Who's combed the ocean for empty bottles, cheap sunglasses?
For my brother's birthday, he got the present of a negative COVID-19 test result, so I will finally see him in person this weekend for the first time in five months. I plan to hand him an IOU for some rubbish advice demons.
This evening I left the house with![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch for the first time in three days. Almost no one we met on the street was wearing a mask, which with the rising numbers in Massachusetts does not hearten me. What is the point of spending all this time not self-destructing if other people are going to take care of it for me? In any case, I took a few pictures.
The starfish dice from yesterday, courtesy ofyhlee. I really love them.
I had hoped to catch the late sun illuminating the overlap of the petals, but I think the flower just decided to synedoche itself in there instead.
I always thought these trees were a kind of sumac, but I am no longer confident. [edit: It's a mimosa!] The brilliant pink feathers of their blossoms make me think of flowers I saw in Hawaii, the spring of the April Fool's Day Blizzard.
I just liked these hydrangeas very much, brown-curling edges and all.
Look at the patina on that fire hydrant! It's a real antique.
We'd walked by this gap between buildings many times and never seen the gate unlocked. It made a portal through the alley.
A snake-stone with its guardian.
A nice angle of light up the bricks of Langmaid Terrace. I had hoped to photograph the name itself stamped into the face of the building, but someone with no mask and no personal space came up fast behind us and instead we moved on.
It is the seventy-fifth anniversary, too, of the bombing of Hiroshima, along with the bombing of Nagasaki the only use of nuclear weapons in war to date and I want this planet—this country—to keep it that way. The closest thing I have ever written to a ghost poem for this history is "The Trinitite Golem," which can be found in Clockwork Phoenix 5 (2016) and Forget the Sleepless Shores (2018). The hibakusha are still speaking for themselves and I don't know who's listening. Living memory is much less of a safeguard than I used to think it was.
This evening I left the house with
spatch for the first time in three days. Almost no one we met on the street was wearing a mask, which with the rising numbers in Massachusetts does not hearten me. What is the point of spending all this time not self-destructing if other people are going to take care of it for me? In any case, I took a few pictures.
The starfish dice from yesterday, courtesy of
yhlee. I really love them.
I had hoped to catch the late sun illuminating the overlap of the petals, but I think the flower just decided to synedoche itself in there instead.
I always thought these trees were a kind of sumac, but I am no longer confident. [edit: It's a mimosa!] The brilliant pink feathers of their blossoms make me think of flowers I saw in Hawaii, the spring of the April Fool's Day Blizzard.
I just liked these hydrangeas very much, brown-curling edges and all.
Look at the patina on that fire hydrant! It's a real antique.
We'd walked by this gap between buildings many times and never seen the gate unlocked. It made a portal through the alley.
A snake-stone with its guardian.
A nice angle of light up the bricks of Langmaid Terrace. I had hoped to photograph the name itself stamped into the face of the building, but someone with no mask and no personal space came up fast behind us and instead we moved on.
It is the seventy-fifth anniversary, too, of the bombing of Hiroshima, along with the bombing of Nagasaki the only use of nuclear weapons in war to date and I want this planet—this country—to keep it that way. The closest thing I have ever written to a ghost poem for this history is "The Trinitite Golem," which can be found in Clockwork Phoenix 5 (2016) and Forget the Sleepless Shores (2018). The hibakusha are still speaking for themselves and I don't know who's listening. Living memory is much less of a safeguard than I used to think it was.
no subject
I can see how that happened and that's also amazing.