Two likes and two comments, one of which is from me. I no longer understand these spaces, or if I do understand them, I don't have the energy to navigate them. I am going to go the way of printing poems on cards and leaving them in strategic places in the real world.
Yes, please, physical cards in strategic ¿and I wonder what strategies you will design or follow? places. So that pigeons squirrels slugs gulls ants crickets bumblebees mites midges dungbeetles gnomes receive them, partake, gnaw. Heck the Devourer might find them too. And I wonder what happens with the devourer's heart when reading this.
And perhaps these virtual spaces are not that different from those cards. I am finding your virtual card and treasuring it with some trepidation. Like I receive a feral cat that wants attention but claws me when I get close. I won't go away, but I will give it time.
My rushing felt sloppy and I want to savour the pain of your words in my throat.
I often think about how I might apply the confrontation with the Windigo in Braiding Sweetgrass (Robin Wall Kimmerer), in which she turns its hunger both against and for it: she bravely offers it poison hidden in something tasty, and then—once it suffers so much it collapses—feeds it good, wholesome food until it shrinks down to become human again and then walks away.
Two likes and two comments, one of which is from me. I no longer understand these spaces, or if I do understand them, I don't have the energy to navigate them. I am going to go the way of printing poems on cards and leaving them in strategic places in the real world.
Yes, please, physical cards in strategic ¿and I wonder what strategies you will design or follow? places. So that pigeons squirrels slugs gulls ants crickets bumblebees mites midges dungbeetles gnomes receive them, partake, gnaw. Heck the Devourer might find them too. And I wonder what happens with the devourer's heart when reading this.
And perhaps these virtual spaces are not that different from those cards. I am finding your virtual card and treasuring it with some trepidation. Like I receive a feral cat that wants attention but claws me when I get close. I won't go away, but I will give it time.
My rushing felt sloppy and I want to savour the pain of your words in my throat.
I love that idea. I’m moving more toward real-world and small-web (Mastodon and Neocities) relationships and creative expression myself.
I often think about how I might apply the confrontation with the Windigo in Braiding Sweetgrass (Robin Wall Kimmerer), in which she turns its hunger both against and for it: she bravely offers it poison hidden in something tasty, and then—once it suffers so much it collapses—feeds it good, wholesome food until it shrinks down to become human again and then walks away.
These are my kind of wonderings
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
Wow!
I feel so empowered. Naming the dark so clearly, but not despairing, choosing to stand. I too want to stand. Your words help me to stand stronger.
Thank you 🙏