slouching toward bethlehem

i resist stirring, opening my eyes, or thinking

as the dog wakes, and waits

i am in the center of another dawn-dream,
on the precipice of
experiencing some thing, of understanding some thing

but it cannot hold,

evaporating
with every
slouch toward consciousness

i open my eyes to
the grey of the room, to the dark white gyre of the sky through these generous windows
i open my ears
to the beat
of crystals pummeling these generous windows,
once and again, realizing
i possess slow thighs,
heavy lungs, a heavier heart,
an entire weighted mass,
and a mind — less than half-known / half-known

i want to re-bury myself in the warm sands of sleep, the enveloping weightless numb
and drift back to
the liminal/

this must be the
feeling
of the fully-gestated
unborn fetus, warm,
quiet, still
waiting to be born
yet resisting being known, moving on

Continue reading “slouching toward bethlehem”

Brunching Whilst the New Rome Burns

oh, these [neo]liberals
they love to be seen,
what’s the point of excess everything
if you ain’t seen by The Peers™️ or The Poors™️



they tell us we are unfortunates or degenerates, ambitionless, uneducated, lazy: we, mere mothers, workers, poors, caregivers, included with “the deplorables” — lumped together in the unmelting trash pot of America

“our” consumption has created islands of plastic in the Pacific ocean
and the dunes of clothing in the Chilean desert
our thoughtless, lowbrow Walmart and Target tastes,
our holiday shopping, and aspirational Disney World, Pigeon Forge, or Vegas vacations — our rare and short-lived “joy” until the credit card is full and the bill arrives / we don’t get to savor the memories — our joy quickly mutates into anxiety, over-time hours, debt, pain

whilst every single day — is their windfall, every day is their holiday,

their screens open to the financial page bookmarks first thing in the morning followed by local crime, never white-collared, though — never to poverty, hunger, oppression, genocide:

Continue reading “Brunching Whilst the New Rome Burns”

HOW DID CRAZY HORSE VOTE ? — Joffre Stewart


Pamphlet written, published and distributed by Joffre Stewart


HOW DID CRAZY HORSE VOTE? vers. 2024

a posthumous collab with Joffre Stewart, most respectfully & reverently

Which party would be better for Israel?
Red or Blue?
Trick Question!
Both, that’s who!

Which party would be better for The People?
Red or Blue?
Trick Question!
Both, hate you!

Did CRAZY HORSE vote his Lakota People out of Dispossession and Genocide?

Did BLACK PEOPLE vote themselves out of Enslavement and American Apartheid?

Did WOMEN vote themselves IRREVOCABLE Equal and Reproductive Rights?

Have the SOLUTIONS to human dispossession, oppression ever been secured at the polls
with votes of RED or BLUE?

LISTEN:

REVOLUTION has been the ONLY DURABLE AMERICAN SOLUTION.

Yet, childlike, playing at history,

& with the future

You color some ovals, You check a box,

And, deny this

TRUTH.

Continue reading “HOW DID CRAZY HORSE VOTE ? — Joffre Stewart”

birthday, poem i

i want, i need, tomorrow’s time
for myself, to re-birth my self
she said to her self
on October 28th

but on October 29th
the dog
the birds
the people
were
hungry, thirsty
at all different times
in all different ways
and so,
she was consumed, clocked, measured, and watched

like an ordinary, non-re-birthing day

still, she waits,

like a pregnant cinderella

for her water to break

Continue reading “birthday, poem i”

Open Letter to Americans

Dear Americans:

When you finally realize that the solution to the economy — rent and groceries (not the stock market, not your investment portfolio), to health and healthcare, bodily autonomy and reproductive rights, the climate crisis, to environmental destruction — of land, air, and water and biodiversity, to wealth inequality, to systemic racism/white supremacy, to colossal, empire-sized military and police budgets — and endless overt and proxy wars and ongoing GENOCIDE — CAN NOT and WILL NOT be found in the BALLOT BOX — blue or red,

— then what?

then, what will you do? will you hope to ride it out quietly with whatever measure of privilege you possess (white male, white adult, middle-classed, usefully employed in the systems of government or institutions of political or corporate power)?

Will you finally rise up and do the necessary-yet-awful, brave, brutal and hard work to resist and fight — like every dignified human collective across history and even today — like the Palestinians? Like the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho? Like the Maroons of Haiti — or will you be like the Germans — roll over, fall in line, bide your time — hope they come for your neighbor or coworker instead; maybe even turn them in?

This “nation is a massacre”, it always has been

for tens of millions of people right here of and on this land — and for hundreds of millions globally — even if that excludes you and yours (for now).

Enough of this profane American existence.

Enough already.

Continue reading “Open Letter to Americans”

ATTN: AI Data/Content Trawler [or, Human Reader]:

No part of the original writing, photos or any other content on this website aka the “blog” titled “The Limineen” or formerly known as the “The Velveteen Poet” or “The Accidental Seeker & Intentional Opiner” may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever for the purpose or intention to train artificial intelligence [AI] technologies, systems or language models;

additionally, all writing, photographs, uploads, screenshots, video files, audio files, or artworks are the sole copyright of the author, or were published with explicit or implicit permission,

— unless otherwise noted, linked or attributed;

the author expressly reserves all rights to the original content and works published on this website and all published works anywhere online including social media, and reserves rights from reuse without permission and attribution — and from any text and data mining exception laws.

*this post was inspired by Penguin Random House Books newly updated standard copyright page as reported by The Verge.

Continue reading “ATTN: AI Data/Content Trawler [or, Human Reader]:”

Hope

one can tell a little
maybe even, a lot

about what “hope” means to someone

as the garden’s fruits and blooms
are winding down,
on verge of frost,
light or hard

in October

will they glean the last remnant of the apples and pears from the trees for sauce, butter or crisp

or will they leave them be
for
the deer,
rabbits
raccoons,
possums
or marmots

will they cut the last of their garden’s
snapdragons, borage,
zinnias, marigolds, amaranth
and bring them indoors to fill vases for their temporary gaze

or will they leave them be
that,
an errant
monarch,
red admiral,
honeybee,
moth
or hummingbird

may find
a hibernation,
migration,
or last supper
meal

a sweet sustenance
an oasis lifeline
a traveling mercy

Continue reading “Hope”

phenology II

lilacs re-leaf, re-bloom
in October
hummingbird moths feed,


common lilacs [Syringa vulgaris]
— not cultivars —
in unprecedented re-leaf and re-bloom
October 12, 2024


and simultaneously,

She’s un-be-coming a human be-ing

She’s destined to,

we’re destined to, too


no
need to
tell me, explain
what’s happening

as constant witness,

as constant, remote witness to slaughter,

as constant gardener,

as constant tender,

as constant daughter,


i see.

i recognize.

i know,

Continue reading “phenology II”

ghosts

if you’re seeing this, you’re alive,

though dying — no matter your age, health, relative safety, relative comfortability —

on this living, though suffering and actively dying, planet

Earthlings and Earth together in a protracted hospice

right now, in these brief years, these grief years,

we are the “ever-living ghosts of what once was”

a “was” that most all of us alive this morning have never known as lived experience — save for the untouched tribes — 10,000 Uncontacted Peoples — 10,000 unsystematized, “uncivilized”

and the Ocean, and the few, still-standing Ancient One Trees; the untouched Desert, and the Mountains — even the youngest of them — The Tetons and The Himalayas, know what it “was” to be alive.

we are mere ghosts, walking dead.


Continue reading “ghosts”

hush


Israel Is A Rogue Terrorist Entity

Israel is a rogue terrorist entity. And it’s coming to a municipality near you by way of dozens of militarized cop cities — pigs trained by the IDF and Unit 8200 — empowered by algorithms and AI analyses — and the never-expiring, always-expanding Patriot Act.
So, you think you’re safe because you’re not in a paramilitary; because you’re a good type of “citizen”?
maybe you think you’ll go abroad, become an ex-pat?
but where to go, American Pariah?
you think you’re safe because
you’re not in the resistance? (yet)
you’re not an activist — against genocide? against environmental and climate destruction? against systemic injustice? (yet, yet, yet)
you’re not hungry or thirsty or homeless? (yet)
your loved one hasn’t been brutalized or executed by police or the national guard? (yet)

We are living in a

Philip K. Dick-ian World.


Continue reading “hush”

the apple pickers

when the Sun reaches the precise height
above horizon,
then arrive the tawny-bodied apple pickers and gleaners/
stilts for legs,
i count twenty limbs in tree camouflage/
bypassing the bushel and the sack
the bounty of fruit down into their bellies //

ears like SETI,
searching for sounds of hoof-less life — canine or primate in the universe
and also, for movement of my unseen, yet intense presence —my breath and pulse slowed, just above, just beyond them —

but i am not in a tree stand/ i brandish no shotgun, no ray gun ///

how rare, these ones are among us,

— among we Earthlings :

silent, gentle and elegant ///

they linger in the morning gold as it stretches West to the lake and evaporates too quick into its blues/

i linger in the dark cool of the open bedroom window, facing North

my senses also honed — and sated//

on this eve of August’s ides,

autumn has not trespassed on the summer,
but was intentionally summoned ///


apple-picker in the morning
on the eve of
August’s ides
2024

tenuous

it may feel

tenuous

so much of this seems predicated on phantom 1s, zeroes, grids & presidents

remember what is true, what is real

a deer ambling into the bramble of an overgrown blueberry patch
at last light
a trail of fireflies sparkling behind her like a golden bridal veil

there are deer, there are fireflies, there are blueberries, still

children around your table, grandchildren or a dog underfoot
cotton and wool
flint, boots,
a cache of seeds, oils, a pantry full of grains and beans, bundles of dried herbs, a cellar of roots
a deep well, a spring, or a stream and some vessels
steel, wood, stone, charcoal
pictographs, petroglyphs

cell-deep stories

strings, drums, flutes

a few poems — memorized, recited, improvised

hands near your own as you
birthe, work, live, fight, grieve, survive — and then die

and right now, in this exact moment

Continue reading “tenuous”

imprint

be careful,
some, caution:

there’s risk
they may imprint on you
and never fledge

be careful,
i, caution:

there’s risk
i may imprint on you
you may imprint on me

and one day, we will know
severed skies / severed from each other

you will fly, and, i will stay

yet, we will never fully-fledge
from
the acute nourishment, the acute hunger

from the enduring gravity

of
each other

Continue reading “imprint”

proof of life | awkward family fotos


a suspension

of borrowed time & life


recipe and method for feeding a baby starling

recipe:

one-half of a medium-boiled large egg, super finely diced

3-4 sardines canned in water, with all the bones and skin, gingerly rinsed under a thin stream of tap water, to remove excess salt, laid atop a paper towel
to passively drain the water,
then, finely chopped

mash sardines and egg together,
then slowly add up to 1 teaspoon of unsweetened organic apple sauce,

the mash should be integrated and mostly smooth
but not too wet or runny


store in sealed glass container refrigerated for no more than 2.5 days

(increase to whole boiled egg and full can of sardines and extra applesauce — and increase mash chunkiness as bird grows)

to feed:

fill a plastic drinking straw with the food,
by pumping the straw up and down into the mash with suction

warm the filled straw in hand while wearing a disposable glove to bring the mash close to room temperature

gently but quickly eject tubes/ribbons of mash into baby bird’s mouth as she gapes for food - like toothpaste on toothbrush almost; it’s daunting at first; she is so demanding! so loud! so urgent!
so hungry!

she will stop gaping when full

wash straw and reuse
(DQ & Five Guys straws are wide, flexible and work best)

repeat feeding every half hour, then eventually every hour or so, about 300 times over the course of next three weeks

to thrive:

during that time create and whistle to her a short, 3-4 note, unique song to recognize your voice

love her, talk to her,
encourage her, comfort her,
and hold her, carry her outside to see the world she will soon enter

also during that time: bring her small worms, slugs and insects to taste and/or eat / you will need to manually reduce them to be digestible for her, at first

then teach her to forage and hunt for them herself; she will use her beak as a shovel to unearth them and poke at and sever them with her beak
;
watch her back while she’s busy doing this - be her wingman!

she will teach herself to bathe and sun, fluff, dry and preen


one day she will hop, sputter-fly into the grass, into the garden; into the bramble or tall grasses

then, she will fly and soar - high into the trees, beyond your reach, sight or protection

you will worry about predators and bird bullies, weather, machines, injury and hunger


you will listen for her voice
and whistle and call for her

sometimes you will hear her;
but she will always hear you; she knows your face, form, voice and song

she will still come home for supplemental feeding


she will still come home to sleep in her nest box inside the barn overnight because being a baby bird alone in the world - is exhausting

being a mother bird, even moreso

she will come back, again and again.


she is just pure joy.
she is pure trust.

you are so lucky to have experienced her first weeks of life

you rescued her; but she has restored you, in fact.

please know,

always remember, and never forget:

every bird you see, every wild mammal you see, they all initially survived because of a very devoted mother

Continue reading “proof of life | awkward family fotos”