Melancholy & Missing Lighters

  During my lengthy stay in Missouri, I'd done some work with the local flora. This included doing some basic research on the edibility of each plant. One of my favourite sites to research is Eat the Weeds, written and managed by Green Deane, a forager with a notable background in foraging and botany. I took particular note of Green Deane's remark regarding the name "Ambrosia" for the genus of ragweeds: "Ambrosia is usually translated into English as meaning “food of the gods.” ... Why a rather nondescript plant that is a prime allergen would be called Ambrosia is anyone’s guess. No hints were left."  (Source) I found that somewhat comedic. Ambrosia doesn't seem to be a particularly notable food source. Though the seeds are quite fatty and edible, Ambrosia may be more of a food for the gods. One morning, I'd been snacking on mulberries off of one of the several Morus alba  trees I'd become close to. I expressed my gratitude to the tree, when I ha...

 A disappointment from conception, Nurtured in filth and fear, Papa soiled mama's womb, And I am the stain she can't clean. Fled to greener lawns, With mama's curse on my tongue, Suppressed cries caught in my throat. The sun holds me in his eye, But his promise offers no solace, Seeking comfort in other outcasts, Romani psychics and carnival mystics. Formed from spilled fat, Countless white coffins swallowed by the earth, Drops of oil from flowers picked too soon, I see her curse in my dreams, Stir the mixture over the flame, Mother didn't teach me to make soap, But she surely showed me the way. Poisoned wine and a parched ax, Don't turn your nose to the cakes when your own fortune's soaked in blood, Take a bite,  I'm tired of your frivolous laughter, Have you ever slept in dirt? My portrait's gone up in flames, At least my sun and heart are safe from the monster I was born to be, How can love be enough when I'm not sure it's real? How can love b...

  I've been put up and put out for the past two months in Missouri. Several tragedies have befallen the family I've found here, and I'm still struggling with loss. This morning, as I walked down the dirt road with Brutter, I meditated on the transformation of my relations. I regarded the anger and resentment that has been tinting my world and eating away at my body. As I took notice of the parallels in my past and present, I collapsed to the ground, struggling to fill my lungs with air. When I managed to steady my breathing and settle my heart, I picked the parallels apart. After finding fear hidden behind the anger and resentment, the tears started pouring. Eventually, Brutter urged me back to my feet. Walking back down the road, we stepped up to the Morus alba (or more commonly called, "mulberry"). I took my time finding and picking off the ripe, easy to pluck off berries and popping them into my mouth. There was a certain sense of ease that settled into my hea...