Four faces of the Ig-lot

There's Igniter, Ignitron, Ignoble and Ignore. (I've chosen not to show the Ig's bottom end it's really just an extension of Ignore.)

Tree’s language

Did you know,
That poetry was the first writing.
Written down on bits of bark,
The lines were short
And of different lengths
According to the skin of tree
It was written on, see.
Charcoal on the sheddings
Of mysterious ancient beings
Whom seemingly stood still,
Yet tapped the earth’s resources,
Root listening for pulse and chime,
Learning the deepest secrets
That Gaia told.
So when writing the poem
The thought was with
The giver of both pen
And paper
And the human writer was no more
Than the medium to the tree’s
Prescribed directions
In this recorded speech
Of sound-sense finding meaning.

City plant breaks concrete ceiling

To see this little monster duo tearing up the pavement gave me great joy. I thought, yes that’s the way little plants. Keep up the good work and that pavement will soon be yours again. Probably not likely, but, such a good effort.

Made me think about my pathetic efforts to be tidy and what that was about.

Tidy like bushland and the cracks paving their way through the city's concrete; that knife of neat. To pen animals and farm them into products.The want to uniform things, to holt eccentricity. To make things clearer to understand for some, who have a place to belong. The rest will have to knock down the walls of structure to find space and in doing so, have retaliation and be uprooted and yeah... have to check on the little thing, see how it's doing. I'll keep you posted. I don't even know what it is. It's probably a pest of some kind. I tend to ID with that.

Shoreline

Leaks

Listening in, waking up to the waiting. Always asking what’s going on, for there is always more, to underscore what’s understood as known and fact, even if it isn’t that.

Fish don’t fly in a bowl

Paranoia seriously questions how to behave in a given situation. And how we’ll be judged for that. It gives rapid and diverse possibilities and outcomes.

I’ve come to the conclusion: damn them all, why should I ever spend my time acting when if I’m not being paid to do it? I love, grieve and get angry in my own way. It is valid, because I don’t hate my own mind. If I did, then it would be because something got in there that I didn’t want. Then it wouldn’t be mine, it would be someone else interfering, telling me how to act.

But then, I remember some mothers have been put in prison, for not acting in a way a mother is supposed to over the death of a child. Difference is suspect. Guess that’s why I should never be a mother.

Yes, but what if something I said, was said to be the cause of someone’s suicide? What if I fed someone some food and they choked on it and died? What if I advised someone to do something and they did it and they were permanently injured because of it? Well then, I’d put myself in a deep freeze for a while so I couldn’t think about what I’d done. Or I’d eat some fish and think about the fishiness. Because saying nothing at all can be the worse crime of all. That’s the way people can get killed on mass.

So, as Nana said, “Better out than in.”

Beings: Bunny basket

Best if I type out the words. Otherwise my script will deviant from one font to another and just won't be consistent. Messy. Shouldn't be such a mess of so many different influences. Got to be clear about what is what. Not too many blurring of boundaries. That confuses people.