diaric, poetry, sonic bullion

’25 come to the river

photograph of the carp river, with wooden deck chairs in the river for you to soak your feet, nestled in the tree line on the riverbanks

sonic bullion


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


a full wall of firewood chopped for your campfire

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 ChildQuiltingAn 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


erratum

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


from the archives

June-July diaries out of the past for the curious:


WKDC Radio, THE BARD

Cancer radio waves; ‘25 time capsule, for your listening pleasure:


coffee break

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 ❤


community and collective care

  • Mahmoud Basem and his family in Gaza. Mahmoud is 20 years old, a university student. His home was bombed by the Israeli occupying forces, destroying his belongings including his laptop and clothes, and his family has been displaced several times. Along with his sister and brothers, Mahmoud is caring for his mother who is ill and his nieces and nephews. Tasneem is suffering through a skin condition due to life in the tent and Ibrahim suffered a mouth injury after an Israeli missile strike while he was searching for water for his family. Mahmoud and his family need food, water, formula and diapers, clothing, and our support.
  • Abood & Lucy. Abood is a young man and student in Gaza, Palestine. He and his family, including his beloved cat Lucy, need support for food, water, medical supplies, and continuing education.
  • The Sameer Project, a donation-based aid initiative for Gaza led by Palestinians, working to supply emergency shelter and aid to displaced families in Gaza.
  • Animal Friends Shelter is a safe Gazan haven for stray & abandoned cats. Our mission is to provide love, care, & shelter to these furry friends until they find their forever homes
  • Dr. Mohammed Hamad in Beit Hanoun, Gaza, Palestine. He has been arrested by the Zionist occupying force, and they destroyed his house. “My family and I have been displaced 10 times, fleeing bombing and killing, and each time I have lost everything I own. Now I have no money to buy food or drink. I am now trying to evacuate my family from the Gaza Strip. This is my story, not a figment of my imagination; it is the harsh reality of life in the Gaza Strip.”
  • The Little Miss Flint Clean Water Fund. Mari Copeny has been fighting the good fight to provide clean water and water filtration systems to the good people of Flint, Michigan, in their community’s ongoing clean water crisis. No child should be saddled with such responsibility, yet she’s taken on the fight anyway. (Shame on power for a) creating this crisis and b) not fixing it immediately. Everyone deserves clean water.) Copeny has many projects serving her community, including Operation Snack to provide food to local kids.
  • The Hind Rajab FoundationThe Hind Rajab Foundation is devoted to ending Israeli impunity and achieving justice for Hind Rajab and all the victims of the Gaza Genocide… Our core mission is to actively pursue legal action against those responsible for these atrocities, including perpetrators, accomplices, and inciters of violence against Palestinians. Through offensive litigation, we aim to hold these actors accountable in both international and national courts, challenging the culture of impunity that has allowed such crimes to persist.
  • Tiny Chef of The Tiny Chef Showwhich was unceremoniously and wrongly cancelled (shame on you Nickelodeon and your corporate mergers!! Cmon!), but can live on with our support

view of the starry sky in Marquette Michigan from camp. deep navy sky with twinkling stars visible to the naked eye, tree leaves washed in fiery orange from the firelight

Thank you all

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.

Stay wavy. Love,

Kate

p.s. I have not used affiliate links in this piece.

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diaric, poetry, sonic bullion, station notes

’25 THERE IS NO LIMIT

Hot off the griddle, Auntie Pancake’s poetry and moon are out of bounds and in Gemini. 

Photo by Maria Borisenko on Pexels.com | <<c’est tout en sîrop>>

quick station note

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!


sonic & bardic bullion


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.


mixtape

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


from the archives

May-June diaries out of the past for your reading and listening pleasure:


meanwhile

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. 

& a recipe

Thank you to my family, who shared with me their friend’s 1:1:4 for homemade lemonade: 

  • 1 c lemon juice 
  • 1 c simple syrup 
  • 4 c water 

Add fruit and herbs as you like; it’s gonna be a scorcher 😉 

Stay wavy, love,

Kate

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diaric, poetry

’25 lmao what a ghoul

Screenshot of @alisonmartino Vintage Los Angeles' twitter post "The tribute to David Lynch at Bob’s Big Boy continues to grow. Lynch went to Bob’s everyday for seven years for coffee and a milkshake. As far as memorials go, this impromptu shrine is very touching and uplifting" with image attached of Bob's Big Boy Statue with impromptu David Lynch shrine including cans of cola, flowers, snacks, homemade keepsakes, photos of Lynch, doughnuts, and more
Credit: @alisonmartino Vintage Los Angeles

and by “ghoul”, I am referring to the stockholders’ meeting from Monday, and all the relevant sycophants.


When, just yesterday
we were talking the King’s Disease.

When today it’s hot water
bathed and boiled in it
hot water, lemon, cayenne pepper.
Thanks, Honey.

When under the blankets,
Choose the one who gives you
giggles.

<<The way you treat others is a reflection.>>
What do you see?

When our touching noses
sparked.

When the sick and cold is too much
I can't touch grass
like I'd like, like you tell me I must. So

If it must be suffocation,
May it be
Trapped in an elevator—
Me, the Glory of spring
You, my Impossible crush
cornering me, daring me
My kiss a revolution daring you
Crack the window
—Sliding doors.

When I am Focus. I refuse to give
my fear today.
I got too many gals and babes
to rile up
and protect.


sonic bullion:


jukebox:

a time capsule


out of the past [diary archive]

what these nets drug in, 2019 and counting:

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diaric, poetry

’24-’25 Concord promise

Wisdom Gazing at a Serpent [reverse], c. 1500 | National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection

'24 concordat

Studying.
All these hollowed out
crowns, so lofty it’s dangerous
You are vulnerable,
charlatan elite.

When it’s cookie baking day
And for some reason i always
Have to watch Steel Magnolias
Because of the women who taught me
Recipes to repeat, patterns to shake
Who are that strong
Who are dead

When it’s a daytime fire
When it’s a nap break
In between the molasses and sugars

When nothing says Christmas
like 19th century Massachusetts and March

When you best
Watch out for all these bugs



'25 Concord promise

Exalted, Venus came to town.
Under the covers in my dreams,
waking me up, an inside love;

No, not you, dear,
no vacancy for the past.
If you must,
you can watch.
Can you stand it?

I used to be
so grateful to give you
my kiss.
To make you laugh.
Anyways.

Nowadays, the dinner table:
‘It’s not the mindless consumption,’
I sit and consider the grocery list.

I’m building something.
Across from her,
plates and cups a spectrum, honey, hearty,
fresh water.

They say to leave the tree up
till January. Prosperity.

When those ginger snaps
carried me through—
stomach bugs galore.

A band on my finger,
—horns, strings, woods, drums
iron copper bronze
linens and lace—
The dance of time marches

When elsewhere, it’s a piss era
Shillery par excellence.

And then I realized, I’m on the roof.
Wow, that’s bonkers, or
Sorry that happened.
Anyways,

Nowadays, I take my napping seriously.
Bury me in the earth,
my strong suit snakeskin
I transform like the year
back from the dead
a snake in the bed
again and again.

I open
unto my yearning—
I am in love
again for the first time.


sonic bullion:

coming to you live from sonic bullion radio, WKDC, juicy poetry and tales live from the crossroads. Sit a spell, enjoy a while…


jukebox


out of the past [diary archive]

what these nets drug in, 2018 and counting:


Standard
diaric, poetry

’24 The Pluto Chronicles

Photo by Gleb Lucky

all this energy harvesting.

This poem died several times on its way to you. So here we are, gathered here today, on this day of kayfabe, pyro, and hogwash:


Version I

’24 Dedication: long game

When it’s still waters run deep
Happy Birthday, Baby. Hot
chocolate and Chicago hot dogs
under the cheese moon
my driving makes you swoon

… rather, green-gilled. Sorry,
Baby, roll down the window
A rank sulphur, I won’t hold it
against you, my little pooh-bear.

At the game, all the adoring fans
armed with the livestream
camera glued, a homemade poster
says ‘i love you, Please gimme
your puck.’
This gal ran all the way
from Vancouver, as
The Proclaimers sangeth.
She trembled with it
back to her seat,
before the drop
and I could not understand
why tremble so before any man?

Yeah, I voted.
Who do I vote for
to end this genocide?

When one of my least favorite
words is shareholder-I spit-
Dusty Rhodes warned us
about management-their gifts
after all these years of hard work
a cheap watch and a laughing
kick in the ass.

Version II

’24 cesspool

Acting so nice
before the circular firing squad
Crickets
and leopards eating your faces.

When we’re locked in, alright.

Yap-Yap-Yap!!!
all you ever do-
HUSH!

When being popular is so
passé.

Oh please, there’s always speed
laying around in this country


When it got so dreadful,
I threw on some Hank Williams to brighten the mood.

Everybody’s reaching for their cigarettes again.

When the house is burning down,
have sex in it.

[when it’s politicians and proxies,
I am also petty-You venal, hateful
rodent-faced • old bat • bigot • bagman • motherfuck-]

When they remembered the fall
of Gondolin, then rocked and smoked
by the hearth, singing merry

Goddamn, I love ya.

When she told me,
Mama, we all have hearts.

. . . Why are you telling me this?
.
.
.
. . . I need to get out of here.

Version III

’24 Dedication: The long game (redux)

When I grew to understand 
the Menendez Brothers
a little better than before.
When I have seen
just how families eat
their young
at the drop of a hat.

suspicious, are you?
What am I up to?
why is she so quiet
all of a sudden?

When I am bleeding, too,
and that which must stanche
invades instead; banal cancer.
I'd cut it from the fabric
out like a cigarette burn
leaving scorch to mark your passing—

When all I needed was a walk.
When she asked, Mommy?
Do we have everything we need?

Yes, darling.
When I die, I know
it isn't over. I must
rest here a moment,

Before I pick up my quiver
wands, arrows
I look Death in the eye.

why is the grass so green
when it's gallowstime?


When I'm On FIRE.

jukebox

on repeat • repeat • repeat:

  • MEGAN ACT II
    • “Bigger in Texas” I mean, the rest of the album is spectacular, but this serpent has me in a choke.
  • GLORIOUS
    • “I LUV HER” T-Painnnnn. “I don’t wanna keep it on the low, I luv her. … Got damn I luv her.”
  • reactor compilation videos of Certified Boogeyman’s “Like That” > “euphoria” > “6:16 in LA” > “Meet the Grahams” > the three iterations of “Not Like Us” > “Watch The Party Die”

I started buying CDs again. No commercials, endless repeats and skips. I can yearn and delve passionately. I can hold the jewel case in my hands, I can admire the artistry up close.

Some more albums I’ve been loving of late:

  • A Love So Beautiful: Roy Orbison & The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
    • I got this one on vinyl; long been on my list and when I found it at Val’s Halla (Thanks, Val!), I felt that thrill of meant-to-be.
    • I love how the music fills the house like a hearth. I love feeling it in my chest.
  • Born in the U.S.A.
    • Just listened to this the first time all the way through. An inherited album, I didn’t realize “Dancing in the Dark” (my original favorite Springsteen song) was on there!
    • “Cover Me”
    • “I’m On Fire”
    • “I’m Goin Down”
  • Toucan Do It Too!, The Amazing Rhythm Aces

out of the past [diary archive]

Standard
diaric, poetry

’24 rope bunny bratmobile

Photo by Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash

When it’s a playful sun. A fistful.
That’s how I clean now, with my fist.

When a friend brought me here.
1993 but I’ve been here before but
I didn’t know what to listen for.
The pink rotary phone
cradled to me with my patience and
devotion for you. Please.


When it was Jim Carrey, revisited, unbidden;
movies and acorns; a pocket
brought me here.
Eat your hat—a lotus leaf
—catching into jumping fire
into your arms, you fly.

When she can tell me herself her first
favorite movie,
favorite song:
The Dance of the Happy Forest Sprites
& The Monster Who Loves You


—When you’re not crazy, it is indeed
war crimes upon war
crimes upon war crimes upon
War crimes upon war—


spinning Sundaze with my pufffluff baby orange
tiger tree-watching under the orchid bough.

When the nickel jukebox takes a dime
so it’s lowpoly slowerpace and his green erotic
bray for me. Crawling home to me.

When I belong in ‘90s London [rave piano]
When I belonged—the canary horse cottage
working-dog-shattered windowglass-and-frame
When you belong you know: tears spring.

When you tell us you're above it all
you show us how boring.

Stay in the pocket. When you Stay
in the pocket surfing
barrels-to-thread out of pocket
slipping a stitch ride the needle singing
Now is the time to stand out,
Powerline. Now is the time to count.

When [REDACTED]
—that was some heat there.
How bout it, Laocoön? My teeth / like butter to flesh like you. / You won’t feel a thing.
Anyway, Thank you, Natasha Richardson, for saving my life every time with your hug.


Now that I’ve blown off some steam—

[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:


jukebox:

Standard
diaric, poetry

’24 sleep in, neighbor

perfect blueberry muffins | smitten kitchen
[Scales I]
let it steep, let me weep
let me under
our birth swims creep

When the camphor tree spells
tells me <<we're home>>

When outside of therapy,
I still love me.

When standing, even alone,
I still have roots. They grow

When the horns become a ring
a big light monocle, I see.

When this baby calls out
the flight of the airplane

When the definition of moonfull
is the snow

When soil at the same time sings vetiver
straining credulity, springing too soon?,
straining seasons into new
expectation Which will confound you again.

Where I see strangers
She says ‘hey there neighbor!’

When I won’t wake, when i weep
from dreaming, the dream is decided

When your body is your mind,
So, move it, animal.

Orgiastic, his green branches
and his That Voice rutting with me

When we sang together feeling the swim
Coming for our bones, the hot dogs
of summer and the culling hounds
of winter. When the snow

returned to us for one—night of our first fire
borne sacral in our seasoned house,
the babe's a’rest at the top of the stairs.
Warm blanket, warm sun to rise in her corner.


[Scales II]
When you see me, cold
as stone, I'm still
your blood, now go on, go
Go ahead cry
with that lone eye
the other I plucked, trust
my warning was kind.
It's not for me to steal your losses.

When I run again.
My Hokas burning up
and my favorite music
when it's my pleasure, my strength
no escape.

[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:


jukebox:


On February 25, 2024, Aaron Bushnell self-immolated outside of the Israeli Embassy in Washington, D.C. in protest of U.S. complicity in the ongoing genocide of Palestinians.

TW: image of self-immolation to follow in…

3…

2…

1…

Picture of Aaron Bushnell self-immolating with the following text from the Economic Times article:   Before his planned self-immolation, Bushnell reportedly sent a message to media outlets stating, “Today, I am planning to engage in an extreme act of protest against the genocide of the Palestinian people.” He also reportedly live-streamed the act on Twitch, which has since removed the video for guideline violations. “I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I’m about to engage in an extreme act of protest,” Bushnell repeated, as he walked towards the [Israeli] embassy, “but compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.” After dousing himself with liquid and reaching for his lighter, unidentified law enforcement or security officers could be heard asking off-screen, “can I help you?” After setting himself aflame, he repeatedly shouted, “Free Palestine.”
Credit: Twitter

I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I’m about to engage in an extreme act of protest. But compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.

—Aaron Bushnell

Video with segment of Bushnell’s livestreamed protest here; does not show the self-immolation.

I admire Aaron Bushnell’s code of honor and personal integrity and bravery. Rest In paradise, dear soul.

With love,
Kate

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