"The abstract has the eternity in a moment and then it's gone. The logic is to build toward eternity continuously through repetition. One masters love, one experiences love - two different things."

They (god almighty of the 21st century- the internet) say - Deconditioning is a medical term, a decrease in the responsiveness of heart muscle that sometimes occurs after long periods of weightlessness and may be marked by a decrease in blood volume and pooling of the blood in the legs upon return to normal conditions.

I say it is also- to unlearn. Take a step or multiple steps back.

The effort to rest with what you have or need is always more than winning all the battles to peace out with conquests! To let things be requires experiences that double down as hard-wired living.

Over time this space has provided me with the opportunity to share my journey, my feelings, and the things I know with you. It is almost two years of this idea I had to start- documenting. Instagram has always provided me with a safe space to journal my life but this newsletter becomes, after all, a letter that is more than a journal- it is to be shared- to be felt by people other than me. I am not the hero here. This letter survives because YOU DO. It is because OF YOU. THANK YOUUUUUUU

I have a problem circa 2022- after I started getting published in places I had no idea when I started this newsletter, I became more of a jelly to write here- who would read? Some 1500 odd people out of the 2000s and that is not a lot - plus after every conditioning that substack threw at me in my promotions- to charge for what I write- I thought about it, more so conversed with myself- what should I write that pays me as well? I thought a lot and some people told me to keep my writing free here- good advice you know, because at the end of the day-

I had to just cut down on buying 10 books instead of 20, cut down on not eating out or buying skincare that was Korea-made or expensive, travel frugally- shift through the indies- another learning curve to explore local that I inched towards with grit as the two-three things that I ever did with money were these three- reading, skincare, and eating. I thought about how I would look less appealing, how I would not look like my Instagram pictures anymore, and how I would not eat salads but only make some myself that were so bad that I threw away half of what I tossed in, that would also mean that no more buying of expensive quinoa or olive oil to cook food- I had to cut down on buying fewer bones for my dogs now, not pedigree but it took me hours to discover other cheaper worse brands of dog foods, the dog did not mind- I did.

I thought of how if I charged my readers a pithy sum or kept the reigns flowing- what would change? I would maybe earn a bit that pushed and motivated me to write here every day- something that Substack wants me to do. The substack grow workshop was a reminder that people were earning millions of subscribers + Monies you know? That gives you- well, everything needed to survive- while I was foolishly wasting my talent on 2000 people I had painstakingly gathered, some of whom did not even want my mail but somehow stuck with it. When they knew that I could understand who unsubscribed me here- the shame kept them from unsubscribing, but they hardly ever opened the mails- there a few hundreds of those I am sure, and both as the readers will grow so will the non-readers, the forgotten readers, the readers who don’t vibe with me anymore, the friends who do not see eye to eye or pen to pen. Hell! Even some days I do not see eye to eye with my typing. Uh oh. Reading- How Newsletters Make Money does not help! I had love to know more about how I can better market myself or my writing to not pathetically find confirmation from the internet and feel like those hard wins in life that do not ‘give’.

Slowly but infuriatingly, the bar has been raised on substack to “earn”

The downside of it all is still to sink in me- the downside of not making my subs ‘pay it forward’ and respect the time, and energy I give to something but empty stomach- see my weight ain’t going down if I don’t eat- that is not a downside- instead, the more I don’t eat, the world makes me

You don’t need money to eat I understood as a pretty girl- my 36 D and an almost perfect BMI that stuck onto me (Salma Hayek move aside)- I knew I would not need to flaunt and flirt (my smart ass was enough) before a gentleman told me- “ arey no need, pay when you have a job” and it has taken me 10 years to hear that and say no, I can pay now too- and the times I said yes, I was reminded- once by my ex who remarked- you spent all THAT money and now you want to move on? He was 25 and earning. I was 20 and just surviving. I never asked for help. And got reminded of the help many times later. Go figure. Maybe I deserve all the heartbreaks I had.

Links for your monthly mongering

1. https://allthatsinteresting.com/william-leonard-pickard- A person of interest who is making my head spin

2. https://www.redsavinareview.org/submit-2/

3. In case you want a rabbit hole

4. Ozark rap playlist to lift up your blues!

5. Mysterious Unsolved Disappearances I am looking out for!

6. Poem- what a day to be alive!

7. https://www.narrativemagazine.com/issues/fall-2009/nonfiction/brief-handbook-revision-writers-tom-jenks

8. This Is What the Earth Looked Like Before the Dinosaurs Era

9. What Happened Before History? Human Origins

10. Jhumpa Lahiri on writing, translation, and identity

I feel her swaying

under the earth, deep

in a basket of tree roots,

their frayed silk

keeping her calm,

a carpet of grass singing

Nearer my god to thee,

oak branches groaning in wind

coming up from the sea.

We take on trust the dead

are buried and gone,

the light doused for eternity,

the nevermore of their particulars

ground up, dispersed.

As a child I didn’t know

where the light went

when she flipped the switch,

though I once touched

the dark bulb that burned

my fingertips, studied the coiled

element trapped inside

seething with afterglow.

Arizona

The last time I saw my mother

she was sitting on the back patio

in her nightgown, a robe

thrown over her shoulders, the elbows

gone sheer from wear.

It was three months before her death.

She was hunched above one of the last

crossword puzzles she would ever

solve, her brow furrowed

over a seven-letter word for tooth.

I was staying at a cheap hotel, the kind

where everyone stands outside

their front door to smoke, a cup

of hotel coffee balanced

on the butt end of the air conditioner,

blasting its cold fumes over

the unmade bed. The outdoor

speakers played Take It Easy

on a loop, and By the Time

I Get to Phoenix and Get Back

Wrote this Newsletter listening to Still Corners - The Trip!

This is a free newsletter but not cheap. If you love it, consider supporting it by liking and sharing this newsletter. This letter is reader-supported, hence the lack of ads and sponsors. I don’t get much feedback on my newsletters (I have approximately 2000 and counting readers) If you do read, please feel free to drop me a note or hit the “heart” on the newsletter-

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