Category Archives: entree

REMEMBERING

REMEMBERING I don’t want to remember, yet I do; I’d rather be asleep –as if I’ve eaten something incompatible with my system.  Something I can’t digest –though I’ve had many years to get used to it. I’m recalling –though I don’t want to– THE DAY when my deceased ex-father-in-law said I wasn’t a “real mother” because I’d adopted my children, one of whom was his niece –didn’t matter to him (he also didn’t come to my wedding, for which I made all dresses in the wedding party except my wedding gown) ….  Clearly the way he defined “what constituted “real” differed extremely from ways in which I defined “real” / “realities“….  So what was the equivalent of a “real” mother?   Evidently, a child had to grow in your own womb –not sure how he felt about implanted embryos or surrogates when a womb was insubstantial or unavailable, sill producing viable eggs despite a hysterectomy, for instance.  And I was “real” enough, standing right in front of him on his porch, beside his son –to whom I was married, his son who didn’t dance with me at the wedding –and even then we knew, although my then-spouse remained silent; we knew that it wasn’t “my” fault –not that childlessness must endure “blame” –how embarrassing for my spouse at the time, to have to admit that “HE” WAS THE REASON FOR THE CHILDLESSNESS of the marriage! –yet every doctor visited always ASSUMED THAT I WAS THE REASON! –but I wasn’t, having been raped when I was fifteen, and getting pregnant from that rape (I knew I could get pregnant) –didn’t have that baby –just as I shouldn’t have, despite those children of rape who managed to grow up without (visible) scars of their conception (and I shouldn’t have had that baby…. I was much too young, and would have changed my life significantly, I imagine –can’t say for sure since I didn’t take that route of being a teenager (would have been 16 when that child would have been born; was craving popcorn when my pregnancy could no longer be hidden at home… never talked about this! –never said a word!completely altered my behavior at schoolI started sitting in the backs of classrooms, and said nothing! –absolutely nothing! –was pushed through corridors by movements of crowds; grades plummeted  –didn’t matter to me how I performed! –I recalled how I’d done nothing to try to stop this older man, deacon at my mother’s church, from violating me! —he was 25, I was 15! But there I was, standing beside the man (age 23) who met me when I was still 16, right after a third-trimester abortion in New York State, where it was legal in 1970… Of course, he’s stated that he did nothing wrong, nothing for which he had no permission; I consented to everything, one way or another… developed a dependence on him, similar, perhaps, to those who begin to “love” their jailers, their captors…. Anyway, I was in another situation over which I had no control…. Even married him….   After a few years of marriage my ex-spouse was certainly aware that he was the one unable to procreate, despite what doctors seemed to think, as I was consistently the one “blamed” for the childless marriage –so we adopted children and became a family instead of a couple, first his niece (when she was seven, because her mother, [as did her mother’s identical twin sister [[reminds me a bit –though an entirely different case– of the Gibbons sisters of “Silent Twins“]] my ex-spouse’s sister (as did her identical twin),  lost custody of her five children for neglect), then in an attempt to appease me, a son, first baby I ever held and was allowed to bring home as my own!…. We had those two children with us when my ex-father-in-law told me that I wasn’t a “real” mother….. And my ex-spouse could have said something then, but didn’t to his father –who also didn’t come to the wedding…. Allowed me to be the one responsible…. But by then, we knew! –after visits to so many fertility clinics –he was told that he’d unlikely (not “impossible” as he continued to mention) father a biological child… We tried in vitro fertilization three times ($10,000.00 each attempt, to no avail; just a lot of injections I had to take to ripen eggs sooner, and in a quantity large enough for harvesting.  No success.  I, of course, was getting older, and by then we lived in Massachusetts…. But not, according to my ex-spouse, “too old” –I could have waited; “all it took  was one sperm!” he insisted, and he had at least one as I grew older and older by the minute….  But his few million sperm needed to be healthy, motile and not misshapen, needed to be active and able to penetrate the egg…   They couldn’t. Not even in a Pertri dish where the sperm didn’t have to swim very far to get to the egg…. But how could he know this until a partner failed to conceive, failed to become pregnant?   I hesitate to mention it, but that adoption of the niece was disastrous; she was seven when we adopted her —to keep her in the family; –we were asked if we would take a child, and I said the youngest, knowing the role of age of the child in which interventions are attempted; I thought that we might have a chance with only the youngest; she was seven, beyond the age when influence in our Massachusetts home, wealthy pocket some 23 miles north of Boston could exert significant changes in her and her life, after she accompanied me in my second year of graduate study to Durham New Hampshire, right after she came to live with us, and when she was eight, stole money from the teacher’s purse. January. It was winter, and NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOW fell prodigiously.  Here and there were animal tracks like forks, and hoarfrost patterns on windows that my cheeks tried to pilfer, pressed against these panes. Loved the spray when wind stirred up the powdery snow, twirled it and released it so that it fell again rather lacy.  I couldn’t wait to make bootprints. NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOW. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilCMP_7EsoA   Durham was a wonderful small town, and our niece (so that she’d remain in the family when her mother –whose identical twin also lost custody of her children, for similar reasons of neglect– lost custody and the children were removed from the home) was there stealing money.  I read to her daily, and she performed okay in the Oyster River Schools (other than stealing the money)… What a change this way of life was for her; I’ll have to ask her how it felt to live in New Hampshire…. What did she think of the mountains? of Franconia Notch, and the Old Man of the Mountain?  I am no longer in touch with her and never will be again; I used to wonder if this environment had the effect on her life that I’d hoped it would? What was it like for her to live on a college campus? –to eat in the dining hall? –to watch me study and also teach? (I was a TA). She moved with us, of course to Andover Massachusetts where I worked at Phillips Academy right after grad school –that’s when problems really escalated…. she discovered boys –started staying out all night with them –but couldn’t take advantage of the tuition reduction! –we would only have had to pay 10% of tuition [10% of about $20,000.00] had she been able scholastically, intellectually, and emotionally to attend PA –however, having missed those first eight (including nine month of pregnancy, so roughly another year), meant that any influence of these new –and wealthy!– in the space of PA environments didn’t change her enough to allow her to take advantage of all that the northern Massachusetts setting had to offer…. She was twelve when she started running away…. and twelve when police brought her back.  She began running away every weekend, and I resorted to locking the door to her room to try to keep her there, but that proved ineffective as she climbed out the window in order to run away! –initially from Andover, Massachusetts to Lawrence, Massachusetts; this occurred for years! –until she was 17, when she ran away for the last time, back to the state in which she’d lived before the attempted rescue via adoption! –I grew weary of all this running away! –quite a paper trail evolved! –a each time the police became involved, a record was kept! –I’d never been involved with the police! –they became like members of the family! –when she ran away for what was the last time, she told authorities in that mid-western state that we’d put her out, but this wasn’t true, of course (she was also a pathological liar, and had been for years); by then; had to hire a lawyer in the state to which she ran, but we had extensive documentation, from the police, and this lawyer said that he’s never seen documentation as extensive as what I had, so when he presented this evidence in court, the judge was impressed, and rescinded the adoption!  I couldn’t travel because I was pregnant –after my ex-spouse announced that if he couldn’t have children, then neither could I! –I was almost  thirty-seven and nearing an age when it wouldn’t be optimal for my body to try to sustain a pregnancy; fertility would decline, and I also knew that I could get pregnant, so for a full year before executing my plan I prepared my body for a new life! –I was ready, no longer a teenager, and quite accomplished, having published several volumes of poetry and having won several awards, which PA didn’t require, but the private high school had only minors attending, including the son of Dick Gregory (Yohance Gregory), Patrick Kennedy, younger half-brother of SadeSoji Adu, and a Middle-eastern, I was told  Princess  who donated $20,000.00 in my name to the school whose parents sent her to PA to escape certain conditions, and the age of these minors, meant that they required 24/7 care, and the “best” housing –all provided by PA was in dormitories, so taking a dorm was advised! –if you wanted prime housing, huge houses –head “master” resided in a while mansion in the center of campus –and we slaves resided in lesser accommodations –while I was at PA, my final year there, I had six job offers to six different universities, including the University of New Hampshire where I’d been a graduate student… This seemed extraordinary to me! One job offer came from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, an offer I accepted, after the contract was re-written to give my then spouse a job, as I refused to come unless he was also employed, so a job was “created” for him! –I spoke up, although he didn’t as we stood on that porch…. I had to delay my start at the University of Michigan because I was pregnant, and there was no problem with the delay… As I said earlier, I became concerned when my then-spouse announced that if he couldn’t have children, then neither could I! As I lived only about 23 miles north of Boston/Cambridge, and as I’d prepared my body for a pregnancy, I realized I was in an ideal location for a sperm donor.  To appease me, my then spouse agreed that adopting another child, a baby would be fine, and made us equal, as neither one of us would be related to that infant; so that’s what happened…. We adopted a baby, a healthy baby from Massachusetts, the other child that my ex-spouse’s father referred to when he announced that I wasn’t a “real” mother –If other players here tell this story, they can’t possibly offer MY point of view! –only their own! –which can’t be like mine. This healthy boy has grown into a man, and he’s innocent of all of this! –he was just a baby, and had no input into what was happening…. He didn’t know until he was an adult that he was adopted at all… But this was information he needed to have.  He was born to a teenage girl in Boston; she was the age I would have been had I actually had the baby from my first pregnancy from the rape.  Perhaps the way I told him he was adopted wasn’t the best way, but he did need to be told, since he hadn’t figured it out.  So much deception in this small family… I’m sorry for everything I did wrong… Except for getting pregnant a second time and actually having that baby! –something I had to do, and time was running out.  I hope that he understands my situation also… Point of view is about all we have, and this is mine; presented from my perspective –just as valid as any other.  I mean no hard feelings for anyone. But I was as real as anyone! And I did want to pass on some of the genetic bounty I’d received, in classes for the for the gifted since first grade, the enrichment program, initially, then major work for the “super-gifted” (4th grade – 12th grade; for which I had to be sent for testing by staff psychologists), –the only way to pass along these intellectual gifts was to have a biological child! –and my father was a mixed race man, mostly Cherokee , Caucasian and some East Indian (as I’ve been told [fairly recently]) –I wanted to pass on that heritage also! he died in 1980, the year before I graduated first in my class and Phi Beta Kappa from Oberlin! –graduated with a 4.11 GPA, lowest grade was in an English class, an “A-“, so I took English to be my relative weakness; only class in which I didn’t attain a ceiling; in every other class, I met expectations, so I focused in English in graduate school…. and filled the space that the “-” created with “limited fork theory”! –how I made “senses” of existences! and (ultimately) movie poams –including: Particle Popping and  Digging on the Muon Blues   And I was getting older; I didn’t have much time left! –I was 36, and my eggs were getting older by the minute, and I didn’t want to risk having a child that suffered because of advanced maternal age… I had to act quickly, despite the edict from my ex-spouse that: “IF I CAN’T HAVE A CHILD, THEN NEITHER CAN YOU!” –I had to act or pregnancy never would have happened; would have been an extinction (there will be anyway; humans won’t always be around –and the world keeps changing, pollution and so forth  –human aggression, and perhaps another mass extinction via comet?–unless we destroy ourselves)   Egg quality matters!     But first, I had to be raped, and I had to have a third-trimester abortion, and I had to get married, and I had to adopt children, and I had to become pregnant by choice, going to a fertility clinic in Cambridge, Massachusetts, after being told that if my then-spouse couldn’t have children, then neither could I, but I also had a need to pass on some of what I considered genetic bounty, and my father (source) was already dead! –I could only pass on some of what I’d received if I had a baby myself! –and I was ready! — my body was optimized for pregnancy! –and most sperm donors are college students, and being near –23 miles!– Harvard Square put me right by Harvard university and MIT! (most sperm donors are college students, so my location was ideal! –for this indiscretion, that gave me what I almost didn’t get to have)–how ideal! –I left the clinic in Cambridge pregnant! –one visit! –I was told that a “good” sample made an enormous difference! –I was there only about a half hour; in my mind, I think that conception happened as I drove home and began a routine of talking to my baby, singing to my baby, reading everything, in multiple languages to my baby! –English, Spanish, and French! –eating mostly fish and uncooked vegetables  from Bread and Circus! –playing a variety of music for my baby! first picture of Anstedhow different this was from when I was fifteen!     Image

I am exceedingly grateful for Donor #513 from Fairfax Cryobank

Everything was fine! –pregnancy was going smoothly! –I loved every minute!   Then I started having preterm labor! (for which I was given Brethine, form of Terbutaline –so successful that my baby was born two weeks late; two nights before his birth, I ate at Legal Seafoods, Arctic char, and plenty of vegetables, large salad –undressed–so was put on complete bed rest, and a bill form the fertility clinic came to our Andover, Massachusetts home, a bill? that my then spouse retrieved? and discovered that he wasn’t the biological father of my unborn child…. All he said to me was: “Didn’t I consider AIDS?” —I had more chance of contracting AIDS from him (just a bit of a philanderer) than I had from the fertility clinic, as donors are very well screened! –certified free of disease and genetic disorder! –well-scrutinized! –so my ex-spouse always knew that he wasn’t the biological father, and I had the baby I wanted to have…. A tasty meal indeed!  My son is a member of Mensa!

_____

Of course I was in love (eventually; fluctuated 
between love of my captor 
and, 
guess I really don't know what "true love" is like. 
Maybe I'll find out now; 
first time that I'll really choose a man 
instead of a man choosing himself for me.... 
--I'd never been with a man --other than the rapist
(and now --then-- I was with a statutory rapist, 
from the fire into the frying pan). 
Everything was new to me, especially touching. 
I did like that, 
liked to touch my then husband and to be touched back...
--just the away he trained me, just for him... 

Took me a long time, to reach that point, 
but I did reach it. 
According to him, my ex-spouse was quite popular 
when he was in the military 
and had at least 50 girlfriends. 
When I was 17, still a baby, 
and a "victim" of statutory rape, 
I tore up all their pictures 
(I wouldn't do that now --it's just that 
he seemed so proud of them, 
but since he had me, 
I reasoned that he didn't need them, 
a childish thing to do 
--he was even engaged to one of them). 
He seemed to prefer lighter complexioned mixed women 
(like me),
and women seemed to like him also... 
quite a bit. 
That's what made it so puzzling 
when I found out two weeks 
after the wedding 
--we were already "legally" married, had been so 
for almost two months --so technically, this was adultery; 
but two weeks after the wedding, 
I discovered he'd been having an affair 
for nearly two years, 
with someone much more dark-complexioned than me, 
someone I didn't think he'd ever marry 
--of course not, he married me! 
--someone not his type, based on appearance, 
just someone to f**k, 
and not bring home, 
exclusively in the dark --I guess so they'd both 
blend in! 
(how cruel of me to say, as if this still 
bothers me, it doesn't)
--I discovered this affair quite innocently; 
I'd called him to invite him home for lunch, 
and he wasn't there....

He'd gone to see her, meeting her at the door, 
where she was dressed only in birth control 
--that she didn't know she didn't need-- lunch of sex! 
--that's also why I was inviting him home for lunch!
 
--I really had prepared some food, 
then I was going to feed him something else, 
even more substantial, lasting on all 
of his palettes...
(except the one for paramours...)

--but I was ready when he came home 
with his grandfather! 
--I confronted him with evidence, 
letters from this Island girl
--her promises of undying love! 
That Island Girl.. That Island Girl also... 
mistress from the West Indies, 
but quite Africanized)
--as typically used, even if incorrectly 
--I'm guilty of incorrect (popular) usage also.
And her signed photo, with messages of undying love 
written on the back, 
her promise that she'd always be available 
(not true; she's moved on with her life, and is 
no longer available to him 
--not that he's looking for her or for anyone
who would always love him 
[recently found her on Facebook, 
and didn't friend her, 
but told her--in a private message-- 
I had no hard feelings..]).

(guess I was just wondering how she looked now, 
and what a confirmation I received.... 
[ouch! --of my own looks] --she's even less his type now....
--well, he didn't frame her picture 
[I didn't tear up this one] 
or leave it sitting out in the open 
--I really had to dig to find it!)
She was more than willing to offer herself exclusively 
for sex... 
(not really trying to rationalize all this; just want 
some perspective
as I move on, and I am moving on... 
Post-menopausal, so no more biological babies for me.
I mean no harm to my adopted children, 
both now adults 
and as happy as they can be
Under these strained circumstances
(probably just as disappointed with some things, as I am, 
maybe even more so)
but I had to drop them in order to move on
into my new life... I cannot take this "baggage" with me.
 

Truth, from 
my perspective, 
isn't necessarily pretty, 
but it is some truth! 
--I owe all of us some truth!

More truth:
Pity that I couldn't give my biological son 
a sibling; 
no way could I repeat 
what I did in order to have him...
No idea how many siblings 
he might have from the donor.... 
Sure that all of this has wrecked 
his sense of family....

None of us are perfect! Well, 
all of us are are "perfectly" what we are...
--I'm sure that my biological and adopted children 
have things they'd change about themselves if they could....
when they can: we're all in progress, 
not finished as long as we live, and even then, 
disintegrate, decompose
becoming feasts for microbes that are making their living, 
doing what microbes do... (Yes; I enjoyed CSI, among other things, 
and various books about anatomical fodder --after all, 
humans are part of animal systems 
on this planet 
and are as edible as anything else that is or becomes edible 
--there's much that can be ingested 
whether or not it's nutritious, or even designated as food).

My point here is to talk only about what I'm remembering 
and connecting to --temporarily-- none of this is permanent 
via, quite fallible, systems of memory....
Mentioning others only as I must.
Just dressing some of my open wounds.... Just being myself, 
less restricted than I've ever been.... 
but still within (my) limits which keep shifting 
--especially with the MS.

______

Getting back to a remembering marriage track:
What a fantastic brouhaha! when I confronted my ex-spouse! 
How dare he do this! --two years of this! 
--two years (at least) with the Island Girl
--didn't matter how "pretty" 
I might have been at nineteen! --beautiful bride!

Bride Thylias

Bride Moxie Supper

--I had the ammunition of letters and photo; 
she even gave us a wedding present --don't remember what it was, 
sure my ex-spouse wanted to keep it, a special memento... 
Not to mention tastes of the paramour.... Well, this is what 
a real housewife (at the time) had to say!
--I was livid! How dare he do this! two years of this! 
Oh, I'm told of how they got together: she needed a study group; 
she required a tutor, 
and my then-spouse was so willing to volunteer, 
so needful of casting himself as an educator
--as he was for me: gave me a carnal education that my parents 
--I was in high school!-- knew nothing about!  
--Ostensibly, my ex-spouse and his paramour 
got together to help her in school; 

he could never be of help to me in school; 
I needed no assistance with my studies! 
(well beyond anything he was capable of! --then or now, 
even with my brain having changed as a result of two aneurysms, 
one of which ruptured and almost kiled me)
--think this bothered him just a bit.... Maybe more..
 
--he was sexual tutor many years ago, 
but never my intellectual tutor or suitor. Never!


--but would I accept this now? No; Hell no!

Then I asked him to leave, 
and he met me at the Rapid Transit station in Higbee's 
every day for two weeks with roses, roses! 
--What exceptional roses they had to be! 
--olfactory stimulation persuaded me to relent.... 
Well, he brought me a rose everyday at home

I want that perfume now!

and then I relented, welcomed him back home, 
was still a teenager,
hadn't learned to demand more for myself
and remained married for 40 years.

Win some, lose some, and keep on going!

I offer some truth, suppressed, some point of view
that still evolves. That will 
probably never be complete. Systems of 
evolution must continue
to allow any of us to travel anywhere, even
revisiting locations that can become
comfortable --especially if visited more
than once.


For the record, just want to state, that 
I've had only two pregnancies in my life! 
one the outcome of violation when I was 15 

--had a third trimester saline induced 
therapeutic abortion to terminate that.

And a successful pregnancy when I was thirty-six, 
a wonderful son, imperfect just like the rest of us, 
BUT MINE! --thanks to a generous, biologically sound, 
no known defects, semen sample was tested 
for any known disease
by Boston IVF, Waltham branch, 
because of where I lived

I do not know him, but I am grateful 
to this Bangladeshi stranger
who allowed my biological fulfillment...

Only these two pregnancies. 
Anything else you hear 
or may have heard is a lie!




 

“Mongongo Drupe” this week!

“Mongongo Drupe” this week!.

Pale Blue Bot – Carl Sagan

My inspiration for today and any day, really, as I do further work on my emerging “Fairy Tale” is Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot”

I go to this video for perspective and meaning; essence of limited forking! –no; this world isn’t ours, and a time will come when none of us will be able to claim anything… I know that for now there’s quality f life, but the time will come, perhaps to for millions, or billions and billions of years; but the time will come when one of the will matter –could be for cosmic reasons, or we may just finish off the planet ourselves, allowing human conflicts and corruptions to dominate better and compassionate judgments… ]

We may run out of the very things, substances that keep us straggling and struggling to be alive.

So many factors, most if which are already out f human control; things we’ve already set in motion must play out! –there’s no turning back! –and we exist in space like everything else; we’re all susceptible to cosmic d=forces, cosmic threats, cosmic demises –such possibilities are also real!

Keep in mind that the Sun is just an ordinary star, and like any other star, the sun will also burn out, if other forces don’t eliminate, devote the death until then –but when the sun burn out, when it loses its ability to sustain this planet, then lights out!  Final! 

Guess I shouldn’t be this dismal as a new year begins, but why not now? –guess I do have some “fairy tale” hope in ” once upon a time” and “they live happily ever after

 

REMEMBERING TO FORGIVE!

A day to share with others, no matter what, and a day, like all days to be sure that all are forgiven!  That’s what today is for me! — as 2014 draws to a close, I want all who have ever crossed my path to know that they are forgiven!  –Anything that has ever been done to me, for whatever reason: all is forgiven! because language matters” –language of what we say, don’t say! –language of how we hurt, heal, soothe; language of how we touch, how we interact, how we believe, how we praise, how we denounce, how we live, blame,

–I don’t want this day, this moment this season to end without my spreading forgiveness to all! –including (and especially Charles Jones: a reason for my spiraling): I  forgive him for being the first man to get me pregnant; I forgive him for all of that; I forgive his brother Gregory, for introducing me to Charles, his older brother; I forgive them all.  I forgive Blondell; I forgive Everest Tucker, I forgive Michelle [who I hope will also forgive me]; I forgive Dennis, a son who I hope will also forgve me, no matter how or why he became my son], I forgive LT Randle, I forgive Dothlyn Smith, (for intruding into my  marriage), I forgive my ex-spouse [who remains special for many reasons, and permitted the intrusion of Ms. Smith into the marriage] –sorry if I didn’t mention you by name –but you are in fact forgiven!

–Without becoming a doormat, I still forgive so many, all –and I hold no grudge; All are absolved
–I carry into 2015 none of what has happened to me  during my 60 years…

What Can You Eat Without Guilt?

So much consuming going on, especially at this time of year.

 

We are indeed consumers, and staying alive means that we must consume –everything must eat something, just to exist…

 

How thankful I am to whatever allows itself to be consumed… I care that we understand the privilege to allow yourself to be a form for sacrifice to survival of something else… Humans are also animals; I rank us no higher…   Even viruses and bacteria are doing what they must to extend their populations…  This extends to just about every scale, eating, eating, easting –no permanent satiation seems possible… If we eat till we’re “full ” –soon  enough we find ourselves “empty” again, and this cycle of consuming –and making waste, since forms that take in  potential nutrients, don’t always find them to be nutritious, life-sustaining.

 

This won’t end; even galaxy will consume galaxy… But on a more personal level, many humans will be hungry –even on Thanksgiving, a celebration about food…

 

Please take time to remember all,

Cheeteau

Tasty treat! ! –on April Fool’s Day (or any day)

Why BIFURCATE?

Interacting is risky because of exchange of information, some of which might change views held when entering the interaction.  if you want to safeguard your thinking, try not to expose that thinking to other ideas; if you have answers, and doubt that anything else might have answers necessary to your thinking or what you try to do, avoid interacting where you will leave behind bits and pieces of your ways of doing, while picking up from what become a partner in interaction, bits and pieces of information that you can –will– spread as you continue to bifurcate, each time temporarily connecting with something, giving and receiving information, perhaps changing what you think you know.

OUTLIVING CHILDREN (acknowledging that Earth is one of this Universe’s Children)

OUTLIVING CHILDREN (acknowledging that Earth is one of this Universe’s Children)

Very sad indeed for parents to outlive their children.; Something happens to the generations that should not. My paternal grandmother outlived most of her ten children, and for a while, it looked as if my mother might outlive her only child. Fortunately for her, i’m still here alive and ready to try to accomplish more than ever (ideally driving). If not, there are other ways to assert a meaningful presence. For me: limited fork ways.

With all the (rather frequent) tornadic events in the US in 2012, such outliving must be more common, if not more natural. Wars contribute to this dreadful phenomenon –our DNA supports conflict, or we’d have evolved without it. I feel like adding my tears to buckets and barrels of tears –not that my additional tears would help anything, but I still crave such addition –some form of math seems involved, so far, with everything, not that human forms of math are the best or only forms, but as part of humanity, I will continue to submit to them. I must rely, as I’ve always done, on human senses, the only senses I have –even humanity’s instruments improve what humanity can see, hear, touch, etc. I need an equation for tears, but when I add tears, I just get more tears. I do fear that there might not be enough fresh water (or food for populations of Earth, and I do not feel that humans are not more deserving of food just for being human –I doubt that, were other animals in charge, the Earth would be experiencing this decline this fast —some of my assumptions surely show here), and tears tend to be incredibly fresh when produced, so my tears —they aren’t too salty to be fresh— can add a minuscule amount. I can’t cry enough for everything. And looping bifurcating systems may not offer enough to constitute salvation –even if all possible loops are formed. Million of forks, for no reason but to make art that possibly no sentient one will see. Not that humanity’s seeing it makes it any more splendid (note the assumption of splendor –humanity’s Hubble space telescope did not make things easier for me; increased, actually, an accessible amount of splendor.

A time may come when dependence on tears could make a life/death difference –not a splendid difference.

I definitely do not wish to outlive my son. He must go on to live a full life, one that rewards him with joy (however he eventually defines joy). ;what ;successes, generations –if the world lasts long enough. I am optimistic that the Earth will/can endure. For my son, and sons of my sons. Surely, I hope long enough for his life to matter to more people than me. But then again, I am not promoting an afterlife such as what I was taught about so long ago. My mother still insists that her Christian beliefs are the correct beliefs. But I think that what is thought to be known (what I’ve been taught, and what I’ve observed at planetariums and through telescopes [I’ve been ruined, it seems, by Hubble]) about the universe and the solar system cause me to doubt her beliefs. She tells me that the prayer chains she initiated while I was hospitalized affected my outcome –I cannot say with certitude that all that praying did not help, but I wonder about what happens to the body; decomposition seems quite likely to me. Houdini did not return, and I believe that he would have had return been possible. Humanity’s atoms may become available for next forms of life, assuming Earth can continue to sustain life as we’ve known it –not because we have dominion over other lifeforms, but because

I hope we have a chance to improve the earth, to try to return it to some of what it was like during days before greed –that benefitted a few, not everyone– helped to deplete the planet of finite resources. I do not think that we have suffered through all that will have to be endured before planetary decline can be halted or, better, reversed. Maybe it’s too late for reversals. Maybe humanity does not deserve reversals. But I also don’t want belief systems of humanity to perish –all that believing must not have been for naught. Surely. I don’t want human generations to have an abrupt ending, but such an ending may be inevitable. There is interconnectedness among species. As insects and amphibians, for instance, meet demise, lifeforms dependent on those insects and amphibians may perish from those extinctions. Not to mention possibilities of asteroids and comets that may have deposited building blocks of life on Earth –comet Gods, I guess.

I’m not sure how my grandmother coped with being here after so many of her progeny (she had ten children, outlived all but three) were gone, returned to earth her husband tilled for so many years. A southern farmer. She outlived him too. I used to play with their geese, many of which were as tall as I was. He was dead already; never knew him except for what survived in my father and what was passed on to me through him. I’ve passed along some of what I received genetically to my son. Half. Lately, I’ve been impressed that everyone alive now has roots that extend to the first people on this planet. This seems to offer a truth no matter what is believed, creationism or evolution –of course, I thought that Darwin also offered a truth, seriously questioned by the Scopes Monkey Trial –in Tennessee, of course, where my father grew up and met my mother who now rejects everything I was taught in Cleveland, Ohio public schools, but not what I was taught in Sunday school. She is converting the garage into a church (it is not going to become the dolphin tank that my father promised, except in dreams and imagination that would not be mine had he not made the promise). My mother was always with me while my father stayed home, often on the second floor porch, watching, once, me by his side, a funnel cloud form above the church just a few yards away. True Vine. My son was not raised in church as I was; he was raised more to be a free thinker, encouraged to form his own ideas based on what made the most sense to him, and it is not organized religions. This exclusion from church has helped him rely more on logic –another human invention. How can humans not rely on human knowledge systems? Are we not surrounded by what humanity has made, whether for the detriment (according to someone’s assessment) or improvement (according to someone’s assessment) of human lives? Are we not primarily concerned with what may happen to people? Animals primarily as pets and food –for humans? I think of zoos, though I’ve visited many, as comparable to what happened in slavery, the captures that separated families –when animals are captured (I won’t even talk about what happens to animals raised to be human food –no other purpose, the most noble purpose, according to Babe, book by Dick King-Smith, screenplay by George Miller and Chris Noonan –I do eat meat, the sanitized [relatively] forms purchased in supermarkets, relying on others to do the killing and butchering and packaging for me. I do like tastes of meat, and I do experience misgivings about being the carnivore I am, criticizing no carnivore for their carnivore ways –that I share). There is hypocrisy here –how can there not be? I am human– I’ve admitted to eating meat, but I’ve rejected organized ;religions (many of which restrict the eating of meat to certain animals under certain conditions [of preparation] without outright prohibiting such consumption). I do not know all of what Buddhism teaches about the eating (or the not-eating) of meat, (go here http://mingkok.buddhistdoor.com/en/news/d/18354 for more info), but I reason that we should, even thinking of limited fork tenets, show more compassion toward other animals to whom this planet belongs just as much as to humans. I don’t accept biblical teachings of humanity’s dominion over other animals or over the world –planet. Exceedingly difficult for me to do that. Other animals may not have been as destructive as humans have been. I seem to take more outrage against those who are not free- thinkers than against carnivores; perhaps because I also think that meat-eating free- thinkers may have reasoned that eating meat is acceptable –I am from a family of carnivores, the human family as well as my personal family (my son was vegetarian until ninth grade and a field trip to Chicago where he ate a burger for the first time).

I don’t know whether or not the sacrifice of the cow entered his mind (he is a member of Mensa –not that that membership means he is more or less likely to eat meat; he’s also a member of the human family, and, as I’ve said, we haven’t performed particularly well, given our responsibility for the planet –we are the planet’s [self-appointed —made in God’s image, according to many, including my mother] caretakers). A willing or forced sacrifice? What do we know or understand about cowness? How many of use have really tried to listen to what cows or other animals (including humans) might have to say? Does this understanding or lack of understanding really matter? As humanity runs out of what humanity, in any of its forms, considers food, perhaps this (and similar questions) will be answered. It doesn’t really matter which questions are raised or attempted to be answered according to human ways of processing information –biblical or otherwise acquired– ways of determining which questions to ask in search of a truth accepted by all with liberty and justice– hmm; I’ve heard that before. Even had to recite that daily to get the “A” that I wanted (from the Declaration of Independence –not a declaration of free-thinking). ;

Cigar-shaped Clouds

Today I will write about the clouds and what they make me think of; I wish that I could see more of them, but they are obscured by trees and rooftops, and my view is not as entire as I would like for it to be.

What do I want from the clouds? It’s not really that I want anything, but it MUST mean something that there is a cigar-shaped cloud behind the closest house to mine. (–They are keeping their blinds closed –I actually wondered if they had moved away–) What can that cloud mean? That it will turn into some kind of spaceship, that will land soon in the backyard–and then what? Aliens will get out of it and I’ll need to hide? or nothing at all. I worry for nothing, which is probably more like the truth of what will happen. So far no aliens have landed, and that surprises me because I assume that they have as much interest in coming here as I have in getting to them, no matter where they are, no matter how many black holes I need to travel in order to arrive where they are right now.

It would be better if I worried that my head would explode, if I thought that my head would bulge and expand to fill this room. Part of the bulge in my head might be cigar-like. But no aliens are in my head, although I’ve seen and liked ET, close encounters of the third kind, Independence Day, and war of the worlds; movies I’ve enjoyed, and that I watch if I notice they are on; movies that I like to think about now, and that contain characters that interest me, characters that I might follow if I thought I could follow them remaining unnoticed and unseen. If I could be more like a character on Dr. Who–maybe the doctor himself, maybe if I had a sonic screwdriver, or if I could be more convinced that the kind of travel that the time lords are involved in were possible. Police booths that are more like cigars than anything out there. The stone angels don’t frighten me –as perhaps they should.

If I wait long enough, the clouds will move, with the rotation of the earth and all that, and the cigar-shape will be gone, replaced by something else, perhaps by something less inspiring, but replaced just the same. In the coming darkness, maybe the cigar will be replaced by only star formations; it may become no more than a form of chariot that can be used in part to access those stars (made more accessible with the help of a sonic screwdriver). I don’t know for sure what the sunrise will do, maybe nothing, maybe the sunrise will just cause the cigar to look different, to take on the lights of sunrise and then dissipate rather quietly (quickly too) in swirls of red and pink. Maybe lights rather similar to those in Van Gogh’s “Starry Nights” or perhaps, colored to match, if it was colored, the darkness in “Runagate, Runagate” by Robert Hayden.

Dove Fish in Stone Gathering Moss

Dove Fish in Stone Gathering Moss
by Rita Dove
annotated with a text poam by Thylias Moss

(as presented in Minneapolis, Minnesota at a Rain Taxi sponsored celebration at Open Book (dream store-gallery-book-making-workshop) of the Poetry Society of America centennial, a stab at site specificity, to make connections between that fish, that stone and my aunt, another sibling of the six out of nine that died before their mother from a disease I was told was, at the time, European, as if that part of them warred successfully against the native part whose strength went to their appearance; that’s why Blain’s is in [tenacity of presence] what follows: a text piece (form of poam) of even more limited applicability than usual, specific to, peculiar to an intersection of all that meets, convenes, converges to mark each other with having come together, some of it forced, then diverges, separates without having to reconnect the same way or at all except for how the marking influenced, steered to some degree, that likely won’t be known fully, where participants in the collaboration went, some of it to this blog post, more than a year later [particles of it still pulse while echoes of a big banging cosmic event still travel in all directions, determined to connect with us].) Open Book mapped:

Dove Fish in Stone Gathering Moss

The fish in the stone
would like to fall
back into the sea

one of many puddles,
billions of luminous cosmic pools
can also fail
in their promise of depth

so close to the Farm and Fleet‘s

assortments of toys, home basics, wild bird care,
cherry life savers as a jazzy set of monocles Belvia often held up
making an oasis of her eyes’ black centers’ surrender to endlessness,
eleven Farm and Fleet opportunities to get to Coon Rapids
and ping-pong all day with Anoka, the landings of her most beautiful days
splashing a genetic puddle full of only near resemblances
flickering on the water’s surface as if nothing is more grand
than to sparkle: say oh and ah to brightness
even if just a single megaton bomb exposing its bubbling–pretty near effervescent
–guts: an explosion of newly forming fins, evolutionary artistry since 1955
how true it is that if you can’t find it at Blain’s Farm & Fleet,
you don’t need it, certainly not to shine

—you see above the fish in stone as countertop,

cruelty and kindness of proximity to Kohler styled water that from now on just turns stone more smooth; while I spoke in Minneapolis’ Open Book‘s sea of 2D and 3D print possibilities, nearby in Plymouth, the Green River Stone Company, this image on the left from the web page about them, had already been fishing the shale in a private Wyoming quarry in order to Supply Fossil Fish Murals and Stone Products for Interior Design —Fossil record of evidence of opulence, my onions diced on the complex surface of chances, knife marks and their role models of fossil fin structure make good on parallel worlds. Green River fish in stone escape the wearying analysis to come for the Dove fish (keep reading); these rest pretty
with a hope of mistaken identity as fancy mutant feathers of alternative stone scriptures—

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