Today Nesiller tagged me to the “40 Things I Love” challenge. To use Nesiller’s words, “It was difficult for me to list all the things because there are more than 40 of them. But anyway, let’s begin.”
Please read this article by Brandon Anderson. He shares the difficulties he himself has had in getting motivated to vote, but also the reason why he voted in this election anyway.
I do not like politics. I don’t like writing this post. And yet I feel I have to. We can complain and worry all we want but ultimately it’s us that makes a difference.
Please vote today if you’re an American, and/or share the voting message/remind your network even if you’re not.
Now is the time to take action. Make a choice and use your voice. If for no…
I was seated next to the host. I wore a pink wig and black boa; he wore ghoulish makeup and a faux knife through his head.
I wasn’t happy about it, at the time. He was expounding, directly to me, on religion and why it was all bad, and why it was ridiculous to believe in God.
Didn’t he know me, after all these years? Why were we having this conversation, especially in this manner?
I couldn’t face it. I felt grumpy and worn out. I felt the doors of my mind slamming shut, as in a darkening tunnel.
Yesterday, while sewing Z’s green doll, I had the best time ever. Funny thing is I didn’t want to sew that green doll. It was sort of like sitting down to write or do any other thing that takes creative energy. You want to see the end result, you want to have done it, yes; but you’re blocked by laziness and the but-I-don’t-know-how’s and fear of not getting it right (how-can-I-make-it-perfect-before-I-even-begin) overwhelm.
Luckily, I had a deadline. One doll had to be finished by the end of that school day. The other (yes, another!) would be done the next day.
When you are sick
Of reading medium
And breathing medium
And seeing the same fucking articles
Shoved in front of your face
Day after day
That you don’t want to read
But do, finally, anyway
Because you are spiritually hungry
And tired of saying no
And you are afraid
And trying to numb yourself
And change yourself
And better yourself
And become more productive so that you can
Feel more OK with yourself
It is empty
It is never filled,
Made usual loop at neighbouring hamlet, passing highway, triangular intersection. Dead sparrow lay left edge of road, freshly killed by passing car. Perfectly intact. No second car’d come yet to mangle it. Must’ve been knocked while flying, in low swoop. Tend to do that, sparrows. Just in front of speeding cars.
Picked up delicately by tail feathers, letting still-supple body dangle from two fingers. Crossed road, gently tossed ’cross ditch, into tuft of dried grass, edge of field. Out of further harm’s way.
Let it gently land there; turned away to continue run. Saw in peripheries that sparrow’d fallen beautifully…
DON’T spend 10 years imagining yourself writing, while sitting around smoking, drinking, lying in bed, watching TV, or doing some other unproductive activity.
DO go to bed early, get up early, and write, first thing in the morning, every morning, before anyone else is awake, when there are no distractions.
DON’T let fear paralyze you. Fear of inconveniencing your family, fear of being interrupted, fear of writing badly. Nothing good comes of fear unless you use it to make positive change.
“There is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with…
It is a kind of skunk cabbage – does not appeal to everyone, no, these lysichiton that arise; to some people the odour is offensive, while to others, friends of the natural world, perhaps, the smell is fragrant and heady and musky all at once; they are the coming of spring at winter’s end, those flowers in the murky muds of southwestern Canada, where I once would walk around the forest ponds; and I would be alone with my thoughts, and with my heartaches and my joys, and I would stretch my arms wide, and I would deeply inhale the…
It is dark inside
the window frame.
of air and light,
soft thwacking sound
of seal break.
Two-legged monster rising,
sticking straw-thatched head
If we don’t see it
perhaps it won’t see us.
I crouch, silent over nest,
of growing larvae
Monster lowers head
to sit at desk,
we dream about her
(yes her not it, we think)
my sisters and I
as we continue
our busy work of
Nadine inhales & exhales words & images from her current vantage point in the Zone of Emptiness, France. If you wish to contribute and/or show appreciation, please clap and/or comment. Thank you for reading. 🖤
Medium articles on millennial
exhaustion (“everyone under 40” —
what about me? Does that mean
I’m millennial at heart
And does that mean
I’m immature or just
hyper tuned in? or out?)—
Does medium know
I was walking down the hill with
Z’s class after swimming
so tired so yearning
to be free as I always am
always feeling like a weird
slightly dim-witted kid
How do other people DO it?
How do they deal with life? How
does this teacher do it, or that
In my head the Answer said,
Nothing is as it seems.