Listen to the story of Jermima puddle-duck, who was annoyed because the farmer’s wife would not let her hatch her own eggs.
“I wish to hatch my own eggs; I will hatch them all by myself”
So off she went. And I am sketching you my perplexity of an ultrasound.
It goes like this: You will have nothing of me and you know you are dying!
My older cat Holly is dying. I can smell it. The smell came today, April the 23rd.
smoopty la boopty.
And?
I don’t even think I care. Atleast not in the way I am supposed to.
So I do this.
Put the cold jelly on my stomach. And we can have sex instead.
The smell is hard to ignore.
I don’t care.
Her sister-in-law, Mrs. Rebeccah Puddle-duck, was perfectly willing to leave the hatching to someone else- “I have not the patience to sit on a nest for twenty eight days; and no more have you, Jemima. You would let them go cold; you know you would!”
“I wish to hatch my own eggs; I will hatch them all by myself”
in a room of my own.
This object I found and fell in love with, reminded me of a dream:
Annie. A picnic by moonlight. A man with a slideshow. We sit on dark grass a blanket. And I lay out, carefully and decisively a caterpillar, a spider and a seed? I cannot remember for sure but some are living and have transformative potential, the potential to move, and clear meaning. So me and Annie are conversating whilst arranging these elements, each part of the dialogue, perhaps its base structure. And Annie opens a packet of sugar and salt and sprinkles it, the sound of salt. The salt spilt is language. As the conversation manifests I lay the elements out on me specifically, and am still to balance them, I feel them moving. The spider starts to crawl, the seed unfurl, and we are concluding. The man giving the presentation shows videos of Annie dancing and singing with long blond hair from her youth. I have a video camera. It is like this video camera is the deciding factor in the pinnacle of this conversation. Now I will make a decision. I ponder on whether to film the elements unravelling on me, and bits of the man’s presentation. It is hard to decide.
and then I share...
I am deciding.
meanwhile I am given a gift off my nana:
and another off Alexis:
What do you love?
Everyone. Anyone. But just one at a time.
Simone said attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.
and children like to make nests. It is a thing.
and how long will you be drunk on sentiment?
I don’t know smiling
cover my face.
I like that object. It caught my attention. I love that object. Something in me dropped when I saw it.
I arch my stomach, and like her, I let it collect warmth.
Those tiny trinket boxes make me want to pinch the air with my fingers, as if I have nipped at its texture, that I know isn’t there but alone I surpass the material- for you; this tiny tiny. It is a gesture that goes nowhere because all it is is how I am. keeping trinkets. It is warm. How could I not completely understand a duck turning her eggs very attentively?
Yet there is nowhere for that to go, except here.
Her blankets are clean. The food is there. Fresh water. But she will not eat.
Everyone. Anyone. But just one at a time.
Simone said attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.
and children like to make nests. It is a thing.
and how long will you be drunk on sentiment?
I don’t know smiling
cover my face.
I like that object. It caught my attention. I love that object. Something in me dropped when I saw it.
I arch my stomach, and like her, I let it collect warmth.
Those tiny trinket boxes make me want to pinch the air with my fingers, as if I have nipped at its texture, that I know isn’t there but alone I surpass the material- for you; this tiny tiny. It is a gesture that goes nowhere because all it is is how I am. keeping trinkets. It is warm. How could I not completely understand a duck turning her eggs very attentively?
Yet there is nowhere for that to go, except here.
Her blankets are clean. The food is there. Fresh water. But she will not eat.
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