Melancholy & Missing Lighters

 I had been avoiding talking about this because of how greatly it has left me shaken. But I'm beginning to feel ready to discuss it. Truthfully, I had some hint of a warning before Brutter's death. It was of a supernatural nature, though. So, whether or not you believe in this sort of occurrence, please let my tragedy stand as a cautionary reminder to take the omens you are shown with a little more urgency.  I don't discuss my connection with nature spirits very often on here, or anywhere online, or even with the people I am close to. It is a very personal experience, between myself and the spirits (I'll refer to them as "gods" sometimes, however, I'm referring to the same beings). But to make it clear, yes, in the events I am about to recount, I spoke to a lake and I heard them speak to me. Gichi Gami first spoke to me the first time I'd touched their waters. It was a pleasant meeting, albeit, a tense one. The lake felt like they were holding back, ke...

 I once again am late to posting about another video upload. Now, one may ask themselves, why would she post about video on a blog that nobody reads? Or how did I end up on the ancient side of the internet? Or even, where do squirrels go during hurricanes? I can only answer the first question. I simply like to maintain something of an archival on my blog of my works. This includes, of course, my videos. Really though, I should probably keep the videos themselves on here as well. I think that's what I'll do, yes, just in case they're taken down from YouTube for some reason or another. They're by no means exemplary demonstrations of the art of dance, but I'm pretty proud of myself for actually making videos of something I love. It's taken me years to work up the nerve to even attempt to record myself dancing. In other news, living day-by-day is still rough. I'm still working with little to no desire to continue living. Dancing and singing gives me something to...

The air is cooler, the light wind singing with distant voices, and leaves are beginning to shower down. Autumn has arrived and so has October. As I've already said, I will not be doing anything for this month on the blog. I have, however, been pondering the question many people seem to be asking themselves: why does Halloween feel less magical? There are plenty of videos and articles discussing the depressing reality of adulthood, the lack of enthusiasm by society as a whole, and even the lack of any real community to actually celebrate with. From my position, there's not much I can do to fix it. But the one thing that has helped me reconnect a bit with that old secure and magical feeling is watching Halloween specials and Halloween/autumn themed movies. So, I've pieced together a playlist of Halloween specials and movies that I enjoy. I've also included loads of episodes of R.L. Stine's The Haunting Hour (I'm still adding new ones. Apparently, I am not caught u...

 Looks like I totally forgot to make a blog post about the third dance video I've uploaded. To be fair, I've been wanting to drop off the face of the earth, so haven't really been feeling up to maintaining everything. Anyhow, here's a quick little update: We left my relatives' place and hit the road again. Attempted to hop into New York, only to mistakenly catch a local that dropped us off almost thirty miles away from where we'd caught it. Since then (about maybe five days ago), we've been sleeping in a bush hoping the world would just explode. Electronics are losing juice, we're down to eating two packs of ramen a day, two weeks of rain are about to hit practically everywhere, and I'm still a healthy functioning body that won't do me the mercy of shutting down in my sleep. Honestly, I'm not doing well. I don't know how I'll ever be able to feel well again. Functioning is too much of an effort and the United States are real big on in...

Today, I have posted my second YouTube and dance video. It's a bittersweet feeling. In the video, I'm dancing to "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron. I've cried to the song numerous times, thinking about Brown Butter. I'd even started dancing to it while crying. So, I made a video dancing to it. It's a truly vulnerable video for me. The quality may be a bit grainy, but my tears were certainly pouring out as I danced. I'm vulnerable, and the dancing is sloppy (for multiple reasons). However, my grief is something I want to share. I feel as though that's common amongst humans. We want to share our grief, anger, joy, and every other emotion with other people. I have my issues with social media and what the internet as a whole has become, but, with how disconnected we've become, I'm grateful to at least have some connection through the internet. Even when nobody sees what I post, it still feels nice to get it out there. Since that first week witho...

I've been avoiding... Well, I've been avoiding just about everything. However, I've had almost an aversion to posting on my blog. I don't want much to do with Instagram either. I think it feels too lonely. YouTube, on the other hand, somehow, it manages to actually make me feel more connected to others.  Admittedly, ever since I lost Brutter, I've found myself, for the first time in my life, scared to be alone. I cannot even begin to express how deeply grateful I am to have someone like my road dog in my life. He's the first person who has ever truly understood how I feel and think. On top of that, he doesn't leave me, no matter how difficult our situation gets. He may not be the most perceptive when it comes to reading a room, but he still puts in so much effort to take care of others, including myself. I just don't really know how I would cope without him. Throughout my life, I've often felt the world to be empty and hopeless. Yet, I'd always h...

  Brown Butter is no longer of this world. On Saturday morning, my road dog and I woke up to the horrific sight of her tangled and dangling from a willow tree. Dead. I know that we did our best to keep her safe; we were vigilant and careful, but still failed. When I first decided to take her along with us, I said that I'd be responsible for her. I failed her. I failed to protect her. I failed to keep her safe. I failed to give her the many years of love and happiness that she deserved. I failed. I brought her along in the first place because she was a stray. She was a very affectionate creature. She craved warmth and affection. Each night, she'd curl up at my chest. Each day, she'd jump from the mattress I was on to the pull out couch my road dog was on. Making her rounds screaming for pets and scratches. The owner of the farm was too busy, even for his own favourite cat. The clowder of cats running around there received little attention. It just broke my heart to think...

I uploaded my first YouTube video yesterday! Making YouTube videos is something I've contemplated since I was a preteen (I think most of us who grew up with YT share that experience). I mean, I have made poetry videos in the past, but they appear to no longer exist (I don't even remember which email I used). I have attempted several times to make videos of just talking, but I struggle with stage fright. I can have conversations with myself lasting hours, but stick a camera in front of me and I freeze. I can freestyle dance smoothly and elegantly (for an amateur), but when a camera's thrown into the mix, I go stiff and forget most moves I know, automatically repeating the same moves over and over. I really want to connect more through YouTube. More dance videos, maybe some vlogs, essay and poetry readings, and hopefully I'll get up the nerve to make song recordings. Anyhow, after years of wanting to make a video of myself dancing, I finally managed to make a clip that I ...

  (Source) ((I know I specifically share poems on the full moon, and this is an excerpt from a novel. However, Seiler is a poet and that much is certainly reflected in his poetic prose.)) Mavin poured a small pile of seeds in his left hand. Each seed felt like a tiny vibrant city. He thought of Kep and thanked her for saving him. He thought of Lars and Trish and his mother. He thought of his grandfathers and his people. He thought of the whole wide world once full of ten billion souls. The soft damp earth smelled alive and sweet. He opened his eyes. The silky mist around them began to rise. As the seeds sifted through his fingertips, Mavin let go of his old view of the world. Facts and figures were cardboard. Existence was a burning, roiling, continuous funeral and birth--immeasurable. He walked in a spiraling circle feathering the living grains thru his fingers. Seiler, Mark Daniel. River's Child , Owl House Books, 2018, 144-145.

 It has come to my attention that I have made a mistake. I have been misidentifying Morus alba as Morus rubra. I had even made posts referring to them incorrectly multiple times (they have since been edited). Now, I've encountered mulberry trees all over the northeast out to Iowa. So, when I was first attempting to identify the species, I only really focused on finding trees that are native to North America. I found one: Morus rubra. The pictures I'd found of Morus rubra looked pretty similar to the mulberry trees I've seen and eaten berries from, excepting the berries themselves. More specifically, Morus rubra berries appeared to be longer. But you know what my dumbass did? I shrugged it off and figured the mulberries look like that when the trees are older. This mistake wasn't too bad. Morus alba is still edible, in fact, just about all the species of the genus Morus are edible (I'd made certain of that much at least). Yet, this mistake has been a nice little wake...

  We'd ended up getting to Niagara Falls later than expected and got caught up in a rain storm. After ducking under several business front awnings, we stumbled upon what Google Maps had marked as "The Turtle: Native American Center for the Living Arts", only, it was a vacant building. It was perfect due to it having an awning and lacking employees to tell us to "Fuck off and get soaked". Upon settling underneath, I did some internet research. Named after its exterior having been built in the form of a turtle, the building is an homage to the land it sits on, Turtle Island; from the Haudenosaunee creation story of Sky Woman. It was designed by Northern Arapahoe architect, Dennis Sun Rhodes. Apparently, the Turtle had been a center for the local Native community. It had been created with the idea of preseving and promoting traditional and modern Native American culture, specifically the arts. Native American Center for the Living Arts (NACLA) was an organization ...

  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...

 When will your skin become a memory of which I'll be forced to fruitlessly claw for? I dread the day my fingers reach for you and only find the cold hard floor. Even as you sleep beside me, my body aches to wrap around yours.

  Last night, alone with a wise elder, I said,  Please. Do not hold back from telling me any secrets about this universe. Leaning near, he spoke into my ear, Some things cannot be told or understood, only seen and lived wisdom. Coleman Bark's Commentary: Bawa used to talk about the taste of what he knew. In the Preface to Book II of the Masnavi Rumi quotes the Arab saying, He who does not taste, does not know. Mevlana Rumi (1207 - 1273) Translated by Coleman Barks Cousineau, Phil (editor).  Burning the Midnight Oil: Illuminating Words for the Long Night's Journey into Day. Pg. 150. Viva Editions, 2013.

 I hope you are safe and as well as you can be. I find myself thinking of you every now and then, and I worry. I haven't heard from you, and I'm sure you have your reasons, but I worry, nonetheless. So long as you're alive, I can be content. I know how difficult it is to talk, even just a "hello". How heavy it feels beneath the expectations everyone seems to place on you. I've seen how you struggle, even when you put on a smile. It hurts to watch you, as I sit virtually powerless within my own limbo. You have your coping mechanisms, at least. I am grateful that they've kept you alive, even when they bring you closer to death. But that's our reality: indulging the taste of death as we struggle to live. I could never expect you to give that up, especially considering that I am not much better. I understand the futility of looking beyond and finding nothing. Yet the whole world seems to think it's as easy as just going to a shelter, or a psych ward, ...

 No trees to shade or climb, The turf grass is rough on my mind, I hear few familiar voices, And they're faint and ever so lonely, The papery brown vines Slip over the fence and beckon to me, Patiently, I'm pacing, A caged beast far from home, But in the night The sky is painted a silver tone, --My constant companion, She gazes upon me gently, As her cool winds caress my burning skin, My voice is low Joining in our usual song.

  I've spent most of my life dreaming. Two decades of my life had been dedicated to trying to escape humanity, and to be free of the physical realm. My bedroom was my whole world, which only really grew in the night, when I could comfortably slip away to wander the streets. It was hard for me to imagine being able to connect with other human beings. When I did, I was merely entertaining fantasies of the stories which had filled my every waking hour. I was certain that it was only a matter of time before my dreams would steal me away. I was certain that someday, otherworldly beings would bleed from my mind and pull me out of this alien place. Someday, I thought, I would be welcomed by the creatures of whom I must have truly belonged to. Like a changeling of Irish tales. But eighteen years rolled around, and nothing changed. I could still feel a call in my mind gnawing away. Yet, what could I do when the weight of human expectations were piling up? Long overdue, neither faeries nor d...

  (Disclaimer: I am neither a medical professional, nor a certified botanist. I am simply an amateur self-taught botanist sharing my own experiences. I do not encourage anyone to ingest or touch plants) I've been considering making posts discussing individual plants and how I've used them. I figured, since I've already missed so many opportunities to take photos and discuss my own personal experience with plants I might as well not bother starting now. However, I'm housed up and have the spare time to actually think to take photos and record what I've recently done so, fuck it. ... Oxalis stricta , more commonly known as yellow woodsorrel or lemon clover, is probably one of the more recognizable "weeds", at least in North America where it is native. The plant consists of small five-petaled yellow flowers, and leaves comprised of three heart shaped leaflets creating the classic shamrock shape. Oxalis stricta can often be found growing in disturbed areas wi...

  If you were to ask me what is my favourite feature of my body, no matter what age, I'd probably be quick to answer with "My hair." Honestly, genetics play a big part in the appearance and resilience of my hair. Nonetheless, I am still diligent in how I care for it. Starting probably around my tween years is when I started researching into hair and skincare. I was starting to develop acne, and my hair felt like nothing more than a big knot. Proactive didn't help with the zits, and only left me itching to peel my skin off. Aussie wasn't making it any easier to brush out my hair, and it felt stupid dry on top of that. Long story short, I'd compiled research and did my own trials to eventually come up with routines and products that actually produced results that made me comfortable and happier. -This is about my hair, but I'd mentioned my skin because, goddamn, that Proactive and Neutrogena shit was garbage (not to mention, I was a teen full of raging hor...