how she so ardently and adoringly documents her grandchildren and how amazing it will be for them as adults to see this record I have so few photos of my son from when he was about 11 years old and up he the photographer resists the camera's eye on himself
the other thing Kate's book sparked in me is how the lack my mourning my mother might affect me in my deep damp thriving bloody heart is it a necessary mourning with a mother even if she was evil and I didn't not for one hot second I shuddered when I saw her box of ashes pale blue ribbon patterned paper with a cup ring stain from where my cousin must have rested his coffee I don't even know if my brother or cousin has scattered her ashes and I don't care
that's it for now I am long winded and busy today
love to you Darkling and intrepid travelers
posted by Radish King at 12:45 PM
9 Comments:
You leave seal team six in the dust! They look fantastic and happy.
Oh my god this post. I think I've typed those exact words a million times on your blog. I got all excited about the Kate Zambreno part because I just read an amazing interview she did with Sofia Shaleyvna (spelling wrong) who has also written an amazing book about motherhood called Mother Winter. Look up the interview if you read this before I come back and post the link.
Actually the interview was just with Shalmiyev -- I must have read something different with Zambreno. Here it is, though: http://fictionadvocate.com/2019/04/23/write-like-a-mother-sophia-shalmiyev/
I'm psyched that so many women are writing about motherhood in such edgy ways. At last.
It’s interesting though that they both reference Barthes’ Mourning Diary in their books? There is a good interview with Kate Zambreno and Sarah Manguso in the new Paris Review. Amazing writers.
Love
Thank you R they started out in tiny plastic pots. The sun is good for me too.
XOXOXO
Elizabeth, the poet Elisabeth Workman is also writing incredibly strong poems about motherhood she has written about how the outter world (I read this as white males) shuns mother poems as weak or sentimental also glad the conversation is changing.
Yes! It was Sarah Manguso and Zambreno! Sarah is actually a friend of mine. She has offered to read my manuscript but I'm terrified to send it to her. She's a lovely person -- and I adore her books. I'll check out Elisabeth Workman.
This hit my heart hard. Yesterday was hard. So hard. It was Jessie's birthday and that was joy but it was also my (dead) mother's birthday and like you, I never grieved. But my body seemed to say that it was grieving no matter what I said. That's all I'm going to say about that. And then throw in also that Jessie and Vergil are going to be going to Asheville for three months this summer and yes, I document, I see, I interact, I love, I laugh with those babies so very often, maybe three times a week, and three months with only one visit?
And that fact hit me hard yesterday and then I came here and read this and it was like you'd taken all of my feelings and put them into poetry as you do and well, I love you.
May the depression be broken. For now, at least.
I sort of understand. In the way that we can be different and we can suffer differently and we can drive under different skies but we can be the same.
I love your plants.
This Mary “But my body seemed to say that it was grieving no matter what I said.“ this exact thing I wonder you know the body actual tissue holds so much memory. You know I had not had house plants in forever because Orlando treated them as her personal salad bar every single plant so I miss her and her evil funny ways but oh damn it is good to be able to cultivate and tend to them now especially in this house that is full of light. It’s odd how happy they make me. Love
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