SOBRE ESTE EPISÓDIO
I’ve had enough of new names, new ways of trying to stop time,
it just creates more sleet in the steep curves of my pale existence,
of ways to prod and avoid the emotions that rock the course of
my continuance, which is entirely filled with paper birch trees—
during the short window available, my entity responds to anything
with the word “paper,” gets me mapping the “just was” page.
I wanted to have deeper words about the Caribou, new designations
that would help me “see,” but writing is always a walk in the dark,
dependent on the will of my body, including that variable, the brain.
If I had soft velvet horns and warming fur I might be okay with my
scattered disposition, instead I take umbrage with the time allotted—
the image of the glam reindeer in the cartoon I saw as a child, and
my fear of extinction in the future. What I learned then as we shifted
from one school to another, was the motto “adapt or die,” isn’t that
true of all of us? Especially for those stuck in migration patterns?
I thought it would change once I became an adult, could control my
own movements. I took stock of the temperature, tried to be kind.
The voyage can be one into lower realms, but that’s one of choice.
I want to excuse myself all the time and make adjustments, change.
I got stuck in the branches of the forest and had no herd to guide me.
I got here, for now, to a desk and typing—the entity with my name never
imagined months in the silence of a temporary haven. Most of the time
I look back at what can be culled so that I can mine it on paper or
communicate with you. From the first I wanted to please and repair
the scar, wanted her to see me, but the chaos around the musical
was full of wild animals and shadows. My body will evolve to cope,
or just end up in trampled grass. Remind me of where I want to go.
Oh yes, those northern landscapes where we won’t be dying of thirst.
————————————–
Eléna Rivera called us from New York, NY.
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it just creates more sleet in the steep curves of my pale existence,
of ways to prod and avoid the emotions that rock the course of
my continuance, which is entirely filled with paper birch trees—
during the short window available, my entity responds to anything
with the word “paper,” gets me mapping the “just was” page.
I wanted to have deeper words about the Caribou, new designations
that would help me “see,” but writing is always a walk in the dark,
dependent on the will of my body, including that variable, the brain.
If I had soft velvet horns and warming fur I might be okay with my
scattered disposition, instead I take umbrage with the time allotted—
the image of the glam reindeer in the cartoon I saw as a child, and
my fear of extinction in the future. What I learned then as we shifted
from one school to another, was the motto “adapt or die,” isn’t that
true of all of us? Especially for those stuck in migration patterns?
I thought it would change once I became an adult, could control my
own movements. I took stock of the temperature, tried to be kind.
The voyage can be one into lower realms, but that’s one of choice.
I want to excuse myself all the time and make adjustments, change.
I got stuck in the branches of the forest and had no herd to guide me.
I got here, for now, to a desk and typing—the entity with my name never
imagined months in the silence of a temporary haven. Most of the time
I look back at what can be culled so that I can mine it on paper or
communicate with you. From the first I wanted to please and repair
the scar, wanted her to see me, but the chaos around the musical
was full of wild animals and shadows. My body will evolve to cope,
or just end up in trampled grass. Remind me of where I want to go.
Oh yes, those northern landscapes where we won’t be dying of thirst.
————————————–
Eléna Rivera called us from New York, NY.
voicemailpoems.org/submit/
facebook.com/voicemailpoems
x.com/voicemailpoems
bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social
instagram.com/voicemailpoems
Inglês
Estados Unidos da América
TRANSCRIÇÃO 🔗
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OUTROS EPISÓDIOS NESTE PODCAST
Joy can survive climate change.
Radioactive baby crawling on all fours.
So full of movement and color.
Half the animals are gone, but baby
finds other creatures to play with.
Their gills are on the outside, their eyes
haunting and heterochromatic.
Their skin glows, too. Sharp, variegated
ecstasy.…
ài yɑ, I gasped
in a foreign language
he laughed, taking off my socks
toes without nail polish, he kissed
the sweat beads on my back
without a photographer
a woman in white dress
a man in linen suit
held the turquoise river
and their breath
fit bodies running shirtless
under the sun poured mol…
Warning: do not think this bed
will bear your weight across the bay.
What holds you at night
may not carry you in the morning.
The air might already be leaking. It may
not be what it seems. Run your hands
along the seams. Check every fold for hidden
faults. Feel for well-meaning pokes and jabs…
BERLIN (Reuters) - A swan has fallen in love with a plastic swan-shaped paddleboat on a pond in the German town of Muenster and has spent the past three weeks flirting with the vessel five times its size, a sailing instructor said Friday.
He's not half nuts, this German swan, to love
Something so …
Con·tain·er
/kənˈtānər/. (noun).
1. An object.
2. An object that can be used to hold.
3. An object that can be used to transport something.
Synonyms: Vessel.
Do you feel like a vessel?
Ves·sel
/ˈves(ə)l/. (noun).
1. Ship.
2. Hollow container.
3. Cask, Barrel, Ship.
I think of myself as a conta…
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EDITAR
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