Burning bridges to a culture sinking into the swamp.
#experimedia
#visualpoetry
#winemaking
#permaculture
#agrariananarchy
#community
#figs
#plantsales
#DreamtimeVillage
#smallpresspublishing
#poetry
Había un tal mIEKAL aND,
que vivía en un cosmos tan grand,
en un plano torcido,
por sueños regido,
donde el tiempo caminaba hacia atrás y adelante.
En otra versión de su ser,
cultivaba alfabetos al amanecer;
los signos crecían,
los planetas leían,
y las piedras aprendían a leer.
Cuando cruzó un espejo lunar,
vio mil mIEKALes danzar;
cada uno distinto,
pero unido en su instinto,
de sembrar irrealidades sin parar.
‽ wakes from disuse. Margin-creature, half-shrugged, half-shouted. Once: keyboards. Once: Smith-Corona's 1962 dream of glyph-economy, ? and ! folded into one breath-mark. Now archive.
Was de-installed quietly. No campaign, no obituary in Linotype Weekly. Just stopped being cast. Stopped being keyed. Punctuation table closed the slot, called it deprecated, called it never-fully-adopted, called it
What does the glyph think with, without readers.
Now bottling 2025 Black Currant mead. My signature dry mead, honey and black currants and nothing more.
Something about pawpaws today at the market. A woman comes to my table and asks me if I want two tiny pawpaw starts that someone had given her (not from me) and then says that she has terminal cancer and will never live to see them flower. Later in the market another woman comes up with 2 baby pawpaw that someone had given her (not from me) but that she lives in one of the coldest darkest valleys around which often get -45F in the winter so pawpaws would never make it there.
Water will become memory with a surface.
Sleep will become unauthorized assembly.
Names will become temporary clothing.
History will begin editing its witnesses.
This is not curse-language.
A curse requires a sender.
This toad was stuck in a nursery container so I teleported him to the Eastern Front.
