retrograde

A journey home is in my immediate future.

It’s like this …

But actually more like this …

It’s about looking out and seeing nothing and then learning how to dream.

The Gatekeeper’s Children

The Gatekeeper’s Children

by Philip Levine
This is the house of the very rich.
You can tell because it’s taken all
The colors and left only the spaces
Between colors where the absence
Of rage and hunger survives. If you could
Get close you could touch the embers
Of red, the tiny beaks of yellow,
That jab back, the sacred blue that mimics
The color of heaven. Behind the house
The children digging in the flower beds
Have been out there since dawn waiting
To be called in for hot chocolate or tea
Or the remnants of meals. No one can see
Them, even though children are meant
To be seen, and these are good kids
Who go on working in silence.
They’re called the gatekeepers children,
Though there is no gate nor–of course–
Any gatekeeper, but if there were
These would be his, the seven of them,
Heads bowed, knifing the earth. Is that rain,
Snow, or what smearing their vision?
Remember, in the beginning they agreed
To accept a sky that answered nothing.
They agreed to lower their eyes, to accept
The gifts the ground hoarded.
Even though they were only children
They agreed to draw no more breath
Than fire requires and yet never burn.
South Dakota sunset

fertilized eggs are not people but corporations are

Per the Lesbian Avengers Handbook, “If you want revenge, call a meeting.” We are witness to a multi-faceted yet homogenous movement of bravely executed familiar tactics. I see expression and glimmers of radical cultural building but I also see spectacle and vérité.

Your cheekbones reflect light and your heart is your information center. We listen with our eyes. How will you leverage your purview?

I’ve been cataloging the good things, every day, and re-learned that music is my panacea.

“…If I could have a clue what justice is, it would be more than I deserve” – Palace Music