Lilith looks for chem-trails (but it's cloudy)

 

As Lilith led me by (her) nose to the guard shack this morning, S. popped up from his seat where he often sits out of sight. "Keep your eye on the sky!" he said to me. I felt confounded. Say, what? "Keep your eye on the sky," he repeated. "What am I supposed to see?" I asked. "Chemtrails," was his answer. Big streaks across the sky--"you haven't seen them?"--that don't disappear but get bigger. He held out his hands as if holding a large balloon. "Elon Musk's rocket?" "No, that's such a fake." He laughed at Musk's "backward rockets."

 

He was surprised I hadn't seen the trails. "You're one of the most observant people," he said, "holding up an imagined camera." I assured him I hadn't seen them. "Having a hard time breathing lately?" he asked. Yes, from the vog. He gave me a sideways look. "My mother-in-law can't function when there's vog," I add, but when there isn't any, she's as lively as they come. His side-eye was so wide I saw his profile.

 

These days, Trump gets folded into the grand theory. "There are four Trumps, you know." I said I do know that there's more than one Melania. Well, S doesn't pay much attention to her. And there are SIX Bidens. "Have you seen the Biden who's 6'6"?!" He repeated yesterday's news that Musk now appears taller than Trump in photographs, though he isn't in real life.

 

I muttered something about Monday, about all the billionaires at the inauguration. S. noted that I don't seem to trust Musk, though he didn't buy my suggestion that Musk wants our money. That's just the start, he said, as Lilith and I headed up the hill. From behind me I heard, "You're making progress!"

 

Up the hill I ran into K, snuck a picture of him weed whacking (I love the way workers resemble monks in their protective outfits). To his, "how you, aunty?" I responded that I'd been fine until I heard more conspiracy theories from S. K. said he enjoys the theories. But he held his head like a a balloon, and then showed it exploding.

James Berger takes on my work

Jim Berger has written an essay on my work, especially about the Lilith walks. I fear this Diogenes is growing weary, no longer knows where to shine her lantern, or be led by her dog's bright eyes. How do we write from inside this moment, or this cluster (with an f) of moments? Is it possible? Does it require indirection, like allegory? It will certainly require flotation devices, lest one drown. (And other protection against other elements, like fire.) Grief generally works to contain loss; what can we do when it's so uncontainable? Anyway, more on that another time. Here's Jim's kind essay:

You can read it here: https://jacket2.org/article/date-diogenes-and-dog

Who's a lunatic?

 

S--who told me yesterday about the Cabal--was driving off in his John Deere vehicle. A younger man was sitting in the guard shack. "Don't believe anything S tells you," I said. "I don't believe anything anyone says," he responded. This set me back on my heels a bit. "His ideas are lunatic," I said. He looked me in the eye, said, "and your ideas?"

 

It gets harder to write from inside the moment, when the moment itself seems infected.

MORE LILITH WALKS

 Imminently from BlazeVox, and available for pre-orders.

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