Kenneth Tucker

...a hermit iconoclast

Potatoes planted

March potato planting, too early? Perhaps...

spuds planted check... March 18, 2017

The produce draw in my lesser used refrigerator has provided a new project, and when the hügelkultur is not enough i.e. full, Amazon shipping boxes and Bees Ferry compost will do. Spuds planted, check.



Like seeing roasted meat and other dishes in front of you and suddenly realizing: This is a dead fish. A dead bird. A dead pig. Or that this noble vintage is grape juice, and the purple robes are sheep wool dyed with shellfish blood. Or making love—something rubbing against your penis, a brief seizure and a little cloudy liquid.

Perceptions like that—latching onto things and piercing through them, so we see what they really are. That’s what we need to do all the time—all through our lives when things lay claim to our trust—to lay them bare and see how pointless they are, to strip away the legend that encrusts them.

Pride is a master of deception: when you think you’re occupied in the weightiest business, that’s when he has you in his spell.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
These are a few of my favorite things...