As mentioned in this week’s post, we had a legit heat wave which was weird and scary but also, means that here in the city we are in full blown spring. Everything is green, and either in bloom, or on its way to bursting. In Glen Canyon, there are these trees dusted with little pink flowers that dangle like earrings. After the big rains at the end of 2022, a lot of old dead dry-from-perpetual-drought stuff got cleared out and revealed these trees I’ve never noticed before. I’ve been walking in this canyon for eight years and what the hell, world. Thank you for surprising me, still. No signs of the Great Horned Owls yet, but they should be back in the next few weeks.
This Sunday is our February Writing Workshop and there are still spaces available. I’ve got some fun spring-themed prompts planned, and we’ve already got a great group signed up. I would love to have you, to spend time with you and write together. Sliding scale! Come play. And of course, let me know if you have any questions - I’m always happy to answer.
Now: I share the following poem every year. I encourage you to read it aloud, ideally to someone, even if that someone is your dog or cat or hamster, or the crows on the power lines outside your window, or especially if it means calling an old friend and speaking it through your phone into their ear.
It’s a poem that just begs to be read out loud. It was written by my dear friend and writing mentor, Christopher DeLorenzo, whose living room workshops I started attending back in 2015 when I was at my most confused and lost became the beginning of everything—a whole new life—for me.
Here you go:
Fuck Spring no really, Fuck Spring. Fuck Easter with its little newborn chicks pastel bunnies baskets of foil wrapped chocolates and multi-colored jellybeans that all taste the same.
Fuck all of the blossoming trees: pink, pale plum against purple black branches, white apple blossoms, Japanese cherry puffs wet, white magnolia and the Victorian Box trees blossoming so sweet on a warm evening you could drink it.
Fuck the birds mating and singing building intricate nests and bees drunk on nectar orange pollen covering their black legs. Dragonflies mating in mid-air? Fuck all of you.
Stop filling lush, grassy fields with yellow mustard flower stop bursting forth from bulbs: tulips, lilies, freesia, jonquils: Fuck off lilacs.
Stop reminding me about the relentless, unstoppable, supernatural cycle of death and rebirth stop trying to pull me out of this sadness stop making me think about falling in love again.
*
See you Tuesday, mis amores.
xxoo dani
📖Read: I don’t share paywalled links here and this one requires you to enter your email to read so normally I wouldn’t share BUT come ON:
“According to academic research, the transatlantic slave trade comprised at least 36,000 voyages — that’s how many trips it took to forcibly transport some 12.5 million Africans from freedom to bondage. But 1,000 or so of those ships likely sank, taking with them the bodies and stories of the people on board. A remarkable group of Black divers is now searching for these lost ships. When writer Tara Roberts joined them — quitting her job, giving up her apartment, and dipping into her savings to make it happen — she learned more than she ever thought possible about the power of history, including her own family’s roots.”
👀Watch: The part of my heart that is perpetually stuck in 1992 lit all the way up with this one. I was definitely bouncing in my chair around minute 1:45—try not to do the same. Hopefully this is a joyful kick-off-your-Friday jam.
🎧Listen: I am playing around inside a somewhat unexpected “media cleanse” so I haven’t been listening to much of anything besides music. Here’s a playlist I put together last year called “That Feeling You Get When _______.” Have a listen and fill in your own blank.
Thank you so much for being a part of this community. If you like this newsletter, please consider leaving a comment, sending it to a friend or becoming a paid subscriber. Or respond and say hi, I *always* love hearing from you.
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71 // Fuck Spring
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✍🏽LAST CALL - February writing workshop is THIS weekend - register here (Sunday, February 20, 10am - 12pm PST).
❤️🩹Next Sober From Bullshit Recovery Club is THIS Monday, February 21st. Register here.
Questions? Ask. I’m here and I’d love to hear from you.
Hey y’all, we made it through another week.
As mentioned in this week’s post, we had a legit heat wave which was weird and scary but also, means that here in the city we are in full blown spring. Everything is green, and either in bloom, or on its way to bursting. In Glen Canyon, there are these trees dusted with little pink flowers that dangle like earrings. After the big rains at the end of 2022, a lot of old dead dry-from-perpetual-drought stuff got cleared out and revealed these trees I’ve never noticed before. I’ve been walking in this canyon for eight years and what the hell, world. Thank you for surprising me, still. No signs of the Great Horned Owls yet, but they should be back in the next few weeks.
This Sunday is our February Writing Workshop and there are still spaces available. I’ve got some fun spring-themed prompts planned, and we’ve already got a great group signed up. I would love to have you, to spend time with you and write together. Sliding scale! Come play. And of course, let me know if you have any questions - I’m always happy to answer.
Now: I share the following poem every year. I encourage you to read it aloud, ideally to someone, even if that someone is your dog or cat or hamster, or the crows on the power lines outside your window, or especially if it means calling an old friend and speaking it through your phone into their ear.
It’s a poem that just begs to be read out loud. It was written by my dear friend and writing mentor, Christopher DeLorenzo, whose living room workshops I started attending back in 2015 when I was at my most confused and lost became the beginning of everything—a whole new life—for me.
Here you go:
Fuck Spring
no really, Fuck Spring.
Fuck Easter with its little newborn chicks
pastel bunnies
baskets of foil wrapped chocolates
and multi-colored jellybeans
that all taste the same.
Fuck all of the blossoming trees:
pink, pale plum against purple black
branches,
white apple blossoms,
Japanese cherry puffs
wet, white magnolia
and the Victorian Box trees
blossoming so sweet
on a warm evening
you could drink it.
Fuck the birds
mating and singing
building intricate nests
and bees
drunk on nectar
orange pollen covering
their black legs.
Dragonflies mating in mid-air?
Fuck all of you.
Stop filling lush, grassy fields
with yellow mustard flower
stop bursting forth from bulbs:
tulips, lilies, freesia, jonquils:
Fuck off lilacs.
Stop reminding me about
the relentless, unstoppable,
supernatural cycle of death
and rebirth
stop trying to pull me
out of this sadness
stop making me think
about falling in love again.
*
See you Tuesday, mis amores.
xxoo
dani
📖Read: I don’t share paywalled links here and this one requires you to enter your email to read so normally I wouldn’t share BUT come ON:
Check it out y’all. Incredible: The search for lost slave ships led this diver on an extraordinary journey
👀Watch: The part of my heart that is perpetually stuck in 1992 lit all the way up with this one. I was definitely bouncing in my chair around minute 1:45—try not to do the same. Hopefully this is a joyful kick-off-your-Friday jam.
🎧Listen: I am playing around inside a somewhat unexpected “media cleanse” so I haven’t been listening to much of anything besides music. Here’s a playlist I put together last year called “That Feeling You Get When _______.” Have a listen and fill in your own blank.
Thank you so much for being a part of this community. If you like this newsletter, please consider leaving a comment, sending it to a friend or becoming a paid subscriber. Or respond and say hi, I *always* love hearing from you.