at slipping out of no-thought
while at doing no-thing
remembering the beforewhen
where sitting was just
for the sitting and
considering a return
to not doing anything
but sitting once again
Author: michael raven
sitting
summer’s end
apples given
over to vinegar
drifting through
an open window
mixing with the
nightly ritual of
a neighbor yelling
for his unleashed dogs--
i am holding my
nose at bothcasting runes — 26sep25
algiz ride that poison horse
down the medicine trail
stop all puppets, dancing ghost
to heartbeat driving
set these broken wings to flying
soaring out, i'm not gonna look backA rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is algiz, which may mean either “elk” (there is some uncertainty if this is the case) or yew (Old Norse). It is associated with the Otherworld, protection/sanctuary, and with guardian spirits/fylgja. The unconscious mind is sometimes associated with algiz.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
interview
is this thing on?
[inaudible—
steel wheel and flint—
breathing out—
more inaudible—]
yeah man. two fingers. neat.
[off-mike laughter / on-mike laughter]
oh fuck no, don't you dare.
rocks are for wussies who
don't really like their whiskey,
but like to pretend they do.
[the sound of a glass set down on wood]
aintcha heard of a fucking coaster?
jesus. [more shuffling sounds]
it might be shit wood veneer, but
show some respect, willya?
[machine wheels turn—
new voice enters]
do you mind if we just to the chase?
can i be blunt?
[nervous laughter—
first voice returns— sound
of someone sipping]
sure, sure. let's get on with it. exclusive
access, might as well take
advantage of it. ask away ask away.
why do you eat them?September reads and doings
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash I’ve been devoting more time to reading books and attempting new hobbies in my effort to reduce the amount of content I consume from the internet.
Since the beginning of September, I have read six novels and abandoned one novel after a record 30 pages (I couldn’t take the convenient miracles any longer, they were that obvious and that poorly written). The month has a few days yet and I am working on two more books. There is always a chance I’ll make it through my seventh, but I wouldn’t count on it.
If you are curious as to what I’ve been reading, check out this “living” page that gets updated as I consume, including planned and current reads.
Six books is not huge, but it is a positive effort away from social media and news that, let’s just say, feels like a low-quality circus right about now.
(more…)Salinger quote
“Just because I’m so horribly conditioned to accept everybody else’s values, and just because I like applause and people to rave about me, doesn’t make it right. I’m ashamed of it. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. I’m sick of myself and everybody else that wants to make some kind of a splash.”
— Franny in Franny and Zooey, J.D. Salinger
wounded
Photo by Jon Sailer on Unsplash chain link silvered with
scarlet & black tobacco ties
swaying on the wind
laced leather around that
wear-my-hair-long,
the painted hills still sing
ever the dancing the ghost
against a world hellbent
on feeding the hate machineElegia
It was the first surreal death in my life when I discovered you had died. If it was you who had died, that is. But I cannot imagine anyone else having a name cut so close to yours, with a birthdate much the same.
After your Troubles, I wonder that it might not have been staged, this dying season. I can see that it might have been spoken into being, so that you might finally be free — though I let go any jesses I might have held scores of years ago, so someone or something else kept you from flight. It was hardly me who held the tether anymore. Perhaps it was your own hands that gave to bind?
You were too young… but you were apparently speaking. And I am in no position to interrupt.
All the stars fall for your passing, leaving we the living both haunted and unforgiven.
Follow your freedom road. May its medicine heal. May you find some rest.
Fracture
Photo by Евгения Егорова on Pexels.com It began as a fracture, the kind that forms on the thin ice when the breaking point is reached from much too much weight put upon it from above.
Though it was our memory and not ice, there was still the audible crack that could be heard over the firestorm as it raged over us, consuming with words meant to puncture our flesh like arrows full drawn on a great bow. Name calling like thrown stones and razor spite in a cutting rain that fell upon our heads. It was not that long ago that we embraced Mr. Wendell, but the rains came (as they eventually will) and he was given over to the middens for the sake of survival. So much for cohabitation and burning the white sheets…
And so, our memory cracked in spiderweb, the baby screamed, and we saw the cascade of a dream crumble to the dirt in the name of filthy lucre and the pale. You get what you give, they said, and you gave hate.
Perhaps, but we were loving in how we hated.
I wrapped my blind eyes in linen, hung my head, feeling the fracture claw at my own brittle past begin to sunder. I walked away and grew old, unable to hold onto the younger days.
