Give me something I can hold

Give me something to believe in.

More Subtil than Any Beast of the Field

Fruit of Loneliness:

Now for a little I have fed on loneliness
As on some strange fruit from a frost-touched vine—
Persimmon in its yellow comeliness,
Or pomegranate-juice color of wine,
The pucker-mouth crab apple, or late plum—
On fruit of loneliness have I been fed.
But now after short absence I am come
Back from felicity to the wine and bread.
For, being mortal, this luxurious heart
Would starve for you, my dear, I must admit,
If it were held another hour apart
From that food which alone can comfort it—
I am come home to you, for at the end
I find I cannot live without you, friend.

May Sarton.

We Live in a Lovely Neighborhood

NASA HAS RELEASED OVER 12,000 IMAGES OF THE ARTEMIS II MISSION.

Unbelievable perspectives captured by the Crew! The aurora on the eclipse is incredible. pic.twitter.com/deI9LlQ0Jc

— Matt Mullin (@matthewwmullin) May 3, 2026

Incredible stuff.  And so many joyless, ignorant fuckwits in comments.

That's all I got, still suuuuuuper busy.  Go check out all the beauty of our cosmos, captured by brave humans who journeyed so far to offer us an updated overview effect.  

Please don't come for me

I really like this version.  And that one.  And this other one.  I think I've only blogged the middle one before.  Regardless, I really like this song.

In the absence of reliable ghosts

Birthplace with Buried Stones:

Through the portals of that larger chaos,

What we can scarcely conceive of in our minds—

We'd rather think of starry nights with biting flames

Trapped inside tree trunks, a wellspring of desire

Igniting men and gods,

A lava storm where butterflies dance—

Comes bloodletting at the borders,

Severed tongues, riots in the capital,

The unspeakable hurt of history:

So the river Ganga pours into the sea.

Meena Alexander.

That's Just the Beginnings of Synergy

I've been thinking about this one since the war started, so figured I'd post it because the fucking insanity will never, ever stop.

am i doing any of this life right?

Outbreaks:

i search for god but the sun is a penny.

looper moths form halos beneath the streetlamps.

summer’s ghostly curtains. check the weather.

haze. i search for god but the moon is gone.

i search for comfort, and the eels come.

they cross my meadow every twilight,

up to seven feet in length, traversing

mountain napes with open eager mouths.

the fires heaved them from the rivers,

now they curve themselves across

the precipice of life, toward black oceans.

haunted yellow eyes. looper moths

become a gentle cloud. i become an eel,

then rethink it. i cough. reveal a wet moth.

some gray little heart. it’s all hazy now.

pale as sunbleached wood, i go forth.

in a slant of moonlight, i search for comfort.

the neon 24-hour fried chicken sign

gleams behind the pines.

i crawl in the moss. it is easy to find god.

she is a cluster of eels beneath my palms.

i ask of her, am i doing any of this life right?

and she, with her many mouths,

says nothing.

Kitchen McKeown.

MAHA

If you got the money, honey, we got your disease.

I'm So Tired

Quatrain of the Body's Sleep:

I lure sleep. I bait sleep in with my white throat.
I pretend to be asleep. Then everything happens at once.
Sleep wraps me round in his dim coat;
I weep; you leap from your corner and dance.

Annie Dillard.

#throwbackthursday

Missing this schnozz.  (2020)

Everyone knows about it

From the King of England to the Hounds of Hell.

FX

It Must Be Done with Mirrors:

It must be done with mirrors
my head that rests on nothing in mid-air.

Where is my body
where oh where?

I can see the stones
hidden in the hands.

O bring back my body to me, to me,
O miracle bring it back
before the mirrors break.

Maya Deren.

My Current Workflow

Don't ask.

We are ready for the siege

We are armed up to the teeth.