lontano dagli occhi *+*+*+*+*

Page One                        Tuesday 28 Sept 2010, TF

I started a blog on a different site back in October 2008, while I was living outdoors in this poison-haven called Turners Falls. The Judahblog. I considered it to be different than the others I had at the time because I didn’t have any plan.  It was just a place where I could sit at the keyboard, let my mind wander a few minutes, and see what came out. A sort of vacation from the ugly stories of the Department of Mental Hell, and Matthew and his “protectors,” and my disappeared animals. All the things I was discussing in some detail in my other blogs. Not that these subjects didn’t also come up in the “vacation” blog (they did), but I approached them there in a much more stream-of-consciousness fashion. So here’s what came out on the very first post. The blurted-out poem is indeed for Matthew, and for all who talk a good game about love…

If I had used the actual accepted word, the title of this blog would be Extemporanea. But I wanted something a bit longer and a bit sillier, and so I made up Extemporaneana to suit a couple of my autistic peculiarities.

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14 Oct 2008….    living outdoors in Turners

    Go tell aunt Rhodie                                    
   the old grey goose is dead

I fear she  is  dead, the old grey goose who lived in the river these past years along with all of the wild water birds. She moved in from somewhere and became the boss of the ducks, and even of swans. I think she died around two days ago. I saw the beginning of her death, attacks by a Canadian goose trying to usurp Goosie’s position. They do this when they sense the leader is dying. She cried out to us, her human and duck friends, on Friday the 10th, but there was nothing any of us could do. She’s been my friend since 2002. I didn’t want her to die before me. I wanted to go first, and go knowing that she was still there in the river, a domestic barnyard goose, bossing all the ducks around.

Kimmy, another lost friend, today’s your date, but not your day. You were real and true and completely yourself.  When comes a new October/and I walk the wild inferno of the trees…. 

There is no collapse in a closed system, says Goldstein, says Bohm, but I can’t keep my systems closed. They are open every minute to attack, and to entropy, and thence to collapse.

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put your love on this plate
and I will eat of it
if the taste is too sour
I have to get the sour gone
before I choke and blue and die
put your love on the sand
and let the broken waves lay over it
will it disappear beneath their weight,
or is it deep, deep enough
to be there when the water inches back
put your love in this candle-flame
and let it slow-burn loyally,
and if you never blow it out,
and if you hold truth to the flame,
and if the flame is warm,                                                                                                              
then maybe
maybe
maybe….

website ~~~~~~   Share  ~~~~~~~~~~ 

(clip art photo)

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

 

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