once, in a greener day

Page Seventy

website


ANIRON


So why is this tree here. It's here for the same reason that every single image on my very large website is here: it has something to do with the life that was stolen from me in 2008.

another season

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on twitter @annegrace2
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read... Lifelines... Extemporaneana...
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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

cormorants et alia

wednesday 25 August 2010 turners loons


Well, yesterday I noticed that the cable strung across the river, held on either side by two utility poles, is suddenly gone. It was still there Saturday. For more years than I know of (at least since 2000), the cormorants have been using that cable to perch on, as it gives them a wide vista of sky and river and aids in their fishing. Well yesterday it was gone, and the cormorants were all perched much lower down on the string of ugly buoys that keeps the drunken boat operators from sailing over the dam. Really a terrible fishing position for them. So I wonder if the flaming, empty-headed yuppies have decided that they not only don't like Canadian geese getting on the land and walking about, but they don't like cormorants sitting on cables, either. And there must be a hell of lot more flaming yuppies working for the electric company than there used to be, because they didn't USED to do the kinds of things they're doing to animals THIS year... Don't know whether we have any varieties of AVIAN loons in this burg, but we certainly have a huge selection of the human type.




(this ain't a cormorant, it's a crow. but cormorants are black here, and this is what was handy. in slightly different tones, it was done by susan dorf. you can see it at www.gaelsong.com)

And today? Today is the 25th anniversary of the very first time I moved to this town called Turners Falls. I thought a lot about that day last night, when I was trying to fall asleep. It seemed so innocent. Moving into an apartment in a town I'd never heard of, living there for a few years to do grad school, then going back east where I came from. How bad could it be? How much damage could a few years do? What were these people like? I thought they'd be more or less like the people I grew up around, people who were also citizens of a small town in Massachusetts. Innocent idiot, I was totally ignorant that day of the huge chasm between the western mass small-town psyche and that of the east. Night and day. A descent into palpable ignorance, jovially practiced meanness, and generationally entrenched pride in their backwardness.

How can you know on a certain day that seems to have minimal, manageable consequences embedded within it, that that day is actually the day that will lead to the destruction of your life and of everyone you love? That that day will sink you into an ever-thickening miasma of human meanness and aggression and stupidity? I've said elsewhere on this blog: I despise these twisted people.
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read... All my stars... Mishibone... Soulcast...

on twitter @annegrace2

website
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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

lovetaste

(the crow is by susan dorf and available from www.gaelsong.com)

Page Sixty-eight

tuesday 17 august 2010
turners molders

I love blueberries, their taste, texture, even the way they look. But this morning I got blueberry blood on my nearly pristine white hand towel (can a thing be nearly pristine?). It annoyed me. My Asperger's klutziness annoys me.

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The continuing micro-saga of bill:


bill was the grampire vampire

more bill

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I started a blog on a different site back in October 2008, while I was living outdoors in this poison-haven called Turners Falls. Let's call it the J.blog. I considered it to be different than the others I had at the time because I didn't have any plan. It was just a place where I could sit at the keyboard, let my mind wander a few minutes, and see what came out. A sort of vacation from the ugly stories of the Department of Mental Hell, and Matthew and his "protectors," and my disappeared animals. All the things I was discussing in some detail in my other blogs. Not that these subjects didn't also come up in the "vacation" blog (they did), but I approached them there in a much more extemporaneous way. So here's what came out on the very first post, and the blurted-out poem is indeed for Matthew, and for all who talk a good game about love...

14 Oct 2008

Go tell Aunt Rhodie
the old grey goose is dead

I fear she is dead, the old grey goose who lived in the river these past years along with all of the wild water birds. She moved in from somewhere and became the boss of the ducks. I think she died around two days ago. I saw the beginning of her death, attacks by a Canadian goose trying to usurp Goosie's position. They do this when they sense the leader is dying. She cried out to us, her human and duck friends, on Friday the 10th, but there was nothing any of us could do. She's been my friend since 2002. I didn't want her to die before me. I wanted to go first, and go knowing that she was still there in the river, a domestic barnyard goose, bossing all the ducks around.

Kimmy, another lost friend, today's your date, but not your day. You were real and true and completely yourself. When comes a new October/and I walk the wild inferno of the trees....

There is no collapse in a closed system, says Goldstein, says Bohm, but I can't keep my systems closed. They are open every minute to attack, and to entropy, and thence to collapse.

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put your love on this plate
and I will eat of it
if the taste is too sour
I have to get the sour gone
before I choke and blue and die
put your love on the sand
and let the broken waves lay over it
will it disappear beneath their weight,
or is it deep, deep enough
to be there when the water inches back
put your love in this candle-flame
and let it slow-burn loyally,
and if you never blow it out,
and if you hold truth to the flame,
and if the flame is warm,
then maybe
maybe
maybe....

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read... Extemporaneana... Mishibone... Soulcast...


Poetry
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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.
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