Since April 10, 2020, during the pandemic times, I started writing a haiku or short poem each day.
Here they are up to yesterday.
Kitty haiku, May 27:
Mer Purr’s tail moving
Art, question mark, coiling, arc
The nice lady pokes me twice
In goes a chemical cocktail
Bloodstream but I taste it
I ride a little bed into the giant white Siemens donut
A professional will look at pictures of my innards
Gratitude for this privilege
The chilluns were super grumpy today.
I napped them away.
How to move their butts?
They listen not to what I say.
Nothing is certain
Except death and taxes
(Just did em!)
And dismissible casualties.
“Roughly half the Twitter accounts pushing to 'reopen America' are bots, researchers found”
I remember in about 2010 saying,
Who knew there would be more tattoo parlours
Than corner stores and banks?
In 2011 I started teaching media studies.
Here’s the most basic of basic media studies ideas
(Still, most people don’t get this):
Whoever owns the media controls the message.
I joined Facebook in 2009 but I don’t think I knew about algorithms until maybe a few years ago?
Do I know how they work? Not really.
But I read, for instance, that TikTok’s hide LGBTQ material
And filter for clean and shiny backgrounds.
Why does China care about that?
Now we have 2020 pandemic reopening bots.
Do tattoos and strange propaganda dissemination correlate?
Poem of the Day entitled Everybody Knows, May 22:
(A reworking of a tweet by Joseph Brandon Johnson @johnsonjoeb with a reference to L. Cohen’s song)
It’s not “reopening.”
It’s casual normalization of death
Casual normalization of death
For the poor
Because capitalist fascism
Has no viable solution that offers protection for the most vulnerable
The most vulnerable
Capitalist fascism has no viable solution that offers protection for the most vulnerable among us
While still producing trillionaires.
Someone I Met Today, May 21:
She grew up in a great old rambling house in Lawrence Park
Her parents let the kids smoke and drink on the 3rd floor
She’s known Michelle Pfeiffer since she was 12 and Michelle was 10
We’re all around the same age
She said “You look so healthy”
I told her about the schmancer
She’s stuck inside alone almost immobile
Not a great apartment
She said “I’m lucky to be alive
Let’s live another 40 years”
So windy here today
It beats me up
Makes my brain hurt
What must the biggest cyclone
Ever in the Bay of Bengal
Overwhelming turmoil x excessive muddy wet
Privileged in Covidland, a short poem, May 19:
Actually, the family time has been sweet
And I’m glad to not drive
And I didn’t have a social life anyway
And I was super lucky that my extra schmancer tumours came out in January
And I have a sleep schedule independent of stupid 9 to 5
The sleep schedule thing is a huge plus
And I have Netflix and books and a Vitamix blender to make smoothies
And I eat a lot and learned to sew
And my husband’s job is secure
And I have n-95 masks because I bought them when I was freaked out about forest fires
I live in a bubble already
The heaviness is hard though
All the people I can’t help
Us is still a thing. Yemen
For one. Syria.
Lifetime of Situation
Normal All Fucked Up
Rituals with airplanes, NO.
Fly food to Yemen.
Poem entitled Old Dog New Trick, May 15:
Is kinda fun
Today’s haiku entitled I Would Watch Sarah Paulson in Anything, May 14:
I watched a sweet but
Very white people movie
On Netflix: Blue Jay
Flu haiku for today, May 13:
I quit smoking more
Than 20 years ago. Now
I want a ciggy.
I’m in the zone-out
Zone. There’s chocolate and T
V and ice cream here.
Poem of the day entitled I Hemmed, May 11:
On a sense of
Brain brain brain brain brain
Pain pain pain pain pain
Shame shame shame shame shame
Hustle bustle hustle bustle hustle bustle
Dot dot dot
I used to be very abled
And now I am not
Neurodiverse, C-PTSD, gifted
I wish they had the diagnoses I hear about today
Before I got (gave myself) Stage 4 cancer.
Poem of the day, entitled Wish, May 8:
Willies in the air
Expelled from their lairs
Wind whistling through their sparse hairs
Balls drooping, assholes
As they bend over
To pick up pennies and nickels thrown at them
In the town square
We let people throw a few eggs too
And we feed the world
And heal the world
And people, vulnerable human humans
And maybe other beings too
Finally get their fair share
(Because we know they have to be evil morning persons)
Jeff, Mark, and Bill
Seizing their days
Following their blisses
Pulling up their bootsocks
Doing nada, nothing, zip in any political or economic or philanthropic or taxation-based or ethical sense to redistribute their wealth.
I was in drag makeup earlier
Inspired by Bianca Del Rio
Makeup artist prefers to remain anonymous
I’m also not allowed to share any photos
Let’s just say
Short poem of the day because I’m getting sick of haikus, May 5:
Kate Moss said nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
Today she looks like this.
I accomplished several tasks yesterday. Tasted better than skinny.
Today I slept until 2:30 and next week I have a schmancer checkup.
In other words, there is no poetic justice. And productivity is a motherfucking patriarchal construct that’s a shame-causing headfuck but also gives me endorphins.
Kate Moss said nothing
Tastes as good as skinny feels.
Me: naps are the jam.
Nice to see a friend.
Occurred. I’m ok.
Watched Austenland with daughter.
So quirky and fun.
I am 58
But I have these kids so I
Keep learning. Love them.
I didn’t make the
Rules. I’m sick of the rules. Can
We please change them now?
Lots of poignant stuff
To say about raising my
Young wymynz. But can’t.
Mark Fisher, a Late
I think about him.
It’s either about
Food or my bed. Tired. Hungry.
Hungry. Tired. Hungry.
Went for a little
Walk with the grands. Distanced. Hard
Not to give them hugs.
I huff and puff up
The hill and turn pink and sweat.
Dave no. Annoying.
The use of language...
And I only know one, this
I slept all day but
Did that stop me from eating
I googled: why do
I feel so shitty when it’s
Windy? No good clues.
I did a thing in
The burbs at 4:30 and
There was still rush hour…
“I love learning,” says
Kid, “But the marks...” (I.e. hurt).
I understand. Sad.
I hiked up a hill
Trees plants sky sun rocks birds air
Mind almost quiet
News extra grim. A
Glimpse into how men’s sadness
Was my bed. Horizontal
There, often, I was.
I walked barefoot in
The school field with my poochies
Not much else happened
My neighbour gave me
Rhubarb. Late-in-life Martha
Stewart, me, made crisp.
Today’s is a parental haiku, April 14:
Stunning evening at
Island View. Kid 2: boring.
Kid 1: no wifi.
Haiku of the day with illustrations, April 13:
Numb numb numb numb numb
Numb numb numb num num num num
Num num num num num.
Are gluten free, if you eat
Ocean’s 8 is not
Bad. We did not watch bonus
Tiger King. Why Jeff?
Sis is what I have named it