This week I am grieving my dear aunt, and cannot write.
We’re on an in-between-essays week, so here are four things for you, sent with care, sadness and bursts of feral joy, all mixed up, as befits such violent times. There’s a somewhat ranting letter to a friend from 2022, plus three poems against tyranny and empire, inner and outer. Here, Boudica stands for a correct, noble, defence of lifeways, kin and land, even if doomed. I see echoes of St Wite.
See you next week, and thank you for all the calls, comments and emails after last week’s piece, I appreciate everyone who reached out with their own outlandish stories of transformation and unknowing.
First published here with full transcript, notes and more images, February 5th 2024.
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