Moon Memo: Set Up, Orgies, and Kindness
Hello from Salem, where I drove an hour and half to get here on time for an event that doesn't start until 1, where I was by far the first person here for, and where I've already had at least one person give me the "I know you are a tranny and I'm going to show how kind I am" m'aming. You know the one. It's kind, and I'm glad for it, but also today I don't really want to be perceived, and I'm stuck in a place that can be kind or can be horrible. We'll see which.
I guess this is the first one I've done in a while. September is always a cruel month, full of business and misunderstandings. So I kind of let myself drift a bit, not write a bit, be miserable a bit. But then it started raining, and the muse returned from her vacation, and a friend of mine reminded me I was beautiful (sex, friends. That's what I'm talking about. Sex.), and I ended up feeling a bit better, a bit rejuvenated, a bit more delicious. Time is less cruel in October, it feels like. So I'm back here, in a letter to you, trying to give a little bit of solace.
Mailing
September is mailing month for the poet laureate. I've been sending out poems in September since you actually put them in an envelope and mailed them off with a self addressed stamped return. It's not my favorite thing in the world. I like the writing process. I like sharing with my friends. I like being a poet.
I think I wrote this a few years ago:
"So many poets are really selfish with their work. They want to hold it back until the MacArthur grant comes, or Penguin publishes their selected poems and they get...something. Or when they can become poet laureate and actually make some money from their books. But I'm not like that. I want people to have my poems. I have my small group of people that they are for, and I say...here you go. Poetry is the last free art. There is NO money. NONE. So you can't make money from it. Even Allen Ginsberg had to do readings and sell his papers to get out of poverty. So you might as well make it a gift."
This year I gamified it a little bit.
Process for mailings 2025:
1. Get the links to journals. Get them set up on the new computer.
2. Make packets for initial publication.
1. 3-5 poems per packet.
2. 137 poems.
3. That's 50 or so packets.
3. Submit to the journals. Record them in a master spreadsheet.
4. Keep the churn going this year. Don't let poems die on the vine. When they get rejected, send them out again as soon as possible.
5. Add new poems to the submission folder MONTHLY. On the last day of the month or earlier, find which ones you like, and get them out.
So far I have a new publication, and 5 rejections. That's about average.
None of it really matters. Poetry magazines are dying a long death. But it feels like part of the job, so I do it.
An Orgy Every Time
We've joked together that sleeping together is an orgy every time.
She is legion. She contains multitudes.
She is beautiful and kind. She is generous with her heart. She is wounded and sad. She is tender and sweet.
We lay together in her room and laugh. I told her the Master of Wit and Subtlty joke. She laughed.
She asked me about magick. I'm going to tell her it's all about getting out of your head, about letting go of control. About acknowledging the mystery. About changing things hopefully for the better.
She is afraid. We are all afraid right now. Visibility was a trap that we set for ourselves. Maybe it was a mistake.
My hands tangle in her hair. I feel her hands on my head. She calls out my name over and over and over.
I try to remember all her names. I'm so bad at names.
We have to show up for each other, don't we? I'm glad to show up for her.
**Current Setup
Thinkpad X1 Carbon 2020, 16 gb, 1 TB SSD, Running Arch Linux and Hyperland (Omarchy, but fuck DHH...transphobic asshole sure knows how to make an operating system. I've modfied it into MoonArchy. Same guts, but removed every reference to that asshole).
Five different workspaces:
-Writing (obsidian and Librewriter)
-Files
-Answers (Wikipedia and Perplixity.AI.)
-Comms (Email, Discord, Signal)
-Browser (chromium)
Poems typed directly into Obsidian. Saved in Libreoffice for .docx files.
Every day, a scratchpad opened in Obsidian for ideas, quotes, etc. Over 4300 smaller files for the Serendipity Machine, my commonplace book.
Screen Capture and Post poems into sadgirls and Instagram, the only social media I really follow.
RSS Reader on browser.
Best computer setup I've used ever.
Fuck Apple and its enshittified OS. The new Liquid Glass protocol broke my iPad, and after they die I'm going to get rid of them. Sabina was right. Fuck Apple.
Outro
I know so many of you are suffering right now. I wrote this a while ago too:
Hey. I know things are really rough right now. I know that things feel insane and hopeless. I know that you are wounded and feeling bad and feel like people are against you. I also know that these people are trying to do what they can to help while also taking care of themselves right now, and are living in extremely difficult circumstances that you may not be able to see in the midst of your current crisis. And that hurting those folks won't make your current situation any better. So in the midst of that, with all the shit the world is throwing at all of us right now, it's important to remember that we do love you, and want you to be alive and thriving. But the feral hurt beast you are carrying is carving into us, too. And so if we act hurt it's because we are hurt, and hate this hurt, and hate that you are hurting too. That's all.
Remember that you are not alone. Remember to be kind. We are all doing our best.
Love you to bits.
Misha Lynn Moon