Poem 2 today.
Powerful microphones have recorded the cry of a butterfly as it emerges from its cocoon, and those expecting a shriek of pugnacity or joy have had to admit it sounds more like weary resignation. Heart of the Original – Steve Aylett
But for Rachel Pollack, transition was never about achieving “a desired end result” or making “a sensible life choice.” She assumed the position of tarot’s Fool, dancing on the cliff’s edge, driven by “the passion of experience” over and against what she called the “Empire of Explanation.”"
Daily Poem-2025-04-12.
Thinking about my grandpa today. Wish we could have left his body on the ridge he loved so much.
This is a test to see if things published from the black book. :-)
Still learning the new system. Can directly publish through obsidian now, so that’s good. I really never even have to look at my site at all. Just push things out there, into the world, without worry. Write write write. Write some more. Share without worry. My own little obscure world.
I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light
Of writing poems, Mary Oliver says,
I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame…My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive.¹
Another test to see if I can post from different places. This is fun.
Good Morning
Good morning. it is 2026-04-12.
The usual Sunday Morning: unemployment paperwork. Quiet of the house before The Spouse wakes up. Gray sunshine filtering through the windows. Reading through the RSS feed and weekly newsletters.
I showed The Spouse how to do an RSS Reader yesterday, so they can follow me here. Am I the old lady using ancient technologies now. “Why would I need an RSS…I only go to 3 sites?” The web is richer than that, always has been.
Need coffee.
Today: Wrestling Show. Bagels. A poem, if I want to make one.
Good morning.
This is a test to see how easy it is to post pictures off my ipad without opening the micro.blog app. Lets hope.
