What I carry in my night suitcase

 

detail

Pig and farm report

It’s 107 degrees in Seattle and 99 out here on the Western edge parts of the interstate are buckling there are rolling blackouts in the city I stood in the murky water near the boat ramp this morning then kept standing there up to my knees then the tide came up to my waist fast before the drop off O jellies swim away swim away I came home and ate a fried egg sandwich and blue corn chips aka bat wings with the hothot salsa I made to counteract my own gnawing brain all I can manage in this weirdness salt and fat the food of my people today I happily flopped around in front of my fan read my book and tried to convince the cats to eat some ice it’s too hot for the television in a while I’ll run cold water in my lovely bathtub and sit there to trick myself into thinking any of this is okay

What we look like to the fishies 

 The world needs a narrative.

~Henry Darger

I am at zero a plague of Musca domestica streams from a hole in my side wrapped wrapped and wrapped who knows what is happening there I don’t want to look I can be the rag man easy enough disappear into the granary July’s oblivious meat I say I I say me the city heaves and buckles cars slide into trees weapons fired close by I say I I say me ask what what was that no one answers why should they a child two streets away drowned in a wading pool watched only by a dog. Summer is spelt is mold and stillborn mice a crow carrying a dead crow in its beak.  I sleep in my chair my knees and teeth ache. I can’t think of a reason to stop crying. In three days I will be the oldest I have ever been. What a terrible sad movie. I never should have watched never ever. I hope for a storm.

We remember you from the before times

 

Pig and farm report

 

This morning I drove to the camp store drive-through coffee joint and asked for a large iced mocha my twice yearly indulgence. Little did I know that their large iced mocha came in a 32 ounce cup. The mocha had four shots of espresso in it and was topped with half a can of redi-whip. Goodchrist crispy crackers what the awful heck? I nestled the ludicrous plastic cup full of ice and ice sweat and Hershey’s chocolate from a squeeze bottle into the cup holder of my little car embarrassed by my American consumption even though it was accidental and drove up the road to make a left turn and a wasp flew in my car window and hit me in the mouth. It stunned him. He kind of shook his head and staggered onto my window rim where I promptly picked him up between my thumb and forefinger and helped him make good his escape. I drove home more carefully than usual due to my sweaty bundle of caffeinated joy stopped the car then threw the whole mess into the woods. There’s a grumpy cat. Nature and folly all in one morning.

 

Pig and farm report

I drove to the state park this morning and stood ankle deep in the Saratoga Passage until saltwater rose back up into my body the kundalini climb snake energy righting my blood righting my little boat. It was already 89 degrees. When I got home my son was standing in front of the open freezer holding Jupiter up like a cartoon baby lion so she could have a bit of breeze. He came back from the orchard because it was 114 degrees. We ordered lunch from the Mexican restaurant and put it on my credit card and brought it home credit because I am so close to payday and because of the dentist. I’ve written here about my weird shame in facing dentists dental work that soft highway of the throat that holds secrets big and small. My dental issues stem from my childhood abuse. My dental issues stem from my lack of dental insurance from lack of money. My dental issues stem from raw fear due to a few terrifying cheap dental close calls. My dental issues stem from shame at how horrible this current iteration of my mouth is my child mouth my wagging pink tongue its own shameful animal. I told new dentist call me Dr. Matt like a hometown chiropractor that I was glad when we all started wearing masks so I could talk to people and laugh without covering my mouth with my hand. I told my son tonight that I’m looking forward to the time when I can see my smile again. It used to be such a shiny beacon in my wild head. My teeth were bright mirrors. My smile was my high beams and I could disarm a man at 40 paces with its blinding light. I have been to call me Dr. Matt twice so far once for partial X-rays the second time for some gruesome oral surgery. I go back on September 2. I keep remembering if you want to change go through a door. I spent so many years being moved from place to place like a numb horse. It’s time for me now to allow unexpected joy to allow the smallest ecstasy.

Pig and farm report

 

Map of the lower angels

Pig and farm report

 

Pod boy 

                                                                             

Pig and farm report

 

Writing my way backward through intense joy writing my way backward through the beginning solstice writing my way backward through my newly shorn blonde blonde hair writing my way backward through pushing paint around until I stop judging myself writing my way backward to practice writing my way backward through miles (and miles) of jam writing my way backward through the farmers market kettle corn fresh fried doughnut spring onion pink dahlias lolling in my arms writing my way backward into summer dresses writing my way backward into reading writing my way backward I. Hope. Finally. into writing the full moon extraordinary low tides that salt air fragrant woodsmoke from campers at the state park the startled heron in my yard the hoard of giant monarch butterflies that suddenly descended drinking from my hummingbird feeders flickering in and out of vision and my joy unabated this morning I shaved my legs for only the second time in two years and opened all the windows to morning before drowning in cherry light there is no bell box on the door the lantern light casts down hard to my left near my heart I want to volunteer a standard method of gloriously happy

Hello Darklings I’ve missed you

Pig and farm report

 

God is a woman in a metal mask

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full strawberry moon

 Dishman

everything promised disappeared into anger your blondblue exquisite smallness :: red flag wail loud enough to become myth :: old women still talk of how at two you fumed smoldered flew outside the bars and blackouts :: to knock breath from the tender :: she :: who promised she the saggy wet bottom mechanism her machine brain even then deviated :: by your boy fist :: kicked over the entire fat world’s fleshy flap without regard :: strangled by the wool cap in summer’s heat :: promised nothing :: promised Jesus :: and ladybugs at the water’s edge drowned in cheat grass :: drowned in mud :: under the horse hoof the  cement belt :: the staggering staggering gold wheat