A new piece. I think it is done. – G

From my nephew Ethan, Suzanne’s son

I am trying to promote a GoFundMe for my mother’s passing and the costs incurred by her family given that fact that she had nothing in savings, no life insurance, no annuity. She died leaving us nothing, but we want to give her a proper death, a proper memorial, a proper passing.

And all of my family is working class, with little to fund such things.
Death requires a lot of costs; death certificates to close all of her many accounts, the cost of renting a space to hold a memorial, to fly some family out, to pay for several days of missed work by folks to do all of this, to pay for people to remove her things from her apartment (of which she had many; she loved things, and even in her one bedroom apartment managed to have so many things no one person or organization can take them all).

So, please, please. If you can donate even 20 dollars, please do.
We’re about $700 behind my lowest goal to afford everything. I’d personally appreciate if anyone can donate $100 in the next 48 hours.”

Fundraiser by Ethan Firpo : Support Suzanne’s Memorial and Legacy

Thanks so much,

Gwyllm

Ramparts Magazine (1974) https://libquotes.com/ana%C3%AFs-nin/quote/lbg0l1t

Angela Anaïs Juana Antolina Rosa Edelmira Nin y Culmell (February 21, 1903 – January 14, 1977) was a French-born American diarist, essayist, novelist, and writer of short stories and erotica. Born to Cuban parents in France, Nin was the daughter of the composer Joaquín Nin and the classically trained singer Rosa Culmell. Nin spent her early years in Spain and Cuba, about sixteen years in Paris (1924–1940), and the remaining half of her life in the United States, where she became an established author.

Nin wrote journals prolifically from age eleven until her death. Her journals, many of which were published during her lifetime, detail her private thoughts and personal relationships. Her journals also describe her marriages to Hugh Parker Guiler and Rupert Pole, in addition to her numerous affairs, including those with psychoanalyst Otto Rank and writer Henry Miller, both of whom profoundly influenced Nin and her writing.

In addition to her journals, Nin wrote several novels, critical studies, essays, short stories, and volumes of erotic literature. Much of her work, including the collections of erotica Delta of Venus and Little Birds, was published posthumously amid renewed critical interest in her life and work. Nin spent her later life in Los Angeles, California, where she died of cervical cancer in 1977. She was a finalist for the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in 1976.

Capitalism Keeps On Going Until It Needs Socialism To Bail Out The Wealthy.

No Rules For Me, But Plenty Of Rules For Thee.

We Have Been Duped. – Gwyllm

My Long Running Blog: The Hare’s Tale!
Into The New Year!
On The Menu:
Alan Stivell/Music
The Trooping Fairies – Changelings
Whit Griffin Poems
Martyn Bennett & Sorley MacLean/Poetry-Music
https://gwyllm.com/2023/01/04/into-the-new-year/

For The Turning Of Samhain, and the Rebirth of the Old Calendar:

The Fabled Hare Lyrics

I shall goe until a hare

Wi sorrow and such mickle care

I sall goe in the devil’s name

An while I go home again

I am ruled by the moon

I move under her mantle

I am the symbol of her moods

Of rebirths cycle

I am companion to the Gods

I can conceive while I am pregnant

I call the dawn and spring in

I am the advent

I bring life from water

In a cup that must be broken

I whisper to the bursting egg

I’m Aestre’s token

Scent of dog, scent of man

Closer closer, smell them coming

Hot breath, hot death

Closer closer, hard the running

Tongues pant, hearts thump

Closer closer, through the fields

Teeth snap, bones crack

Closer closer, at my heels

Nearer, yet and nearer

I can hear the hunter’s knife

He is running for my dinner

I am running for my life

Winter wakeneth al my care

Nou this leues waxeth bare;

Ofte y sike ant mourne sare

When hit cometh in my thoht

Of this worldes joie hou hit geth al to noht

Man sprays no weeds

The scythe cuts, the corn bleeds

Leverets trapped in a harvest blade

‘Tis the time of man, the hare said

Here’s the tractor, here’s the plough

And where shall we go now

We’ll lie in forms as still as the dead

In the open fields, the hare said

No cover but the camouflage

From the winter’s wild and bitter rage

All our defence is in our legs

We run like the wind, the hare said

I’ve been cursed, I’ve been despised

As a witch with darkest powers

I shall goe until a hare

I’ve been hunted trapped and punished

In these my darkest hours

Wi’ sorrow and such mickle care

I’ve been thrown into the fire

But I do not fear it

I shall goe until a hare

It purifies and resurrects

And I can bear it

Wi’ sorrow and such mickle care

I’ve outrun dogs and foxes

And I’ve dodged the tractor wheels

I shall goe until a hare

I’ve survived your persecution

And your ever-changing fields

Wi’ sorrow and such mickle care

I will run and run forever

Where the wild fields are mine

I shall goe until a hare

I’m a symbol of endurance

Running through the mists of time

Wi’ sorrow and such mickle care