MycoPoetics: the love of a mycophile

YOU MEET ME AT MY EDGE AND PRESUME TO KNOW MY ENTIRETY

YOU USE ME TO WEAVE A NARRATIVE OF YOUR OWN MAKING

HUBRIS! RETURN TO HUMUS.
CAN YOU NOT SEE

I AM UNRULY, UNTENABLE, UNBOUNDARIED,

Psychosphere barometer: eating a blackberry in the dark

what IS the DEAL with time?

Rite of Passage: got my first tick

More scrawled poems for springtime thresholds

Steel fence, barbed wire
Grief
Gnarling teeth and pouring blood
It’s beautiful outside but I am Ereshkigal
My husband is dead and I’ve killed my sister

A rage at a life half-lived; fear, safety;
Who is she, this beastly thing in my blood today?

The suit I wore too quickly became skin
Now I’m thrashing and burning Tearing up the pavement of my inner wilds
Yearning for feet in the mud and bird calls through forests
Scowling and finding again the bramble patches and tender spring herbs
Nourished
And alive

Neither sane nor insane but a secret, more mystical third thing

Do wandering mystics get to have kids? Are there stories of female mystics who had kids and a regular family life?

I think I have mom energy but it’s definitely like Weird Mom Energy

Things I want to do in life:
- start a school for wizard kids
- bridge rural:urban divide
- write a kid’s book about mushrooms and forestry (Percy the Morel’s Moral Mysteries)
- grow Climate Action Community
- take a ceramics class
- more dancing

Made some new friends today

When I was a kid sometimes I’d pretend that my life was an experiment/sim and there was a scientist tracking my decisions and so I would be extra good so that my scientist would get good results or a good grade or whatever kind of recognition meta-scientists want

Villain era