What Now

There is magic in this world, it is writ in the stars, the moon, the sky. How could there not be?

Our world is too beautiful not to be bountiful with magics of all kinds. The magic mends the fractures we create.

We live in a time when the Men and all their Pomp are trying to mimic the natural. Again.

The “natural” place of women (unpaid & unappreciated domestic and reproductive labour), the “natural” cishet sex and gender binary (linked to that free labour), even their AI fetishes have human names.

The men are not OK and they long for the naturalness of the matriarchy. The magic of the universe. The softness and strength in being whole. Again. Empires are not natural. Magical meadows are.

Where does my magical belief live? How do I embody it every day?

Creating like this, making something from materials of paper, ink, glue.

Believing in a world where we all have what and who and where we need. Liberation, community, land.

It’s not much to ask for because this was ours for centuries, outside of European greed and bloodlust.

The magic is in pulling this desire towards us, one spell at a time. We are doing it. Free the People, the Land, the Plants, the Animals.

Slow day // slow night

Content note: mention of war and the genocidal states of US slow night // slow day slow emerges when my body is in an immune system storm crip time, slow time, out of every day rhythm time when do you eat if you haven’t moved since waking and you feel

A book begins

Some writing from my retreat designed to support people like me, writers who want to but are not yet doing that thing. Writing the book that calls to us like a siren and allows a reader in. There is a loneliness in my body. A longing. Desires push up into

Knowing not Doing

January is a time for knowing, not for doing. Yes we must wade amongst the demands to pretend we’re full of the vigours of a (false) new year and fresh goals. But we are not those people, at heart. We are still and slow and careful in midwinter. I

Where are the words

When the air is wet and your hands are cold in your room Called to be in hibernation for three to four months The system denies that mammalian softness, as it tears all of us from our natural needs A candle burning on the slate hearth of my rented room

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Slow day // slow night

A book begins

Knowing not Doing

Where are the words