acorn time

Page Seventy-two

wednesday 29 sept 2010 turners turning fall

for several weeks now, acorn time has been in full swing here in new england. the acorns look a lot smaller than they have in past years, and a great many more of them than usual are falling without their caps.


(avanti greeting card)

and who needs the acorns? the squirrels, of course. and the squirrels lose all their normal sense of caution regarding traffic when acorn time comes. it's programmed into them to store as much of this food as possible for the coming winter, and to do it as fast as they can. they are running and racing across streets willy-nilly to take the food back to the nests, and this is the time of year when more squirrels are run over by drivers than at any other time. that's not a scientific study; it's just what I've seen all my life. the hurry is another genetic thing: you are NOT the only squirrel gathering acorns. many others are doing so too. the faster you go, the more you are likely to get before they are gone.

one acorn-hunter, at least, has already been killed by some buffoon here on Avenue A in the poisonous land of turners fails. the speed limit on said Avenue is fairly low, as it's the main street of the burg, and there are traffic lights on it. in theory, no one should EVER be driving so fast on that street that they aren't able to stop. but what the hell, a squirrel is only a lousy squirrel. plenty more where the dead one came from.

to which I could respond: What the hell. a moron is just a moron. plenty more where YOU came from if I should decide to run over YOU.

give them a chance at acorn time. they're only trying to survive. a human goes to work and busts its butt for money, because money is survival. well, when winter's coming, acorns are dollars to a squirrel, and the difference between living and not living to see another spring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

read... All my stars... Stolen stars...

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

nxonfu III

Page Seventy-one

wednesday 8 september 2010
turners thugs


Oh, why not another Nxonfu post. I'm pretty sure that Robert Louis Stevenson is the author of these words, but I'm not at all sure that I've spelled his last name correctly. I've changed his pronouns to suit my meeds: I've taken license.

Ur inavfurq va gur fbhaqvat gbja.
Jvyy ur eerzrzore gbb?
Jvyy ur erpnyy gur rlrf bs oebja,
Nf V erpnyy gur oyhr?

Nxonfu I and II
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

read... Scealta liatha...

(clip art photo)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
on twitter @annegrace2
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
read... Lifelines... Extemporaneana...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

read... All my stars... Mishibone... Soulcast...

on twitter @annegrace2

website
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The continuing micro-saga of bill:


bill was the grampire vampire

more bill

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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


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

cloudminders

Page Sixty-seven

wednesday 21 July 2010 turners faltering

I've said in other places on my online journals, which are still all being inter-linked to form one website, that since my animals were taken in an illegal eviction more than two years ago, I can no longer pursue many of the interests that were an ongoing part of my life as I previously knew it.

One of those interests was photography. But now, aside from pictures of my guinea pig or animals outdoors, I no longer take pictures, and certainly not what I used to refer to as my "artsy" ones.

The two things I was most driven to photograph -- and I mean driven -- were water, and the sky (which is just more water). Water as liquid, as ice, as snow, as mist. Nothing but animals fascinates me more than the way different qualities of light act on water in all its forms. So...

In 1998 I became friendly with a woman who owned a bookstore and had me as a part-timer there. We didn't know each other terribly well yet, but were spending a lot of time together. One evening in summer we went to supper at a place that had outside picnic tables (I had my dog and one of my rabbits with me), and when our order was called, I went to get it. I'm returning to the table and I see Elizabeth pointing a camera up towards the sky. Do you take pictures of clouds?, I ask her, and she looks immediately both embarrassed and guilty. Well, sometimes,, she says in a meek little voice. And I tell her no, no embarrassment, that I take pictures of clouds too, but I've never seen anyone else do it, and I'm really pleased that she does too. It was, at the time, just another odd thing that made me believe that Elizabeth and I should be friends for life.

I'm sad that in the end, we did not stay friends for life, but it wasn't for lack of me wanting it. I still miss her. And of the many things we had in common, cloudminding was the one that surprised me the most.

I can't put one of my cloud pictures here, as they are all locked up in storage waiting for the day (if such a day ever comes) that I live again in a real apartment, rather than a ponystall.

read... Braonwandering... Being toward death...

~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~

meandering among friends

kimmy


chan


tuuschi










lizzie

mandy

judah

to a search

mugsy

frosty
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~