Reanimator

If you’re going to reanimate something it’s easier if a loved one does not fall in a parking garage and break multiple limbs and you have to take care of them but even if they do you can still reanimate something. If you’re going to reanimate something, in my case rye sourdough starter, you will need a little time, a few days worth, so it helps to be patient and it helps to come to the procedure with an experimental, scientific state of mind, “let’s see how this goes” rather than a capitalistic, managerial, “you must reanimate” state of mind. This is because reanimating sourdough starter is similar to *starting* sourdough starter, which you did with this particular sourdough starter back in the olden days of the Covid lockdown, that’s right during that renaissance of the human spirit when capitalistic pressures were briefly lifted and we were free to experiment with the science of being human rather than hold our noses to the grindstone like the rest of the time. And when starting starter you just add a little flour and a little water every day until it bubbles and you can’t rush it, you just wait for bacteria to drop out of the air and start to bubble and hope it is the right bacteria and not something weird from the cats or a little kid, say. It happens when it happens. Reanimation is similar, except the starter has proven it works, the bacteria are there somewhere, just in too weak a concentration, but you know if they are not all completely dead they will eventually show themselves again if you keep feeding them patiently. Anyway they eventually did, after a few days of feeding them equal amounts of flour and water, by weight. They are bubbly now and my wife got her casts off, which I might celebrate tomorrow by baking a loaf of bread or two.

What is my art

Cat with only slight halitosis
wakes you up in the middle of the night
licking your beard as you remember
how happy you were when she finally came home
one cold winter after being missing for weeks
and everyone else gave up but you didn’t
and one night she just scratched on the door
like before and you let her in
skinny and dirty and sick
with a variety of parasites
and she keeps licking your beard
with little grunting noises mixed in with the purring
you wonder which parasites they were
you think of all the sick mice she probably ate
on her heroic snowy winter trek home
and probably still eats and she licks and licks
licks and grunts and licks, pure love.

I had one of those dreams in my head when I woke up.
One of those *bam* dreams
that would change your life
if only you could recall one or two fuzzy things
I was talking to a baby that was also older than a baby
it looked like a drawing I made of Beta when she was a baby
so, basically a baby with curly fine light baby hair
but underneath that darker straighter older hair
and the baby said goo-goo ga-ga stuff for a while
but then it also said, and I quote,
“You have to decide what your art is.”
And art means art, but it also means (in German) “kind” or maybe “essence”.
I told people about the baby, in the dream
and they all said, no, the baby doesn’t say goo-goo ga-ga it talks
the baby can talk.
And I said, yeah, I know.
And I woke up feeling it all through my body