Yesterday’s video clips of war. An ugly war and all that came before. “Ugly”—a tired cliche—and true. The shudder of scary weeping as close as this phone in my hands.
Writing because I cannot watch
Category: settler colonialism
Pandemonium Journal 17/12/22 — of necropolitical conspiracy theorists, authoritarians, & fascists (things as they are in Alberta and abroad)
The bad guys and gals are winning too close to home.
Pandemic Journal 12/2/22: The Bridge – what yoga means to me
Yoga means “to yoke”, to join, to bridge. “Only connect”, wrote novelist E M Forester when I read his famous novel Howard’s End in my first undergraduate English class in 1969. My professor said: Only connect. For me, now more than fifty years later, yoga’s connections expand into a rejuvenation of the body and the mind. Yoga means holding out for more. Not giving up or giving in. It means giving up. Giving in. Yoga means sensual pleasure and the erotic spring. It means contemplative disembodied reflection. Yoga means somewhere between these spaces of opposition - an ease in whatever emerges.
Pandemic Journal 14/1/2022 — when your lover contracts COVID and isolates
At seventy, I ache for you at 3:02 Friday January 14. I will survive. Thrive even. Without you. For a few more days. But my body my being aches for you. The surface of my skin haunts your hands. Your tongue, your teeth. Tender blessings and the muscles under your fingers the arch of my… Continue reading Pandemic Journal 14/1/2022 — when your lover contracts COVID and isolates
Pandemic Journal 20/6/2020 — Happy Single Parent Day!
When the local florist, calls while you are in the bath to say they have hidden something behind your porch chair.... You discover a message from your beloved daughter.
Pandemic Journal 22/5/20-17/6/20 —“Gone Bananas” Notes From My Solitudinous Solitude
By day, I count the inequities now underscored and bathed in broad daylight by pandemic effects. The youth with no future. The aged warehoused in dead zones. The mothers whose workday suddenly expands with childcare, teaching, and at-home paid labour. For instance, in my old haunt - the university, academic women’s publications have fallen off precipitously since COVID-19 appeared. The pandemic operates like a magnifying glass of injustices. ...Once I went for walks in the ravine. Now I listen to the rain from underneath the covers. The monsoon that is late May and sometimes June promises to go on through the summer. My psychic drama.
No Gate No Lock 