I really love listening to relaxing typing videos—and clacking away on my mechanical keybort—so this was a lot of fun to create:
ASMR o’clock – A day in the life of a bard, writing up poetry and tales from my journeys. join me, let’s buddy up and create our art together, to the dulcet, relaxing ambience of clacky typing, clicking around, writing down ideas, shufflin papers and notes. (no speaking till end credits)
I tried a little something different with the latest poetry diaries [September – October aka Libra season]. This feels right considering this is the time of year that started the whole bardic bullion project.
I hope you enjoy! For more, visit my substack.
after “The Song of Amergin” • I am aranciata soda, the taste of summer • I am ice, summer and winter • I am the raven on your shoulder • i am the brain drain giving way, determined, into generation into joy • i am the recommendation, a pixie for your lashes • i am the edits, deep into the wedding scene • i am the astrology of death, the head injury mapped into her birth chart • i am wondering, could this be avoided? • i am the reminder, «chop wood, carry water» • I am Gaia filling the void green • I am packing • I leave again • I rejoice in her jewels, her tongue • «plumsy» and «wormaids» • I am the prayer card falling from the visor • I am the lip-plumping goodness and the mirror • I am her namesake • i am the freckle • I am the sultry air refusing to storm, stewing the chaos of too many cooks, threatening your sleep • i am the quiet camp morning after • I find Taliesin once more • I am the hike, unraveled • I find Taliesin once more • What is this frenzy? • Why are you all talking at once? • What but fear? • Would it kill you to remember your wallet? your keys? • Would it kill you to get out of my way? • Who but the wife asking him, «Then, why are you telling me what to do?» • I am the sphinx in the cave of desire, on the roof before the sage • I am the repose the following day • at home, alone, bliss • I am the song of the river eddying me
cratered from impact, our only natural satellite • only place beyond earth where we have stepped foot • even if staged, our steps tickled with her magic dust • who else but the Moon? • explaining condensation; it’s the humidity’ll getcha • Mommy, can you clean this up? • Who else? • the film of beading water • Who else, but Midsummer?
what if it’s right to want what I want? • Revolutionary!
i need to learn the wolf’s language • Reading the dog-training manual • The Story of the Lost Child • Quilting • An Immense World • and of course, Mr. Putter & Tabby at storytime
before and after the river • and the lake • in praise of Kwik Trip, my nouveau White Hen • my indulgences: chasing good time, gas station cappuccino after noon • malts and mother meltdowns • what can I say? it’s vacation • and then I realized, watching you • putter and poke the flame • our last campfire • Drunking drunkenness drunkerie • I’ve watched your dance for years • Thank you for showing me how to build a fire • like swimming, bettering my chances of survival
the necessary resurgence of the guillotine • the people’s tool, whistling • it’s Mars in Virgo, we gotta organize, folks. • parties won’t save us • «No conteste nada no firme nada» • racial terror, starring sharks and gators • you were such a shit yesterday • all the yesterdays since you were born • you expect me to come to your birthday party today? • serving denaturalization and day old meat • Video from Associated Press showing American contractors as they cheer after shooting Palestinians desperate for food. “Hell yeah boy” • “American contractors” aka mercenaries • puzzling crickets and mold from the ruling class • the ill forecast, the flood carrying camp, the mystic, our children away • “budget cuts” • the net is cut • frayed into legend
today, a mentor mused we are all living in the past, time flows from that future back to us • waves from the future complete • her takeaway? Hallelujah • long-distance tantra • my high school crush debuted in my dreams • 20 years later • hanging a suit nice and tall; no chin, though • requiring my attention • being of service, I let my towel fall • I no longer desired • my shapely allure his cross to bear • tired, pressing on, drying myself off, worrying where the children are, are they hungry? are they ready for their nap? are their blankets soft enough? are their sheets cool enough? drink something
and now, pressing sugar into lemon oil • baby learns to muddle • learning the differences between fleur de sel, sel gris • makes sense. lessons during oceantime
there’s weasels at this ball • flagrant monocles, furry suits, squeakin • a symbol of breakdown
i was born just in time, the last summer of the ‘80s • if i had the chance I would • not go back there to live, to relive • the old mistakes and crises I survived once already • the present holds advantage • hope • building something
June-July diaries out of the past for the curious:
Cancer radio waves; ‘25 time capsule, for your listening pleasure:
I’m one of those people who could and has drank coffee all day long. I attribute this to my upbringing, my blood; my Italian relatives who took an endless cup with sweets and sauce after dinner, and my beloved aunt who always had a pot brewing. Because you never know. The taste, the scent of coffee grinding, brewing, steeping are all soothing to me. Even decaf! Coffee is a loving anchor for me.
If you love coffee like I do, please drop your favorite spots and roasters in the comments. I love learning about and supporting coffee emporiums everywhere.
Recently, I tootled to the U.P., the Queen City, and had delicious coffee from these fine folks:
Snowbound Books on 3rd Street is an excellent place to bring your coffee and spend hours and good money on fantastic books.
If you’d like to materially support my writing and me (thank you!), please consider treating me to a cup of coffee.
Thank you, kind soul! and cheers ❤
Thank you readers and subscribers (!!!), for spending your time and attention here. Without you, my writing would be incomplete.
I pray ease and joy and love find you each day, along with whimsy and wonder.
p.s. I have not used affiliate links in this piece.
Hot off the griddle, Auntie Pancake’s poetry and moon are out of bounds and in Gemini.
After a useful sojourn to Ghost dot org, bardic bullion has returned to substack.
hahaha. the joys of being dual-minded in a dual season. I am grateful for the Ghost experiment and what it has to offer: a decentralized newsletter platform. Also doesn’t host certain buffoonery that Substack does. But!
I am grateful for the community on Substack I have been able to cultivate, and for the vibrant communities others cultivate there, too. To my subscribers—thank you!!! I deeply appreciate your time and attention and support, and your patience while I experiment.
FYI & for those who are interested in making a newsletter and/or already have one, here are some my trials and errors from my experience with Ghost dot org:
Ghost is not as user friendly: my radio show and mixtape links weren’t working in the newsletter deploys, which is no good since sound and music are such an integral part of my diaries and creations. I like to use a variety of media and Ghost’s capacities and flexibilities were not suited to my needs. The navigation for readers and subscribers was also disappointing, unfortunately.
More important than that—Ghost does not currently offer the vibrant community living and growing on Substack. I repeat myself, but: I am so grateful for my communion with folks. I read and subscribe to many substacks, follow many folks there (and more and more by the week). There are many beloveds and lovely artists and journalists there I love supporting their work and being among them.
Who knows, perhaps I’ll switch again in the future. I am fleetfooted, after all. But for now, I am glad to be back. Love you!
It's quieter in my head so far.
plucked your eye out • climbed up that hill to rest.
Who am I with complete rest? Correct • sleep cycles? • avoiding the truth? • my eyes, burned weary • Been dreaming of Grandma’s house • and her son called begging, • Save my life.
fresh from the vortex of devotion, soul oriented toward obsession, quest is consummation • when the smoke finally clears • my lungs, filler up • like John, I am a word slut, gimme that fucking word search and ooh! the fun I'll have—
Enough Preamble.
Yearning away • I wanna give Megan... pause • Next door, the shepherd • fixing your juicer.
Baby, what happened to you? • Happens to all of us, mutation’s painful • less so than nostalgia? • Honey, let the satire strike you • let the funny hit • too close to home.
When it’s false flags • close to home, • soldiers, spies dragged up
category is: diplomatic realness
category is: left their hoods at the cleaners, so masks'll have to do
category is: secret police & genocidaire
don't worry, shitbirds, we recognize you anyway. • blink, chicken! blink!
obedience is most dangerous, most violent.
People, let's commotion. • <<comfort the afflicted, afflict the comfortable.>> •
that nonviolence'll get you killed.
Grandma said, I’ll smash you! • Scotch on her rocker, Naples in her blood • Dal fiume al mare, Palestina sarà libera. • I sit, I swim in all the rivers my mothers gave me, give me, keep me • alive again and again and again • morning
when the baby is in her Nirvana era, led herself there to drink the blooms • what else is there but singing • singing with her • The heart of joy.
watching the mothers take down mirrors • portals, you know • who knows who watches • who is outside • now we know
before the ingress • the tide • my last question: what were those birds about • that crow flying • bumped his head in my window—twice!—looking for • my orange cat watching • gold eyes sweet honey mischief • slitted like a snake,
takes after his mother.
My last look: scissors and color flying, douse me • i'm going for rogue.
Gemini saison ‘25 time capsule, for your listening pleasure:
This beautiful spring shelf mushroom print featured in the mixtape cover art is by amazing artist Gabi Guerra, and used here with her permission. Thank you, Gabi 💕 Please check out her wonders and shop at malahoraart.com
May-June diaries out of the past for your reading and listening pleasure:
Royal star Fomalhaut • 2025 Finals • Mad Max interviews • I really miss MJ. • Carême and Stick • ReLiving Single, a joyous ritual • Reveling in the memories of Sly Stone and Brian Wilson • A gal who truly gets it. • Rest in merciful, loving peace, Parnia Abbasi, and too many others.
Thank you to my family, who shared with me their friend’s 1:1:4 for homemade lemonade:
Add fruit and herbs as you like; it’s gonna be a scorcher 😉
let's dance raw
Healing is fucking
exhausting.
It’s lay down your swords time,
No budget, no limit
ripe moments
Safe to be fertile;
Darlings, we are
Not property.
envisioning love that never speaks over
my songs on the radio,
rather, love's attunement casket sharp.
Speaking of love, watching you
question your greenthumb,
your withering distressed me;
so do the pigs,
so many more out there lately
voix magnetique
<<ce tout en sîrop.>>
it's beautiful here
learning I am capable of amends
hardly think straight • yet breathing, ink furious • tulipomania and <<Mommy, I love you>> with a tableful of flowers • "Violet" prophecy on the cans and The Neapolitan Quartet
Lesson: always bring a snack.
Nostalgia: red leather interior woody
wake up, be cringe. • the world is full of sufferers filled with unlived life. it's a poverty of spirit • you don't want no problems, you just talk like you do • lilac air in the yard and school bell bings down the road • It was my birthday again. I feel fortunate saying, "I'm still alive." Often enough, it is 1989 all over again • VHS Japan ジャパン 1997 • everytime i choose softness over suffering i surrender to giving myself back what I learned to steal
inside: coming home to yourself, keeping, going gently.
outside: the earthquake.
This last day is full of reminders;
the book says, Just be.
The sensuous pleasure of giving
yourself permission from guilt.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Stay wavy, love always,
Kate
Hiya folks! Last month I started bardic bullion on Ghost to replace my Substack. I love so many of the folks and artists and community on Substack, but Substack is making significant investments that do not align with my values. Plus, I’m fascinated by Ghost’s spot in the decentralized web.
I also started posting my poetry recordings here, on WKDC The Bard, aka sonic bullion:
Temporarily. I know how Spotify treats creators and artists—also out of alignment with my values—so I’m committed to building and housing a decentralized audio platform as well. I’ll keep you posted.
I have no intention of shuttering my website here, my long-time love. I will link and post here and continue to call Kate Carsella dot com home.
Anywho, my dear readers and fellow artists, I hope you’ll visit me over at bardic bullion and at sonic bullion. I am grateful for your attention and your attunement. Bless you and please do luxuriate yourself with loving care.
Love always,
Kate
kate carsella 