Under zero circumstances are you allowed to click on the following link. LUCKILY, we have such a beautiful, loving, trusting relationship, that I realized that I didn’t have to worry about keeping it secret. So, for the benefit of all my other followers, here is the link to my Eden Project/all the slow and tedious work that I am doing on our camper.
Happy looking (except for youuuu, my most lovely!)!
p.s. Lover, I realize that this adds a whole new level of torture, so I am sorry for that. But, I loooveee you. ;)
‘Ello loves! I’ve been getting quite a few requests for train hopping information. The train culture seems to pride itself on being shrouded in secrecy/elitism. And, while I don’t really use this too often, I think it’s a great source of information for riders, railfans and hopefuls-alike. My friend put it together a while ago and since it’s out and about on forums on the internet, I thought I’d offer it up as well. Send me an ask with your e-mail and I’ll shoot you a copy.
Everything now is gold and blue.
The milk thistle dried up on the hillside,
honeysuckle sweet on my tongue,
but not close enough to the chamomile.
With bear hands I grab hold of what I have
and attempt to call it freedom.
I say this in a lisp, in a whisper,
in the secret Tongues of Spirit.
With bare feet I trod and tread,
kneel and kiss,
till the ground until the Earthworms come up
and say “Hey there, Great One. What do you have for me Teacher?”
They only writhe and wiggle in my sweaty palms
and search for more dust to fill their mouths.
I follow suit
and fill my mouth too
until I have enough to build a sand castle along the river.
When the Robin sings her song,
I lift my head every single time.
I wonder if their is any vanity in her,
or if there are still some pure and good things left.
my fires burn next to Eden
and the cats play games with other cats.
I twist and turn, cracking my bones from their weariness,
demanding myself to wake up and taste the Life wine.
The best days are when I listen.
There are a great many things to be done still
and no time for lazy men.
The Earth Mother calls out for Healers to come home to her.
I can hear her in the dark when my body craves lonely sleep.
My eyes do not close until I can remember what it is to feel satisfied.
so I looked into the pink, purple sunset
and saw only Cowiche Canyon flowers.
I saw all the different ways that my body fits with yours
and we create music and dancing.
How the g-ds can create color out of dry land and atmosphere.
I looked at my palms and found them wanting.
They are too calloused.
They are too lonely, without your hand to hold.
They do not even remember how to wrap their fingers around you,
but could find a way if given an opportunity.
I watched the moon grow again and again for the thousandth time
and thought of how many brothers and sisters
fall asleep with only their own bodies
just like me.
Explosions in the Sky said that the Earth Was a Cold, Hard Place,
but I can’t bring myself to believe them,
because it is almost Summer now
and in three and a half weeks
my body will not be so lonely as it is.
My fingers will be reminded of muscle memory
and laughter will light the sky,
the dust, the ground, the everything
just like it does in Cowiche Canyon.
There was a time when I was graced with wings.
Two sets. Four wings.
They were not mine.
They were Tabukeh and Siskiyou’s
and could only be called that by scientific definition.
When they first arrived
they were molty twigs that stuck out
from their mangy bodies
with little holes for mouths and throats that only begged for food.
I pretended that the sound of wanting food was the same as the sound of wanting love
and found that they wanted so much love.
I gave them love with tweezers that I stole from my grandmother’s bathroom and cat food soaked in water that I stole from Atlas and Fable.
Their wings and all their love-wanting only slept when I turned out the lights.
My wings and love-wanting never sleeps, but occasionally drift into dream states after long days working in the Sun.
My body grows tan in the Springtime and my muscles form around twigs that stick out from my body.
I admire them in the mirror sometimes, just after I turn out the lights
and the birds forget that they have wings,
that they love to fly and eat and be loved.
There are some days where I wish I were more like the birds,
so easily turned off and on like a light switch.
But it is Spring again and I am full of young Life blood
and my tan armWings flex under the weight of all this beauty
and I remember that it is much better this way.