Each Age comes with a set of resources
that may be cultivated; technologies,
civics, infrastructure. In the latest outlay
of the game, you're allowed to choose your
leader, separate from your civilization, that way
revising the outcomes of what you know
so far about history. Just like your literature
teachers told you, not everything has to be
autobiography. Imagine Napoleon leading
the People Power Revolution in Manila,
Pinochet suddenly interested n human
rights reform. But the goals of building empire
remain the same: explore, amass, expand.
Defend your territory, defeat the competition.
Ceiling
(Lord’s day). Last night being very rainy [the rain] broke into my house, the gutter being stopped, and spoiled all my ceilings almost. At church in the morning, and dined at home with my wife. After dinner to Sir W. Batten’s, where I found Sir W. Pen and Captain Holmes. Here we were very merry with Sir W. Pen about the loss of his tankard, though all be but a cheat, and he do not yet understand it; but the tankard was stole by Sir W. Batten, and the letter, as from the thief, wrote by me, which makes very good sport.
Here I staid all the afternoon, and then Captain Holmes and I by coach to White Hall; in our way, I found him by discourse, to be a great friend of my Lord’s, and he told me there was many did seek to remove him; but they were old seamen, such as Sir J. Minnes (but he would name no more, though I do believe Sir W. Batten is one of them that do envy him), but he says he knows that the King do so love him, and the Duke of York too, that there is no fear of him. He seems to be very well acquainted with the King’s mind, and with all the several factions at Court, and spoke all with so much frankness, that I do take him to be my Lord’s good friend, and one able to do him great service, being a cunning fellow, and one (by his own confession to me) that can put on two several faces, and look his enemies in the face with as much love as his friends. But, good God! what an age is this, and what a world is this! that a man cannot live without playing the knave and dissimulation. At Whitehall we parted, and I to Mrs. Pierce’s, meeting her and Madam Clifford in the street, and there staid talking and laughing with them a good while, and so back to my mother’s, and there supped, and so home and to bed.
rain spoiled my ceiling
a thief of the sea
able to put on several faces
with as much love as art
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 1 September 1661.
Fables
We have salt from sieving sea water
through singed husks, charcoal, and ash.
We have stars because a woman took off
her adornments to pound rice in the mortar.
We have pineapples because a child
couldn't find anything she was asked to find.
What of the origins of fire or flood, drought or war?
Centuries ago, boats with cannons landed on our shores.
Global
At home and the office all the morning, and at noon comes Luellin to me, and he and I to the tavern and after that to Bartholomew fair, and there upon his motion to a pitiful alehouse, where we had a dirty slut or two come up that were whores, but my very heart went against them, so that I took no pleasure but a great deal of trouble in being there and getting from thence for fear of being seen. From hence he and I walked towards Ludgate and parted. I back again to the fair all alone, and there met with my Ladies Jemimah and Paulina, with Mr. Pickering and Madamoiselle, at seeing the monkeys dance, which was much to see, when they could be brought to do so, but it troubled me to sit among such nasty company. After that with them into Christ’s Hospitall, and there Mr. Pickering bought them some fairings, and I did give every one of them a bauble, which was the little globes of glass with things hanging in them, which pleased the ladies very well.
After that home with them in their coach, and there was called up to my Lady, and she would have me stay to talk with her, which I did I think a full hour. And the poor lady did with so much innocency tell me how Mrs. Crispe had told her that she did intend, by means of a lady that lies at her house, to get the King to be godfather to the young lady that she is in childbed now of; but to see in what a manner my Lady told it me, protesting that she sweat in the very telling of it, was the greatest pleasure to me in the world to see the simplicity and harmlessness of a lady.
Then down to supper with the ladies, and so home, Mr. Moore (as he and I cannot easily part) leading me as far as Fenchurch Street to the Mitre, where we drank a glass of wine and so parted, and I home and to bed.
Thus ends the month. My maid Jane newly gone, and Pall left now to do all the work till another maid comes, which shall not be till she goes away into the country with my mother. Myself and wife in good health. My Lord Sandwich in the Straits and newly recovered of a great sickness at Alicante. My father gone to settle at Brampton, and myself under much business and trouble for to settle things in the estate to our content. But what is worst, I find myself lately too much given to seeing of plays, and expense, and pleasure, which makes me forget my business, which I must labour to amend.
No money comes in, so that I have been forced to borrow a great deal for my own expenses, and to furnish my father, to leave things in order. I have some trouble about my brother Tom, who is now left to keep my father’s trade, in which I have great fears that he will miscarry for want of brains and care.
At Court things are in very ill condition, there being so much emulacion, poverty, and the vices of drinking, swearing, and loose amours, that I know not what will be the end of it, but confusion. And the Clergy so high, that all people that I meet with do protest against their practice. In short, I see no content or satisfaction any where, in any one sort of people.
The Benevolence proves so little, and an occasion of so much discontent every where; that it had better it had never been set up. I think to subscribe 20l.. We are at our Office quiet, only for lack of money all things go to rack. Our very bills offered to be sold upon the Exchange at 10 per cent. loss. We are upon getting Sir R. Ford’s house added to our Office. But I see so many difficulties will follow in pleasing of one another in the dividing of it, and in becoming bound personally to pay the rent of 200l. per annum, that I do believe it will yet scarce come to pass.
The season very sickly every where of strange and fatal fevers.
a heart as troubled
as a little globe of glass
that cannot part
with its snow
will end up in ice
quiet and strange
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 31 August 1661.
Milk-fed
The platypus is a mammal that is a monotreme—
a mammal that gives birth to offspring by laying
eggs. Like other mammals, it produces milk; but
unlike all other mammals, it has no breasts, no
outflaring areolae, no nipples. Instead, its milk oozes
out of glands, condensing in runnels on skin—
Imagine your newborn child licking the surface
of your body through the day for sustenance:
its rough little sandpaper tongue, its hunger a whole
sheet of paper eager for constant priming. When I
went back to work or had to travel, I used to pump
my milk into bottles for freezing, because my daughters
refused any kind of formula. In the soft fluorescent
glow of the night light, they'd spit out the mix, cry
piteously in their footed pajamas as if to say they'd rather
starve than drink any poor substitute for the milk I made.
In the dead of night
At noon my wife and I met at the Wardrobe, and there dined with the children, and after dinner up to my Lady’s bedside, and talked and laughed a good while. Then my wife and I to Drury Lane to the French comedy, which was so ill done, and the scenes and company and every thing else so nasty and out of order and poor, that I was sick all the while in my mind to be there. Here my wife met with a son of my Lord Somersett, whom she knew in France, a pretty man; I showed him no great countenance, to avoyd further acquaintance. That done, there being nothing pleasant but the foolery of the farce, we went home.
a child in the sand
thin and poor
on some new show
at one a.m.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 30 August 1661.
Singing Without Words
Recently, I learned the name that's given smaller,
more familiar groups of stars is asterism—summer
triangle, teapot, small and large dipper, belt. Is the world
still capable of beginning in wonder, which is both
the dazzle of not knowing what hit youand the second-
guessing of everything you think you knew? Each child
I bore was that kind of wonder, arriving in their own
form of spectacular—fast, eyes bright and open; wet
with the effort to push into this new world; and then
the learning to navigate their own ungainly craft, bobbing
in these choppy waters. I wanted to pluck an arrangement
of stars to fashion into an amulet for each of them. Even now
I wish for these things—table with four steady legs, hearth-
stone; strike anywhere matches, vocables chiming
through the mouth and lighting the way home.
Way
At the office all the morning, and at noon my father, mother, and my aunt Bell (the first time that ever she was at my house) come to dine with me, and were very merry. After dinner the two women went to visit my aunt Wight, &c., and my father about other business, and I abroad to my bookseller, and there staid till four o’clock, at which time by appointment I went to meet my father at my uncle Fenner’s. So thither I went and with him to an alehouse, and there came Mr. Evans, the taylor, whose daughter we have had a mind to get for a wife for Tom, and then my father, and there we sat a good while and talked about the business; in fine he told us that he hath not to except against us or our motion, but that the estate that God hath blessed him with is too great to give where there is nothing in present possession but a trade and house; and so we friendly ended. There parted, my father and I together, and walked a little way, and then at Holborn he and I took leave of one another, he being to go to Brampton (to settle things against my mother comes) tomorrow morning.
So I home.
on the road we talk
to God where there
is nothing
but us and the way
born again
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 29 August 1661.
Ideological
At home all the morning setting papers in order. At noon to the Exchange, and there met with Dr. Williams by appointment, and with him went up and down to look for an attorney, a friend of his, to advise with about our bond of my aunt Pepys of 200l., and he tells me absolutely that we shall not be forced to pay interest for the money yet. I do doubt it very much. I spent the whole afternoon drinking with him and so home. This day I counterfeited a letter to Sir W. Pen, as from the thief that stole his tankard lately, only to abuse and laugh at him.
in exchange for an absolute
we pay interest on doubt
spent on drink it is
a counterfeit laugh
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 28 August 1661.
Two-Step for the Anthropocene
At least a step ahead, or two: forward waltz,
blundering with care through abysmally
constricted passages, the whole complex
design of our mortal lives here below.
Every Eden you knew was mere leitmotiv,
flawed by your wanting. Heat rose from the bayou,
grass receded as the earth cracked. Imagine what
heartland remains after all turns aqueous,
impossible to return to unscathed. Every river
joining the large, vascular whole, every bulwark
kneeling in mud. Once, you knew sweetsop,
loquat, starfruit and where they grew; the indigo
moons of berries, cells blurring into lumen.
Now you note where chainsaws bit into velum,
oil seeped into bodies to make them weep. Will
pearls weep again into the heart of a mollusk,
quiver iridescent in the depths? A knife shaped like a J
releases the lip from its lock—reverse origami.
Silence pleats mountains and valleys, where feverish
tectonics many times leveled and wrung,
undoing what you knew of built histories. Grief
verges on every stone in the quarry, every visible
weave in the lattice. Wilderness was once world
extracted of seemingly every remaining oneiric.
Yet you harbor hope for some underlayer, some crumb
zested with traces not only of omega but also of alpha..

