Arriving at the farm on Tuesday morning, I was sent to feed the poultry out in the pasture. S came over and asked for my help. The night before, a heifer had gone into labor. There she was, overcome with pain, lying, back legs paralyzed, close to death, -------her calf, deceased, covered in placenta((((blue and gold and purple and orange)))) a yellow butterfly resting on its back. We pushed and shoved to get her to turn over, to no avail. Four hands was not enough. Later, two amish farmers came over and we got her onto her other side.
Over the two days, I took to caring two buckets of water to her, four buckets, six buckets, fed her, gave her salt. I sat on a bucket and spoke with her. Come on girl, come on, you've got to get standing.
Summer is good. Sights like this, upsetting...but it is life and death and all things in between. Things die, so we take them to the woods and life on the farm carries on, it goes on and on and on.
In the kitchen, I speak loudly, with force, so Omi can hear me. Translation constant. Eating European, fork in the left hand, ham and tomatoe on rye. Another soft boiled egg. This is my summer, how can I complain?
I can't.
Coming back to the city, the heat is unbearable, but lovable. Buildings high, angst much more. Exhaustion. Exhaustion. Exhaustion.
in other words::::
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this upsets me.
If I spoke French, I wouldn't be here.
In the morning, early, as the sun does rise, I am sleeping into augmented fifths and fiddles
that dance:
I am a Texas corpse hanging out on clothes line.
We are creating
false
false
false
images, replications, our artistic notions curbside.
Please, set fire to all the possessions that possess you.
He is there polishing the woolly mammoth's remains
polish
polish
polish
to shine. shoe shine. deluxe.
We will rise tomorrow whether we like it or not and by the end of the day we will like it.
I am sure of this:
Just get dressed you dapper fellow, just get dressed.
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