wisdom first, serenity later

"I'm sorry," they called out to their family for not calling more.

"I'm sorry," they called out to their mother, still dead.

"I'm sorry," they called out to students they failed, whether in grade or education.

"I'm sorry," they called out to their lovers, past and present.

"I'm sorry," they called out to the friends they'd snapped at, the strangers they'd bumped in the street, the people asking for change to whom they'd not given, missed connections they'd failed to write.

And then, from the wind, "you can say sorry all you want but you can't make them come back."

--

put differently: Every Shitty Thing - Murder City Devils

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Taking Up With The House of Joy

Winter finally arrived in Cape Town, and with a vengeance. The weather today is blustery as all get out with heavy rains and winds and a few spots of light drizzling and cold gusts. At the moment it is positively pouring. A great day for nesting. Fortunately, I moved into my new abode today. Most likely, I will be staying here until the end of July. It should work out just fine, provided I can figure out the function of that weird red light that blinks in the corner of this room. The house is in Obs in a residential area near the main strip. It's a riverside walk away from work and not too far from the city center, either. It operates as a venue once a month for poets and musicians and has been dubbed The House of Joy. It has a nice kitchen and a large dining room. The couple from whom I'm letting are very kind. After getting settled, I went across the bridge to Lower Main Road for lunch at Hello Sailor . On the way home, I was able to stock up on spices and oils at the ...

wise bodies

without tests and treatments, we remembered how to listen to our wise bodies. wise sour stomachs whisper for peppermint and ginger. wise nervous systems call for skullcap, turmeric, and pepper. wise feet take our wise backs for walks. wise hands planted rosemary last spring that they may now crush sticky green needles in offering to the tension in our wise temples. ha! and then we remembered to release the tension in our Temples. movement offerings to align our chakras and cleanse our meridians. meditation offerings to rest our minds and stretch our spirits. from each according to their ability to each according to their need we healed. abandoned by “the health care system,” we sought diagnoses in the wisdom of our bodies and treatment in the generosity of the flora and fauna about us. this wisdom has been cultivated through so much careful, measured research carried out over centuries… millennia! — the long way — the slow way — the way things grow when we are patient. sustainably. har...

Like a Muffin with Frosting

This is a metaphor about gender and my relationship to my chest without speaking directly about my chest. I'm like a muffin with frosting. I look like a cupcake, but I'm not. I'm a muffin. And listen, there's nothing wrong with frosting. I love frosting! Frosting is boss! Whether or not frosting is super incredible is not the issue! The issue is that I do not identify with the frosting, particularly because it does not reinforce my identity as a muffin and as it does contribute to other people thinking I'm a cupcake. Really, the only reason to keep the frosting is for other people who really like cupcakes and think that I might be one. Or people who really like muffins and frosting. But the point is keeping the frosting would be to reify the idea that the space I take is only for the pleasure of others--others who like frosting. And it hides my muffin-ness from the world and, most importantly, myself. You might say, fuck pastry rolls!! What is it about frost...

Of Two Minds

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