Category: Life, The Universe, and Everything

I started to make a post on Bluesky, but then realized that it would probably be better to write a blog post about it. So here I am.

Look. Everything has been terrible lately. This is probably going to continue to be the state of things for a while to come. Not much the common folk can do about that except yell. And oh gods, have folks been yellin’.

Unfortunately there’s also a tendency to yell at everyone and everything. There’s a whole lot of folks screaming at people for “how dare you talk about___ , when___ is happening?!?”. Which is…not helping. Bread and roses, my friends. Bread and roses.

There’s also a lot of folks talking about revolutions and guillotines and all that and I want to ask something….

What does the world you want actually look like? In detail.

Fighting against evil and injustice is a good thing. A necessary thing. The problem I’m having is that I don’t know what a lot of y’all are fighting for? Freedom, justice, and community are all excellent buzzwords to shout and write on signs, but what do they look like in practice? What is your plan to care for the vulnerable while this fight is going on? What is your plan for reconstruction? WHAT DOES YOUR BRAVE NEW WORLD LOOK LIKE?

You see, if you don’t know what you’re fighting to build, the only thing you’re doing is fighting to preserve the status quo. You can’t tear something down without having an idea in place of what you want to replace it with because, let’s be 100% clear, here. If you don’t know what you’re putting into the hole after you rip out the rotten tree and have it ready to go in, something is else is going to take root in it, and you probably won’t like what grows from that, either. Historically, what moves in after is just as rotten and damaging, if not worse, than what was there before.

What are you planning to grow after you rip out the tree? How do you plan to grow it? Do you have the seeds ready and in place? What are you doing to prepare the soil for planting? What does your garden design look like?

When all is said and done, what world are you fighting to build?

Tell me about it.

Bread is good, my loves, but we need roses, too.

Bread and Roses

As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill-lofts gray
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing, “Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.”

As we come marching, marching, we battle, too, for men—
For they are women’s children and we mother them again.
Our days shall not be sweated from birth until life closes—
Hearts starve as well as bodies: Give us Bread, but give us Roses.

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient song of Bread;
Small art and love and beauty their trudging spirits knew—
Yes, it is Bread we fight for—but we fight for Roses, too.

As we come marching, marching, we bring the Greater Days—
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler—ten that toil where one reposes—
But a sharing of life’s glories: Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.
— James Oppenheim, 1911

I originally wrote this in an old life, some years ago. It’s the most true thing I’ve ever written about myself, my guiding star, and a good starting point for this new life.

* * * * * *

I collect odd things.

No.  That’s not right.  I collect ephemeral, liminal things and interesting curiosities.

A dried (probably cursed) pomegranate in a small birdcage.  Several souls, carefully bottled and labeled after washing, stored in a velvet-lined box.  Flowers painted in moonlight.  Somewhere around there’s a star, wrapped in a scrap of silk.  Threads of rose and nettle. Ghosts, moth dreams, roadside gods…you get the idea.

I also collect unusual humans…a mixed media painter who makes amazing abstract art in soap; a soapmaker and herbalist who also creates beautiful jewelry and wall art out of wire and found objects; a professional muse…

Sometimes, I even collect places.  An empty rest area in Maine at 2:15 in the morning in late October.  A chimney with no house deep in the woods in mid-March.  A parking lot antique shop of abandoned amusement park paraphernalia run by retired carnies, only open when the stars are right. 

I don’t know what to do with this, to be honest.  I suspect that, in a different world, I’d have a table or shop tucked away in a corner of a bazaar or open-air market where I’d trade a story or curiosity for a coin or two, or have a little travelling wagon that would appear or disappear with the seasons for the same.

My little curiosities and ephemerals have a harder time in a world that has certain…

expectations

of how Things Are Supposed To Work and it doesn’t like strange little collectors and purveyors of art and other oddities like me.  We are messy and don’t fit into neat little boxes. Still, I collect my curiosities, my cursed fruit and weird little monsters, and someday, hopefully, I’ll figure out how to share them the way that they need to be.