Dig

  • Which holds enchantment round each hiddenbend

    Let us go back together to the hills. 
    Weary am I of palaces and courts, 
    Weary of words disloyal to my thoughts,—
    Come, my belovèd, let us to the hills.

    Let us go back together to the land, 
    And wander hand in hand upon the heights;
    Kings have we seen, and manifold delights,—
    Oh, my beloved, let us to the land!

    Lone and unshackled, let us to the road 
    Which holds enchantment round each hiddenbend, 
    Our course uncompassed and our whim its end, 
    Our feet once more, belovèd, to the road!

    Song: Let Us Go Back, Vita Sackville-West


    https://birdbird.tumblr.com/post/144462549091/daido-moriyama-and-peony-by-xdanielalex-on
    https://birdbird.tumblr.com/post/144475869216/duo-collage-jeanarp-sophietaeuberarp-1918
  • hold it in your hands, rub your fingers across its grooves


    by way of entry you sit with an object, hold it in your hands, rub your fingers across its grooves. you close your eyes, not so much an act of faith as it is an attempt to focus the senses, to see what knowing might be made available through a haptic relationship. it is only a wallet. it is empty. Reginald Jerry Clark would leave this for Regina, she in turn would leave this for you. she teaches you not to speak ill of the dead, to not speak of them at all, so there is no ceremony around the absence. 

    a black rail worker was born in 1913, served as a porter for The Great Northern Railroad for 25 years and retired without pension. he died some time later. in 1913 there was a rail worker, a porter he served on The Great Northern Railroad and died some time after retirement. a black rail worker died and came back a porter, he retired without pension he died. a black worker was born a porter for the railroad he died and came back as a quarter mile of track. a black rail worker worked and railed and died and retirement was always later, later. 

    you work with words, which unlike the wallet, is not a material you touch, but you wonder if in reordering them you might disrupt what is presupposed, if you might work something other than emptiness from their grooves. you’ve only failed at this. you are not yet a skilled enough practitioner of failure, and so you keep reordering them, to see what casts a shadow.

    [by way of entry you sit with an object], Chaun Webster

  • True words end; lies extend.

    Even half-blind men
    hope to see again.

    True words end;
    lies extend.

    via Proverbs

  • bars travel to the United States by citizens of


    A sweeping travel ban targeting African and Middle Eastern countries takes effect Monday.

    [The President of the US] on Wednesday signed a travel ban on 12 countries, primarily in Africa and the Middle East, resurrecting an effort from his first term to prevent large numbers of immigrants and visitors from entering the United States.

    The ban, which goes into effect on Monday, bars travel to the United States by citizens of Afghanistan, Myanmar, Chad, the Republic of Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Eritrea, Haiti, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and Yemen.

    via NYTimes (June 4, 2025, 8:52 p.m. ET).

    There’s also a list of exceptions, including green card holders, dual citizens, athletes traveling to the U.S. for the World Cup or the Olympics, and others. See who’s exempted.

  • take whatever kindness you can find


    Yes, of course, 

    in the end so much comes down to privilege 

    and its various penumbras, but too much 

    of our unruly animus has already been 

    wasted on reprisals, too much of the

    unblessed air is filled with smoke from 

    undignified fires. Oh friends, take

    whatever kindness you can find

    and be profligate in its expenditure

    Be Kind, Michael Blumenthal

  • Wild nights!


    Wild nights – Wild nights!

    Were I with thee

    Wild nights should be

    Our luxury!

    Futile – the winds –

    To a Heart in port –

    Done with the Compass –

    Done with the Chart!

    Rowing in Eden –

    Ah – the Sea!

    Might I but moor – tonight –

    In thee!

    Wild nights – Wild nights!, Emily Dickinson

  • a widget into the machinery of doubt


    Writing is a kind of loving. Loving sticks a widget into the machinery of doubt.

    The End Is the Beginning, Mónica Gomery

  • If he need him some rest or to confide in the horizon

    I cringe when he curses my heros
    I cringe when he talks like nero

    Sodden
    Sweepin his puddly tears
    Crying like he been sweepin for years

    But I hear him
    And know
    Somewhere
    He’s not entirely so wrong

    But I cannot blame him
    And I will not shame him

    Only holyest praise
    Like stilts or boat boots

    So he can ride in with the tide
    If he need him some rest
    Or to confide in the horizon

    Because some people have shadows
    But I got Broom Sweeper Man—

    Resentful and honest

    from Most People Have Shadows But I got Broom Sweeper Man, Basie Allen. Iterant, Issue 8.

    Palm-Lined with Potience. Ugly Duckling Presse, 2025.