On Sunday service at the spa

Spa is Life. Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to get really fucking hot. May we accept the wet and dry heat with serenity, And have the wisdom to know when we need to leave the room for a rest break. May we warm the very marrow of our bones and the cockles of our hearts, And as we slough our dead skin down the plug hole, May our skin be renewed with a gleaming vigour. Living for Sunday, enjoying one hot room at a time, Accepting the challenge of the plunge pool as a pathway to health and vitality, Taking it’s icy embrace like a woman, or man, or themtheyithan. Trusting that the weekly ritual of rest and relaxation Will make all things all right. By surrendering our Sundays to your hot-cold glory, We can be happy on this day, And spend the next six days in anticipation Of

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On lived experience in the academy

Lived experience and academic knowledge are not the same thing; in fact, you could comfortably posit them as diametrically opposed. This is not to say that lived experience does not belong in the academy, but simply to make a distinction between the two forms of knowledge. I do not see them as competing, and in the best of worlds, I think they are mutually supportive, but they are not the same thing. This may seem obvious to some, but there has been a rising trend for some time now to uncritically incorporate lived experience into the academy in ways I think are problematic. I do not want to create a hierarchy here and in fact, I think it is the tacit or unconscious acceptance of a hierarchy which has created the problem in the first place. So, when I make the distinctions I am making, think of them as domains separated

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On microbial blessings

I have decided that god is definitely a microbe as things are really looking up for me since dedicating my life in service of the microbial world. Not only did I catch sight of the goldfinches one day this week for the first time since the bastard council cut down the rowan trees, but a handsome young man asked me if I wanted help carrying my shopping and plants home today. I said no, obviously, because HELLO I’M NOT A PENSIONER, but still, it was nice to see my future mapped out for me like that. In other news, my King Stropharia spawn arrived today, so I made a bed for it. This is it after fox-proofing (before fox-proofing, it looked a bit like I had buried someone). I thought I had more chicken wire than I did, so I had to improvise with whatever I could find in the shed.

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On more Pfizer lies

I’m going to leave that there for every single person who was injured by and/or died as a consequence of taking the vaccine. I hope it strengthens your (family’s) legal case. I’m going to leave that there for every single person who was forced into getting vaccinated under pain of losing their job and/or friends and family. I hope you can sue your employer for not doing due diligence.

On remembering what I want to be when I grow up

I used to think that there was nothing that I wanted to be when I grow up, hence the lack of meaningful work. However, I have realised that is not quite accurate. It is not that I did not know what I wanted to be when I grow up, it is more that since what I wanted to be seemed unfeasible, I resigned myself to a life of meaningless work. That resignation was so long ago now, that I forgot there was any desire there before it. Well, no more! I have remembered. 😎 My beautiful, shoebox of light came with a fairly large garden (given the size of the flat). It was pretty much derelict when I moved in 1.5 years ago; one of the first things I did was put up a potting shed, because adults with gardens have sheds. Fact. I transplanted a few of the plants I had grown

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