I continue to come across some old drafts as I clean out my Dropbox. Here is a poem that I can’t date exactly–maybe a couple of years ago? I listened to a podcast today about rare earth minerals. It didn’t help my mood. As the rage built inside me, I imagined writing a poetic diatribe. But I’m tired. And my tooth hurts. And I’m just so sad about everything. What good would it do,
“A company man for USA, Inc.” I had an old draft that ended with that line but apparently I deleted it a couple of nights ago. Oh well! Feel free to use it for a folk protest song.
Patrick Joyce, Remembering Peasants: The means of survival is land. Peasants do not see land like we do. We see land in terms of ‘nature’ , something separated from the artificiality of humankind’s creations, or, if these creations are included, then the natural, the supernatural and the unnatural are distinguished one from another. ‘Nature' does not convey peasant reality, though we like to think it does. It is for peasants a semantically empty category, and there is little iconic or verbal representation of it in what records peasants have left (although educated peasants writing for an audience of non-peasants do embrace the idea sometimes).
I’m moving stuff out of Dropbox so I can stop paying for it. I found this in a drafts folder but I have no memory of it. So I post it here, contextless.
Time is a stalking beast,
Watching, waiting to bring you down.
But we are distracted,
Unconscious of the danger.
Still listening to the new David Benjamin Blower while cranking through month-end closing today.
Where there are feet upon the earth there is a village hall
Where there is prayer there is a temple and a gathering
This is an event
This is a happening
God dwells in tents where the beasts sing
God dwells, God dwells here with everything
Everyone knows about child development; adult development is less appreciated. One aspect of adult development is the maturation of long-term love. Young Love This is the period characterized by looking long and deeply into the lover’s eyes. The world disappears and the only thing that matters is what is seen in those scrying orbs. This period is well documented (see the pop music charts of the last seventy years) and, unfortunately, grasped too tightly by people who do not realize it is meant to be a phase, not a permanent condition.
Made pimento cheese for a gathering of friends tonight. I’ve always loved pimento cheese but this is the first time making it. So simple. 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese (shred it yourself; it’s cheaper!) 4 oz diced pimentos 1-2 tsp mustard salt and pepper small amount of grated onion, to taste a few or many dashes of hot sauce 1/2 cup mayo (added a little at a time until you get to the desired texture) Mix together and chill for at least 30 minutes.
I’m not sure how I heard of David Benjamin Blower or when I followed him on Bandcamp but I’m glad today that I did. His new album is great. “Apocalyptic folk,” he calls it, and that certainly got my attention. 🎵
Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and greenworld all together ; Star-eyed strawberry-breasted Throstle above her nested Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin Forms and warms the life within ; And bird and blossom swell In sod or sheath or shell. All things rising, all things sizing Mary sees, sympathizing With that world of good Nature’s motherhood. From “The May Magnificat” by Gerald Manley Hopkins
Wonderful episode of The Emerald: “Carry That Weight: On Mythic Burdens and Cosmic Supports.” If you’re feeling the weight of the world—and you’re open to an animist view of the world—I cannot recommend it highly enough.