Earthrites

Wherever you are is the entry point – Kabir

Touring n Turfing…

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Good Monday.

Drove back from Ashland yesterday… long drive. A wonderful wedding for Rik and Christel. I was amazed at the range of people who came. I saw friends from 38 years ago, to people new in our life. My hat is off to them all for a brilliant event, filled with love and such happiness. The most amazing band played everything from Romanian Dance Songs, to Egyptian Gnawa.

I will have some pics and stories later on…

Well, enjoy this edition!

Thanks,

Gwyllm

Links….

Article: Passive-Aggressive Vegan Grocery Cashier: A Day in the Life.

Poetry: 3 by Lorca

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LINKS:

Russian scientists find new rock drawings beyond polar circle

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Statue of Persian Goddess uncovered near Prague

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Using Brain Scans to Figure Out What Women Want

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ARTICLE:

Passive-Aggressive Vegan Grocery Cashier: A Day in the Life.

BY MEREDITH GRAY

6:30 a.m. Awake to a bright and morally untroubling day. Waft into kitchen to prepare a healthy, animal-free breakfast. See that girlfriend (Jennifer) has cooked cream-of-tomato soup in my saucepan, and has left it in sink. Don’t want to start fight. Instead, blend spirulina breakfast shake in blender for entirety of time in shower.

7:30 a.m. Put PETA “I am not a nugget” T-shirt on under work polo. I know I’ve made a small difference.

8:15 a.m.-8:25 a.m. After leaving questionably sarcastic note for Jennifer, drive to work. Tailgate Durango with “Carnivore” sticker. Feel he noticed: small victory. Arrive at work. Clock in. Intentionally snub butchers’ department; give them the finger with hands in pockets.

9:20 a.m. Fellow-cashier (Brandi) asks for price on eggs. “The price is too high,” I say. “Too high.” She is so moved by my answer, she does not consult me for price checks for rest of day.

10:25 a.m. Get poultry drippings on shirt from raw chicken at checkout. Consider changing into extra work shirt, but decide not to. Fluids will be Pink Badge of Sacrifice. Brandi tells me I have chicken blood on my shirt. “But not on my hands,” I say.

11:00 a.m. Overcharge woman buying Jell-O.

11:15 a.m. Lunch break. Eat bagel with peanut butter sprinkled with texturized vegetable protein. Brandi sits nearby, eating turkey sandwich. Stomach turns. She asks if she should eat elsewhere. I say, “No, I just won’t breathe through my nose.” After meal, go to loading dock and smoke cigarette to clear air of turkey smell.

11:45 a.m. Return from lunch break. Remove Burt’s Bees products from display next to register. Manager complains. Tell her I’m sorry, that from now on I will be more accepting of the exploitation of bees. She asks me to work every Saturday for the month. I accept, interested to see how many pork products are bought on Sabbath. Will make great entry in journal.

12:50 p.m. Customer comments on “Go Veg!” sticker, which is on my water bottle under counter. I give short discourse on Marxist view of man-vs.-animal struggle, especially as it pertains to bovine lactation exploitation. I “accidentally” spill his container of feta on floor. He informs me he will no longer shop here. I congratulate his grass-roots activism against the grocery industry.

1:30 p.m. Ask customer if she wants paper or plastic. Add, “Or a coronary,” as I cough into hand. Feel energized about standing up for beliefs.

2:55 p.m. Brandi asks if I am mad about the sandwich incident. I say no, but know she knows I’m mad. Continue covert glaring toward her register.

3:10 p.m. Smoke break. Co-worker (Dave) says, “I’m surprised you do that.” “Well, being vegan isn’t for everyone,” I counter. Note he must be jealous of my self-control.

4:00 p.m. Receive call from Jennifer. Asks if I can pick up birth-control prescription. I begin to mention the evils of hormone harvesting from horses, but refrain. Decide to “forget” to go to pharmacy.

4:30 p.m. Clock out. Grab wheat-grass smoothie for drive home. Accidentally let shopping carts roll into butcher’s car. Oops.

4:45 p.m.-6:00 p.m. Confrontation with Jennifer over birth control. She says pills are “synthetic” hormones. I say the only thing synthetic are my shoes—no leather here! I refuse to have intercourse until a non-latex-based, nonhormonal birth-control method is established. Jennifer rummages through vegetable crisper, retires to bedroom. I believe she is beginning to see the light.

7:45 p.m. Leaf through PETA catalog (new hemp shoes!), eat tofu stir-fry. Decide not to brush teeth after eating as I usually do to accommodate Jennifer’s soy sensitivity. Give her sloppy kiss when she emerges from bedroom. Swear that resulting hives are from a built-up Midwestern resistance to healthful, nonmeat alternatives. She begins to cry. Finally, a breakthrough.

10:20 p.m. Read Vegan Delights cookbook in bed, fall asleep on goose-down pillows Jennifer put on bed. Could go to closet and get fiberfill one, but don’t. Will blame Jennifer forever if ideological tenets are damaged by night of fluffy respite. Pledge to record this in journal tomorrow.

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POETRY:









LORCA

The Faithless Wife

So I took her to the river

believing she was a maiden,

but she already had a husband.

It was on St. James night

and almost as if I was obliged to.

The lanterns went out

and the crickets lighted up.

In the farthest street corners

I touched her sleeping breasts

and they opened to me suddenly

like spikes of hyacinth.

The starch of her petticoat

sounded in my ears

like a piece of silk

rent by ten knives.

Without silver light on their foliage

the trees had grown larger

and a horizon of dogs

barked very far from the river.

Past the blackberries,

the reeds and the hawthorne

underneath her cluster of hair

I made a hollow in the earth

I took off my tie,

she too off her dress.

I, my belt with the revolver,

She, her four bodices.

Nor nard nor mother-o’-pearl

have skin so fine,

nor does glass with silver

shine with such brilliance.

Her thighs slipped away from me

like startled fish,

half full of fire,

half full of cold.

That night I ran

on the best of roads

mounted on a nacre mare

without bridle stirrups.

As a man, I won’t repeat

the things she said to me.

The light of understanding

has made me more discreet.

Smeared with sand and kisses

I took her away from the river.

The swords of the lilies

battled with the air.

I behaved like what I am,

like a proper gypsy.

I gave her a large sewing basket,

of straw-colored satin,

but I did not fall in love

for although she had a husband

she told me she was a maiden

when I took her to the river.

——–

Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint

Never let me lose the marvel

of your statue-like eyes, or the accent

the solitary rose of your breath

places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,

a branchless trunk, and what I most regret

is having no flower, pulp, or clay

for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,

if you are my cross, my dampened pain,

if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose what I have gained,

and adorn the branches of your river

with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

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Ditty of First Desire

In the green morning

I wanted to be a heart.

A heart.

And in the ripe evening

I wanted to be a nightingale.

A nightingale.

(Soul,

turn orange-colored.

Soul,

turn the color of love.)

In the vivid morning

I wanted to be myself.

A heart.

And at the evening’s end

I wanted to be my voice.

A nightingale.

Soul,

turn orange-colored.

Soul,

turn the color of love.

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Have a nice one!

G


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