I often find myself reading, watching, listening, and absorbing—what I’ll call my inputs. The moments in between are for outputs: creating, writing, cooking, farming, playing hide and seek with my identity, thinking and writing about death, and saying thanks.
I’m reading The Gift by Lewis Hyde, The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Tsing, bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward, and the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig
On inter-generational friendship, one of my favorite relationship forms.
On being 13. Please spread compassion to the teens in your life. They are doing the best they can do to survive.
An interview with Ross Gay on his new book The Book of (More) Delights
I had the honor of creating table center pieces for “Maddy and Gary Fest” a spectacularly creative wedding celebration for my dear familyfolk Maddy and Gary. They chose resonant poems, lyrics, quotes as the inspiration for each card. The words were printed on the backs of the cards, and one line picked out for the fronts.
More next newsletter…stay tuned :)
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DOG AND I
It’s 100 degrees today. I feel
bad for the man in a black suit
and tactical boots. Yesterday we did surgery
on a piglet. I sat at the kitchen table, stacked
towels on my lap, a few spread on the floor to soak
the blood, The piggie rested in my arms, intestines
dangled down, brushing my thigh every few seconds.
We tried to stuff the goobs back in,
like a sleeping bag in a stuff sack.
Their oyster mushroom look, red wine color,
and slippery as if covered in lube, ripe,
oddly delicious looking. The farmers always say
I describe the animal ailments with food adjectives.
Like the juicy vulva of a heifer who will soon give birth,
or the meaty brain-balls of Mr. Boar, or some crusty
and foamy teats recently milked by a new calf. It’s odd
returning to the city at dark after a doozy of a day, prying open
an abdominal sphincter on a spotted three-week old pig
that in nine months with occupy the door of my freezer
in the form of brat patties and bacon. And now I walk the dog
as if nothing important ever happens. I pray
his intestines don’t drag on cement as we pass the man viciously
sweating in his suit. I know it’s time to turn home by the distance
between Dog’s tongue and the sidewalk: a foot and we’re okay to keep chugging,
a few inches and he’s ready for an ice cube and a nap. His limp is still there
but the CBD store is permanently closed according to google maps
and I just can’t order more shit online today.
-CNText within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
TWO BROTHERS PLAY CATCH
Fingers fast on frets,
the ball is thrown from
one to the next.
-CNNo posts
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