|||

The Weather Report with Juliette Sandoval #9

Thursday August 3, 2023

There is a river of light cutting through the underground. The fields are being laid out and planned and planted. The drivers spit out the seeds into the waste lands, generating new growth for the new world. If you thought the industrial experiment would accelerate forever…the machines are no match against the wisdom gathered by the trees, who speak in rays of light we cannot begin to understand.

Friday August 4, 2023

Heaven is approaching. Everywhere are signs that the city is under assault, is going under ground to be reborn. Here and there are bursts of life which pierce through the deadening gaze of the concrete mausoleums. People wander, aimlessly, to go hide behind glass, aimlessly, to go look for something real in the machine, aimlessly. You have to take your life into your own hands and be willing to turn your eyes upward.

Saturday August 5, 202

I never tire of looking at the sky and the clouds. Of inviting the eternal silent drift of the day. Sometimes, the Moon hangs there in daylight and it makes the earth feel very connected, and silent. I imagine all the waters respond and still, to listen to the Moon’s voice. I imagine that the earth is always buzzing with hidden activity. Who is out there right now running themselves into the ground? Some birds never land, they fly until they can no longer, taking the inevitable fall so much harder.

Sunday August 6, 2023

Here, you are always in proximity to where the world ends. It is so easy to find that the view of paradise was only a painted backdrop that you were gazing at, going blind from trying to understand nothing but meaningless ciphers. The sunset might look convincing, but I am no longer taken in by the visionaries of the superficial love, living life under a spell which makes everything beautiful but nonexistent. I have erased and given away so much of myself to the cult of pursuing gold. What’s even worse is we no longer look for gold in the river or the stars, but exclusively in the imaginings of others, an exchange of the soul occurs for nothing but a brief flash of recognition.

Monday August 7, 2023

The lines between the peace of solitude and the abyss of loneliness can be so blurred, mostly by the fogging of glass on cloudy mornings. There is a frequent oscillation between the senses and the appreciation for life, as well as the recognition that the night will come again. I don’t understand the desire to talk to ghosts. Can’t you feel them crying, filling the empty halls and cities to the brim with memories of the War? There are constantly new psychic channels being opened which make me feel on edge. The designated Medium feels all the channels pulsing and disrupting, interrupting each other, the radio never went away but is always broadcasting into our minds.

Tuesday August 8, 2023

The trees are alive and awake and forming a grove. I have become the silent transmitter, a conduit for which to channel the message. The message is this: The heart is inspiring a spiritual formation, as the bee forms the hive for honey, everything is interconnected and there is a reason to have faith, to maintain faith. The ceiling is echoing the ancient rally of the angels, a call to fly and to rise upwards, to mimic the dove in daily action, to surrender to the spiritual fire.

Wednesday August 9, 2023

The clouds have parted to allow the voices in. The trees continue to sing. The earth reverberates. Underlying this is the Hum which I heard once and it terrified me. If you’re looking for spiritual union look no further than the eidolon. As the sun sets, the ocean turns pitch, the waves foam and the depths sink further, I look out over the edge. If ever there was a time for the waves to crash upon the shore.

Juliette Sandoval

Twitter: @rabbitsmoon24
Instagram: @rabbitsmoon24

Up next Three poems by Peter Gutierrez "Ham Salad" by KNOX
Latest posts NIAGARA by Juliette Sandoval TO MAKE OF THEE A NAME by Andrew Buckner Two poems by Jessica Heron "Grocery Outlet" by Lisa Loop "Gatorbear" by John Biron Interview: Skizz Cyzyk on Baltimore Filmmaking and the Mansion Theater "On Time" by Hanna Webster "Only the Most Neutral Executioners" by GRSTALT Comms Poems for Clara Peller by Ella Wisniewski "I've Got a Fake I.D. from Nevada and No Name" by Max Stone Truth Cult (Last Show) [Anything for a Weird Life] Three poems by Stacy Black "Bob's on Fire" by Alex Tronson Two poems by Alexandra Naughton Reflections on Series Two: How Does He Do It? [Anything for a Weird Life] "A Sadness that Sings" by David Hay "The City" by Ryan Bender-Murphy Three poems by Abigail Sims "The Depth of the Abrasion" by David C. Porter Steve Albini 1962-2024 [Anything for a Weird Life] Some Things are the Same Everywhere [BRUISER Field Report] BRUISER ZINE 005: Foul Black Rookeries by David Simmons "Bilbao" (for Richard Serra) by Damon Hubbs Beyond Periphery by Ada Pelonia Mayday [Anything for a Weird Life] "Drones Drones Drones" by Aaron Roman Review: White Paint Falling Through a Filtered Shaft by Adam Johnson "Buckskin Jacket." by Noam Hessler A User's Guide to Universal Order of Armageddon (Numero 221) [Anything for a Weird Life] "Sepulcherality" by Cora Kircher “Barricade” by Will Marsh