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:
sonic bullion radio coming to you live from WKDC, juicy poetry and tales live from the crossroads. Stay wavy…
[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:
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…
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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.
hello darlings— My poem “my pretty redwood” now lives at Rat’s Ass Review’s Spring/Summer 2024 issue. It is an honor to be included in this collection of beautiful poetry and in this eccentric electric delightful poetry journal. I am grateful my poem has its new home. Thank you to Editor Roderick Bates. As ever, I hope you enjoy reading.
I. Myth Astride ice mountains, a mood daguerrotype of the demoted planet. Out in the cold swarmed by the wounded healer, the hateful river and the river’s cousin the serpentine of dreadful resilience. Shunted outside the galaxy. Still, we do not escape metamorphoses.
II. Home sphere It’s the neighbors again. Their drip annoys, their curb appeal draws your stomping boot. In This market? Pluto’s loyal diamonds advise "Buy!-Buy!-Buy! “It’ll never be so good again.” Interest pays some and cuts both ways.
Class wars was a cute joke but here are the keys— It ain’t no fucking game. Ain’t no fucking way. You will see. You will covet your lost privacy. Your only solace the delirium that you did not pay to give it away.
Déjà vu: closing the blinds.
III. Sisters, brothers When the real weight on you is the knock that you are not at home in your own body.
When the real work is to take space. Terrifying, no? Say, No. On your own behalf. That’s Enough.
When you act like it will kill you to tell her how you feel. That wall lies, BTW. No matter if you built it.
When it’s not peace. It’s liberation. Justification will only leave you colder. Desecrated cemeteries envy you. Now give over the keys everybody go home.
IV. Sonnez les matines When Elvis haunts me, his plaints his sad When I make my baby a peanut butter and banana milkshake to soothe those cutting teeth and I finally feel the love for The King. Power melted him. I hope he was earnest as I believe he was. I pray—whether he is an alien or dead—he is free.
V. Leave This is what power makes of me: a reach to god.
What offerings shall there be to Lord Death? Hmm… Did I mention I’m not into wine? Not this pale suburbia mama, no Sirree, sorry not sorry. I beg your pardon, but haven’t You had enough? Haven’t you been on the dole too long?
VI. The Secret Kick Her hiss is a kiss I'll eat it all up, please. I may be a Sag but I love me Thee Stallion.
This winter is unearthly beautiful despite the plagues, despite the genocide. Must be some of that Snow, Tina. Must be some of that pinkwash heart glow that the shareholders could never kill nor take. After all, This Is Regeneration Season for the next 20 years.
[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
When it’s her time./ when the first check is here&deposited in savings,/ When it’s her time./ when the pin drops through the camera lens,/ When it’s her time./ when it’s jockey in the mail,/ When it’s her time./ when I just want to listen to Nina Simone./ When It Is Her Time.
when it’s an ice storm,/ no power for longer than you can stand,/ when the verse is a nest, it must be/ to confess./ when i got a line out;/ bloodsworth and Proserpina./
when i remember my own tipping point. when you chalk yours up to a generation's desolation and clawing for something resembling control. weight. A carrying.
You are underneath, darling, now what can i do to help? Have a cookie. Have two. Get mad. Madder even. Loose the still. I became a derelict —that’s fine, i accept— by not keeping their ship afloat. I surrender, you’re asunder. Oh I must be so powerful.
Even now, I swim the same sea—yet vast, yet oracle; skim the surf while at bottom, the sands, the deep, and theirs eat the planks, the convoluted halls, the mezzanine. A clinic of leisurely reign.
In so deep you have to remind yourself the water is moving.
When it’s a deep pocket and my love keeping you warm, [i hope]; when the music of the land is the remaining wax, warmed the velvety petals by my window. when you are reminded of the mint cuddle blanket, —the warm maple syrup sound of her voice has gotten you through oh-so much.
when the belated gift is now arriving, when you gotta float all calm-like in the highest altitude, when even the dog bosses you around, (yep, still float) when authority falls down (yep, still float) and you look directly at the camera. (yep, still float)
when you put on your shades and ask who cares? the sun’s going to explode anyway
When you reeled in the support you have craved for longer than was necessary, when you will rest. When you will tender your skin, your bones, your body whole with warm water, scrubs and salt and lotions, with musics
a pair of blue-covered books (a song and a whale of a tale) the virginal moon, snow-full
and yes, it is snowing again. and yes, i was warned about today’s wrinkles and yet, the calendar insists–come to meet and I must spur on.
When they must be doing something wrong (a whole lotta cheating going on); when your butt’s sore (but improving) and the clog is deep in the line (but courage and determination must persist); when the Chief Justice is you, presiding over consecutive flurries
When this time of year: makes me think of rainbows because my twin is one; a horned mermaid underneath and a horned rising to your face. She’s the start of the wheel.
![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.”](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe7ee039d-5fcd-4b00-992b-2e03574689ae_1125x2000.jpeg "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.”")
kate carsella 