My Gentle Harp

Page One hundred one

Thursday 16 Sept 2010         Turners contorting

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                                                My gentle harp,
                                             once more I waken
                             the sweetness of thy slumbering strains.
                                                     In tears
                                       our last farewell was taken.
                                               And now in tears
                                                we meet again.


                                                            ~~   thomas moore


So this is my harp. A small 12-string reproduction of a design from the Middle Ages. I’m supposed to be writing a piece of music for my stolen animals on this little instrument, a piece I started in July. But…  it is extremely difficult to make music of any kind since the events of 2008. The piece is maybe one-third finished, and I don’t know when, or if, I’ll go back to it.

I bought the harp in 2007, only months before everything was over. Had only months to fool around and play little songs for my animals to hear. Not that they cared one way or the other whether I played little songs on the harp for them or not. But I cared.

I said good-bye to it in March 2008, when things were being sent off to storage, and hello again in May the same year, when I moved into the rented bedroom and rescued Benazir (so I named the harp) from said storage. And then in August, fleeing Greenfield, I left it again, and didn’t get it back from someone’s barn for nearly two years, until May 2010.


(part of the book Being Toward Death)





Page One hundred

… come to the fair…     from an old song in an old musical

Wednesday 15 September 2010         Turners twisting

Franklin County, the epicenter in Massachusetts of ignorance, mean-spiritedness, and alchoholism, has just had its annual coounty fair. September 9-12. I was not in attendance. There are no more fairs for me.

But I did go to the fair in 2008, the year my life was surgically excised from me, while I was still waiting around for Matthew’s people to locate me somewhere. It was a big mistake.

The fair was lousy, and it becomes moreso every year. Less and less like a county fair, and more and more and more like a trade fair.

And some of Matthew’s people were there, dogging my every step.

And I was dogged also by memories of me and the fair in the days of my own life. Going there with my daughter, or both my mother and my daughter, or a friend. And always setting off from a real apartment with my animals and my belongings inside, saying goodbye, and saying hello to it all again when I returned. Not knowing a damned thing about what my dead grandfather had been and how he had really died. Absent of mobs, feds and other psychopathic clubs. A 55-year way of life that’s gone, robbed away by inexcusable, irredeemable people.

No more fairs for me. Stloen along with the animals, like many other parts of who I was.

This is my 100th post on the braonwandering blog. Imagine that…..  website

(marshmallow man at


Page Ninety-eight

Wednesday 8 September 2010                 

Turners degrades

They’re here again, the embers. September, November, December. I burn.  ~~  A fellow burner from long ago wanders into mind. One whose colors seem to reach from the canvas to touch us:

                                        And when no hope was left inside
                                        on that starry, starry night,
                                        you took your life, as lovers often do.
                                        But I could have told you, Vincent,
                                        this world was never met for one
                                        as beautiful as you.


                                                    ~~  don mclean

So grossly undervalued while he lived, Vincent’s paintings are now counted among the world’s greatest treasures. Yet another diabolical example of:

           “… the uncanny grotesqueness of the irrational world of chance.”

                                                    ~~  carl jung

Peter Barriman, great singer and writer of contemporary folk songs, has put Jung’s statement in very different terms, but meaning the exact same thing:

                            Fate is king, and fate’s a putz.


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go bron go deo

Page Ninety-seven

words from a traditional folk song. in my own life, I had this hanging on the kitchen wall. haven’t had a kitchen since, over two and a half years. haven’t had a family since. nor my own life, as I knew it for over fifty years.



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september, she’ll remember

Page Ninety-six

Wednesday 1 September 2010     turners turns more acrid

1. Thursday 2 September 2010

Sally     gentle yellow girl, for charlie and all of us

                                      1989  —  Thursday 1 Sept 1994

2. Thursday 9 September 2010

                Bandit        bandy blandiens bendybones bum

                              3 Sept 1986  —  sun 19 Feb 1995

                Mindy        pitty dahling, lady romance arrives

                             5 Sept 1988  —  5 Nov 2004

                Beavis       methuselah of bunnies, high jumper arrives

                           5 Sept 1993  —  Monday 9 Sept 2002

                Judah        child of the sweet blue eyes arrives

                               6 Sept 1994  —  When?  nno one will tell

                 Andie       gentle lady; so patient with Jake

                               1990  —  6 Sept 1996

                  Tiki     wonderful child and sister and wife

                               25 December 1991  —  7 September 2000

                  Danny    the pipes, the pipes are calling

                                1990  —  Fri 8 Sept 1995

                  R.W. Shea      13 Sept 1960  —  Fri 5 Sept 2003

                             I only partially understand the thing

3. Friday 9 Sept 2010

                  Zoë-Jane      darkest day:   tá brón mor orm   

                                        April 1995  —  Wed 10 Sept 2003

4.              Baby Alex          so soon, the day is gone

                                      Nov  2001   —    12 Sept 2005

5.              Caibhan       big strong buckeroo, tá brón orm

                                     6 Oct 1996  —  Sun 16 Sept 2001

6. tardy, tardy

                                     Steve Irwin, September 2006

                                                 a brave man

7.  Wednesday 22 September 2010:  The Princess, the Tin-Pot dictator, my lady and    mistress, Shiloh-Chailín the guinea pig is ONE year old. Lang soll sie leben.

8. Wednesday 29 September 2010

All the animals were soulmates, but you were the mega-mate of my soul

                Mugsy       17 March 1990  —  Friday 29 Sept 2006






maybe think on it

Page Ninety-five

Wednesday 1 Sept 2010          Turners turns

“Everything in the unconscious seeks outward manifestation, and the personality too desires to evolve out of its unconscious conditions and to experience itself as a whole.”

                                                                            ~~  carl jung

 wisdom                              “Property is theft.”

                                                                           ~~  karl marx

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~~~~~~~  (yoda at

all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2009-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.