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Geoffrey Ellison

@geoffreyellison.bsky.social

Hi, I’m a science fiction writer, and award-winning Canadian poet with seven collections of poetry. This account is strictly for my science fiction writing. I grew up reading books about Fuzzies, and shooting off rockets in yellow fields.

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Geoffrey Ellison @geoffreyellison.bsky.social · Jan 4

I have completed a long science fiction novella called Hard Orbit involving a space station Sheriff, a libertarian hacker, and a deputy Securitybot. It’s basically High Noon in space with elements of mystery. Check it out! www.patreon.com/GeoffreyElli...

Science Fiction about Hackers! Robots! Spaceships! Oh My!

www.patreon.com

Reposted by Geoffrey Ellison

Molly Jong-Fast

@mollyjongfast.bsky.social

Remember when we said project 2025 is Donald Trump and Donald Trump is project 2025?

January 21, 2025 at 12:10 PM

Reposted by Geoffrey Ellison

John Scalzi

@scalzi.com

(PS: Anyone who would tell you that you have to keep your social media open to things that stress you out can go fuck themselves and also maybe should remember there is a world outside social media)

January 21, 2025 at 7:04 PM

Reposted by Geoffrey Ellison

J-T Kelly

@j-tkelly.bsky.social

Reading some Philip Levine tonight. It's good stuff.

NEW YEAR’S EVE, IN HOSPITAL You can hate the sea as it floods the shingle, draws back, swims up again; it goes on night and day all your life, and when your life is over it’s still going. A young priest sat by my bed and asked, did I know what Cardinal Newman said about the sea. This merry little chap with his round pink hands entwined told me I should change my life. “I like my life,” I said. “Holidays are stressful in our line of work,” he said. Within the week he was off to Carmel to watch the sea come on and on and on, as Newman wrote. “I hate the sea,” I said, and I did at that moment, the way the waves go on and on without a care. In silence we watched the night spread from the corners of the room. “You should change your life,” he repeated. I asked had he been reading Rilke. The man in the next bed, a retired landscaper from Chowchilla, let out a great groan and rolled over to face the blank wall. I felt bad for the little priest: both of us he called “my sons” were failing, slipping gracelessly from our lives to abandon him to face eternity as it came on and on and on.

January 11, 2025 at 4:19 AM

Reposted by Geoffrey Ellison

eileen chengyin chow

@chowleen.bsky.social

A poet of intense lyricism and intense honesty, Philip Levine was the child of wartime Jewish immigrants, Detroit auto factory worker since age 14, self-taught writer who was able to later find mentors in prominent poets, who celebrated working class life - and was a great teacher to younger poets.

handwritten version of Philip Levine, Let Me Begin Again

“Let Me Begin Again”

Let me begin again as a speck
of dust caught in the night winds
sweeping out to sea. Let me begin
this time knowing the world is
salt water and dark clouds, the world
is grinding and sighing all night, and dawn
comes slowly and changes nothing. Let
me go back to land after a lifetime
of going nowhere. This time lodged
in the feathers of some scavenging gull
white above the black ship that docks
and broods upon the oily waters of
your harbor. This leaking freighter
has brought a hold full of hayforks
from Spain, great jeroboams of dark
Algerian wine, and quill pens that can’t
write English. The sailors have stumbled
off toward the bars of the bright houses.
The captain closes his log and falls asleep.
1/10’28. Tonight I shall enter my life
after being at sea for ages, quietly,
in a hospital named for an automobile.
The one child of millions of children
who has flown alone by the stars
above the black wastes of moonless waters
that stretched forever, who has turned
golden in the full sun of a new day.
A tiny wise child who this time will love
his life because it is like no other.

January 10, 2025 at 4:32 PM

Reposted by Geoffrey Ellison

GR Higginbotham

@gr2higg.bsky.social

“It is so American, fire. So like us.
Its desolation. And its eventual, brief, triumph.”

-from My Story In a Late Style of Fire by Larry Levis

#photography #poetry #poem #fire #fireplace