A twist of blue

 

how will we know one another, sister?

a twist of color in our hair?

how will we find one another?

what's the code? 

mismatched earrings or socks?

~o~

were you afraid?

uninformed? 

lied to?

coerced? threatened? 

did he hold your baby in one arm and your toddler's hand in the other as he stood behind you in the voting booth? 

did you think you didn't matter?

were you stupid in your arrogance?

were you looking to please some long-dead daddy who paid you the wrong kind of attention or none at all?

or did you just not care enough to bother?

~o~

none of the reasons matter anymore. 

murderers tattoo blue tears on their faces.

look for a ribbon in her hair. 

Life, condensed

 

All summer, nothing. 

They waited until now to cheer me up. Makes me kind of sad that there's nothing I can do to protect them come first frost. The Swedish Ivy needs to have a haircut and be brought inside. More tiny world gardening today. Focusing on what I can control is helpful. 

And no matter what's going on in the world, there are those waiting for the magic morning word "Eatzees!"

Breakfast of Champions for me. Leftover Publix sandwich from yesterday. Juice just begging for vodka (Cheers, Poppy!) and a very ugly mug of coffee because it holds the most.

.

My toe feels mostly healed. I still tape it up before going out. Stupid since I hurt it barefooted in my own bedroom. Still need to buy a hollow pool noodle (thanks for the idea, Jake) to cut and fit around the steel legs of the bed. 

I've started this embroidery directly on a Levi's vest, size medium. It will be for sale eventually. 

Small worlds.

 Somehow, I have the notion that moss is indestructible.  Now, I'm hoping I haven't murdered it with neglect. Forgotten in its plastic bag for a week and then tucked around some seriously depleted dirt on a diffenbachia that I plan to repot. Stopgap stuff.

I plucked the moss from the woods on the mountain behind our family home in North Salem, NY. I've always thought of the house I grew up in--a modest pre-fab ranch--in relationship to the small lake it crouched beside. My brother was more in tune with the hills behind the house. I knew every cove and fishing spot of the water and never went up the hill that might be a mountain. Who measures these things?

    A very mysterious place, this mountain. We climbed hunting trails in a seemingly invincible golf cart on steroids. It inspired confidence that it didn't seem to notice the weight of two good-sized adults.

Alien meteorite unless someone tells me otherwise.

The Kubota could drag its own weight over obstacles and out of ditches in slow motion. We stopped to inspect some out-of-place boulders, some with carved initials and dates. One of the things I love about New England is that it's old as dirt.

And the elders left a lot of ambiguous information.

Strange things in the middle of nowhere. And now, hitchhiker. If he doesn't leave on his own, I will evict him so he can winter someplace appropriate. 

Saturday raft, updated.

As ever, I've got mine, but this time, only tentatively. I need to go through my thread box and evict some non-starters who are taking up space. Or maybe think about a secondary thread box? No. I need boundaries and that seems like a good place to start. Out with the old, in with a few new.

The four table moppers were out in the elements for a whole week. It was a very soft, worn damask tablecloth that I cut into quarters to cover the table with nothing hanging over the edges. They have me thinking about flags.

It's been warm. Anything that loves the sun is taking full advantage. There's a box of dirt out there that's bursting with nasturtiums. All summer I couldn't get any to grow. Late bloomers reaching for life.

I'm a little sad right now. Jim's truck is on its way to its next life. I put the story here.

A perspective

 I'm elevating, icing, off it, and taking the cat's ass cure. I've never broken a bone in my life. Guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that structural damage, even this minor, should come with high-intensity pain.

 I'm a thrasher at night if the bedding tells any tales. Every movement seems to involve using that foot for leverage and touching anything with it sets off seismic waves of pain. 

This inability to rest, to escape, sent me on long, violent mental tangents. I'm a writer with a gift for sex and violence and nobody was having any fun, so I'll spare you the details. 

That thought train led me to think about the outliers. Those who have been quiet for a while, the behind-the-scenes players from both camps. I have not watched TV or spent more than seconds on the web since I lit up my phone sometime in the night and that greasy visage filled the screen. It might have been the latest Vanity Fair cover. Without media influence, I thought about:

-- Biden is still president and Harris is still VP. With polling as it was, I believe contingency plans for this bad outcome have been ready since Biden stepped aside. SCOTUS, however unintentionally, has given the sitting president carte blanche to do whatever it takes to prevent the worst of the shitstorm Trump thinks he can whip up. No, he will not be able to shit-can civil servants if they don't kiss the ring. No, he will not be able to use military force against citizens on American soil. There is probably more that never occurred to me. 

Also, the Shitweasel has accomplished the MAGA objective, the syphilitic tool. He is no longer useful, in fact, an embarrassment. All he can do now is cause them problems. 

If he doesn't live to be sworn in, you'll be sure that JD Vance has a solid alibi. Why, Donold might think Melanoma owes him a celebratory BJ and she'll show him how a hat pin enema works. Anything could happen and when it does, I'm rather sick of the word "unprecedented". 

Something I've learned in the past year (unrelated to politics entirely) is that I will make myself physically ill if I dwell on the enemy. Serious hair loss, hives, and pest headaches came from a long spell of "kill the enemy" thinking.   

Don't know if the Buddha actually said it but holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die couldn't be more apt.

I've gotten that under control (mostly) and have extended it to how I'm handling this latest insult to my mental well-being. 

The dye deck is a perfect embodiment of the mood of half the country. Those table moppers have promise, though. And I still get first dibs.