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.
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:
[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…
3…
2…
1…
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.
the soundtrack to my waking was j’ai été au bal my night viewing is a nightingale luring a fox.
this afternoon, the historian referred to the wantons as rams in spring. this afternoon of the phlebotomist’s atrocities. blaming a baby for your carelessness. how dare you. “her veins are too tiny”; you didn’t even give her bandages. how dare you. you gave up halfway. on each arm!
stories in my stack: the moors, wives & children, cassettes of a growing voice there’s an offer on the table.
when invitations are for the giving and the taking.
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 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 you’re on call and the demo’s done; coffee and poetry on the deck in the morning; when the sun lights your courage and you say hello; when time is a river, a river moving through you– ajoy–when the door is ajar…
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.
–applause -plause, live for thee applause -plause, live for thee … when you’re up to quarantingz in WWC and spring sprungs and RAM is nigh and climbing up the mountaintop is the only–
![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 