The Telling Itself Steve Tell

The Joy of Gullibility | This episode is proudly sponsored by the following poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=48785

An ellipse-focused moment & Ursula K. Le Guin’s Tao Te Ching.

Digging My Own Gravy is a year-long, durational project where I record a couple of minutes of material each day in which I am able to stay present, let go, and enjoy something happening to or around me.

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This episode is proudly sponsored by the following poem:
INCANT AGAINST SUICIDE

Buy neither gun nor blue-edged blade.
Avoid green rope, high windows, rat
poison, cobra pits, and the long vanishing point
of train tracks that draw you to horizon’s razor.

Only this way will another day refine you. (Natural death’s
no oxymoron) Your head’s a bad neighborhood:
Don’t go there alone, even if you have to stop
strangers to ask the way, and even if

spiders fall from your open mouth.
This talk’s their only exit. How else
would their scramble from your skull

escape? You must make room first
that the holy spirits might enter. Empty
yourself of self, then kneel down to listen.

-Mary Karr

Digging My Own Gravy is a year-long, durational project where I record a couple of minutes of material each day in which I am able to stay present, let go, and enjoy something happening to or around me.

This episode is proudly sponsored by the following poem:

THE WAY

the way I could tell
today
that yesterday is dead
is that
the little gray bird
that sat
in the empty
tree
yesterday is gone:
yesterday and
bird are gone:

I know there's no use
looking
for either
Of them, bird
running from winter,
yesterday
running downstream
to some ocean-pocket of
rest
whence it may sometime
come again (changed), new
as tomorrow:

how like a gift
the memory
of bird and empty tree!
how
precious
since we may not have
that configuration
again:
today is full of things,
so many,
how can they be managed,
received and loved
in their passing?

-A.R. Ammons

This is a telling about me examining my conscience. 

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TOGETHER IN ELECTRIC DREAMS/THE TWELVE DAZE OF CHRISTMAS MINI-SEASON

I thought it might be interesting to write and record some episodes about two psychotherapists (for what it's worth) going through a weird, online, Covid-19 break up RIGHT NOW AT THE END OF 2020!

The best time of the year to be breaking up with someone. Which is why the human animals (us) all seem to be doing it. Right about now.

Seeing if it might be possible with this batch of episodes to disentangle a certain strand of crazy-bordering-on-insane behaviour that Eros all-too-often steers us towards. Or something like that. See what you think.

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Today's Telling is Proudly Sponsored by This Poem:


GRAMMAR

Maxine, back from a weekend with her boyfriend,
smiles like a big cat and says
that she's a conjugated verb.
She's been doing the direct object
with a second person pronoun named Phil,
and when she walks into the room,
everybody turns:

some kind of light is coming from her head.
Even the geraniums look curious,
and the bees, if they were here, would buzz
suspiciously around her hair, looking
for the door in her corona.
We're all attracted to the perfume
of fermenting joy,

we've all tried to start a fire,
and one day maybe it will blaze up on its own.
In the meantime, she is the one today among us
most able to bear the idea of her own beauty,
and when we see it, what we do is natural:
we take our burned hands
out of our pockets,
and clap.

—Tony Hoagland

A telling about the delay to the next instalment of Together In Electric Dreams/The Twelve Daze of Christmas.
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TOGETHER IN ELECTRIC DREAMS/THE TWELVE DAZE OF CHRISTMAS MINI-SEASON
I thought it might be interesting to write and record some episodes about two psychotherapists (for what it's worth) going through a weird, online, Covid-19 break up RIGHT NOW AT THE END OF 2020!
The best time of the year to be breaking up with someone. Which is why the human animals (us) all seem to be doing it. Right about now.
Seeing if it might be possible with this batch of episodes to disentangle a certain strand of crazy-bordering-on-insane behaviour that Eros all-too-often steers us towards. Or something like that. See what you think.