Category: Journal

From the pile of gar­lic mus­tard on my counter to the two win­ter-worn deer bones on my floor (so old the dog showed no inter­est in them); you might think that I’m some sort of mod­er­ate­ly gra­nola hedge-core shaman (there are oth­er signs, too; yet, I’m still a pos­er at every­thing: it is my nat­ur­al state).

I went for a walk with a friend though; she knew where to find it all, and showed me her witch hazel tree. I helped turn the earth for plant­i­ng and hope­ful­ly fucked up her mint’s plans for world dom­i­na­tion. Shov­el and axe are still my pre­ferred meth­ods. Pro­duc­tive exer­tion. The mind needs it too.

I under­stand that I am deeply bor­ing.