My tea tastes like the metal cup it's in. Which brings me to my next statement. Just give me a moment to come up with it.
My next statement didn't come. And it surely had nothing to do with my metal-y tea. Maybe it had to do with the two Shitzus I'm petsitting.
They're weirdly spoiled dogs. Before their owner left for her trip she asked me, when she was showing me how to care for them, if they were the most spoiled dogs I'd ever pet sat. And because she's hot as hell and I wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying I said, no of course not. She hugged me and I was pleased with my ability to lie and tell people what they want to hear even while I'm not paying attention. If it gets my arms around a hot girl then fuck it.
These dogs are biters. And they love to sprawl out next to me which makes me hyper-paranoid about reaching out and petting their fat butts. I already have a bite wound from one of them that's looking suspiciously like infection.
I'm laying on the floor typing on the hot Indian woman's lap top. I'm also laying where one of the Shitz wretched up some bile a few days ago. It's amazing what icky situations you can dismiss when you're too lazy to move. I mean, I did clean it, it's dry..
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Glee and the Worried Few
Feeling a little pistol whipped but liking the hot afterglow of the wound..one must look to the bright side of every senseless act and contusion, am I right? besides I like scars.
I'm actually quite well and feeling partial to a surge of glee forming somewhere behind my left eye but I like the drama so I say, "Start with your wound and work your way up to the glee." Always go from the ache of disembowelment right into that gathering swell of hot yellow happiness waiting right under the scab and stitch.
Oh but I feel the cynical stretch of that daddy hand reaching out to bitch slap the bright right out of my eyes. I'm like a low and dark thing that sits under the bed sucking on scary wandering thoughts, making my heart flutter, boiling me wide and far from sleep at night. I perch, stoney and grimaced like a gargoyle eating the fuss and tussle, drinking lingering night sweats.
And like the cyclical nature of a moon the color of a sun, I will rebirth, reboot, press my bruises just to make sure they hurt and roll my severed head across a dusty floor to the door that always opens to a happy, hot yellow glow of glee.
I'm actually quite well and feeling partial to a surge of glee forming somewhere behind my left eye but I like the drama so I say, "Start with your wound and work your way up to the glee." Always go from the ache of disembowelment right into that gathering swell of hot yellow happiness waiting right under the scab and stitch.
Oh but I feel the cynical stretch of that daddy hand reaching out to bitch slap the bright right out of my eyes. I'm like a low and dark thing that sits under the bed sucking on scary wandering thoughts, making my heart flutter, boiling me wide and far from sleep at night. I perch, stoney and grimaced like a gargoyle eating the fuss and tussle, drinking lingering night sweats.
And like the cyclical nature of a moon the color of a sun, I will rebirth, reboot, press my bruises just to make sure they hurt and roll my severed head across a dusty floor to the door that always opens to a happy, hot yellow glow of glee.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
a performance of sorts
A woman tapped my shoulder, took her gloved hand and slowly turned me round to face her. She pronounced, emphatically, her resentment at my impertinence in a judgment I had made upon her. She softly stamped her slippered foot as she announced I had no right to it, no right at all. She acted out a grand and personal duty to defend herself amongst a gathering of friends, hoping to illicit their support.
If I had come to a conclusion that she were fully wrong in her reprimand I may have opened a conversation amidst her audience that would have her wishing she had done her deed in the privacy of my drawing room and not in the party of hers.
But I didn't think her wrong in that I AM presumptuous and often appalling in my dealings with the most obvious tall tales. And the original conversation, my original sin against her, that had her heated and in high color is a story of one of the most basic and obvious vices and I could not tame my desire to open her eyes to it. It is that of fained innocence and the forgetting of one's part in the plays of people.
Her story was of a convoluted adventure that was bent and plied with her innocence, absent of responsibility and motivation, accusing instability of the others involved. She the innocent third who only by happenstance found herself yet again in the middle of a jealous and bitter affair not knowing why or how, again.
So yes, she is right, I will take her reprimand to heart.
I am appalling in my confrontations to fained innocence and lack of honesty. I will wish for a gentler and patient heart, it will prevent the loss of friendly warmth to and from others. But I will still loath, (in quiet) these very colored and silly stories of silly women.
If I had come to a conclusion that she were fully wrong in her reprimand I may have opened a conversation amidst her audience that would have her wishing she had done her deed in the privacy of my drawing room and not in the party of hers.
But I didn't think her wrong in that I AM presumptuous and often appalling in my dealings with the most obvious tall tales. And the original conversation, my original sin against her, that had her heated and in high color is a story of one of the most basic and obvious vices and I could not tame my desire to open her eyes to it. It is that of fained innocence and the forgetting of one's part in the plays of people.
Her story was of a convoluted adventure that was bent and plied with her innocence, absent of responsibility and motivation, accusing instability of the others involved. She the innocent third who only by happenstance found herself yet again in the middle of a jealous and bitter affair not knowing why or how, again.
So yes, she is right, I will take her reprimand to heart.
I am appalling in my confrontations to fained innocence and lack of honesty. I will wish for a gentler and patient heart, it will prevent the loss of friendly warmth to and from others. But I will still loath, (in quiet) these very colored and silly stories of silly women.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
portraits of one's own making
I make up memories that never happened about deep snow, a happy us, bounding dogs and joy, so much joy. The memory causes regret irritated to life by little dreams I quietly carried in the din of your ideas. You framed us big as a portrait with only your talent to paint it from.
There was no time for romance only business and the acquiring of more of what made your shabby kingdom. I pulled my slow heart through change and never really recovered from the speed and the wind of your rush. If you would have wooed me for a while, my hand would have loved to have been held in parks and under umbrellas.
But you have moved into new and vast frames with oil colors to paint new love, old lies to cover. Brush wide strokes, the mistake of our portrait. You look so fresh and innocent of a past you are responsible for.
But be the virgin queen in this new disguise and I'm sure you will seduce new bright ones. They are always good audiences for talented, shameless minds. And your silly posse of court held vaguely near, always nods yes and pats your ruffles clean of inconsistencies of character.
You really should rule a vast and powerful painting, a kingdom of the most fascinating self denial.
There was no time for romance only business and the acquiring of more of what made your shabby kingdom. I pulled my slow heart through change and never really recovered from the speed and the wind of your rush. If you would have wooed me for a while, my hand would have loved to have been held in parks and under umbrellas.
But you have moved into new and vast frames with oil colors to paint new love, old lies to cover. Brush wide strokes, the mistake of our portrait. You look so fresh and innocent of a past you are responsible for.
But be the virgin queen in this new disguise and I'm sure you will seduce new bright ones. They are always good audiences for talented, shameless minds. And your silly posse of court held vaguely near, always nods yes and pats your ruffles clean of inconsistencies of character.
You really should rule a vast and powerful painting, a kingdom of the most fascinating self denial.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
a balancing act including dance and manuscripts
There was a smitten man on the crowded train, smitten with me. I would have been smitten back but I'm not inclined to the male variety. I was making eye contact with the girl six people over. The one with the straight brown gold hair, eyes perfectly green and brown. Distinctly, they were green, they were brown.
I am the courteous train passenger, melting and slinking into free spaces to avoid the jostling of ass and shoulder. I was busy, I watched the girl watch me watch her and I watched the man read and edit a manuscript while balancing his long frame lightly against a pole. The train lurched and he stepped on my foot. I was already whispering, "no worries" and shaking my head in forgiveness by the time he straightened himself and looked up to me to apologize.
His eyes widened by a fraction of a centimeter, lighting up then quickly snuffed, as to not come out of his cool. But I saw it, I was a Lego fit, at least for the rest of this ride. And from this time on he looked to me between sentences and corrections. He adjusted his position to be in front of me when I moved to sit down. I watched him watch me out of the corner of my eye as I watched the hazel eyed girl get off the train.
I kept my gaze pleasant and never quite on him as we left the train. I did that subtle dance of awareness and polite disinterest. He lingered a second or two, gentle and in step, balancing his role with mine. Then aware that the song ended he increased in speed and just before he took a flight of stairs to his next train, he looked back and smiled.
I am the courteous train passenger, melting and slinking into free spaces to avoid the jostling of ass and shoulder. I was busy, I watched the girl watch me watch her and I watched the man read and edit a manuscript while balancing his long frame lightly against a pole. The train lurched and he stepped on my foot. I was already whispering, "no worries" and shaking my head in forgiveness by the time he straightened himself and looked up to me to apologize.
His eyes widened by a fraction of a centimeter, lighting up then quickly snuffed, as to not come out of his cool. But I saw it, I was a Lego fit, at least for the rest of this ride. And from this time on he looked to me between sentences and corrections. He adjusted his position to be in front of me when I moved to sit down. I watched him watch me out of the corner of my eye as I watched the hazel eyed girl get off the train.
I kept my gaze pleasant and never quite on him as we left the train. I did that subtle dance of awareness and polite disinterest. He lingered a second or two, gentle and in step, balancing his role with mine. Then aware that the song ended he increased in speed and just before he took a flight of stairs to his next train, he looked back and smiled.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Vodka and watermelon
There was a boy, drunk and asleep on the train yesterday as I was coming home. As people were getting off, seats became available and I sat in one across from the boy. I opened up my book and settled in for the rest of the trip.
But things changed. The boy's body decided it could no longer put up with the vodka soaked watermelon he'd been eating all day. Out of the corner of my eye I saw liquid movement. I think I knew before the boy, he was only half aware of his own existence except for his misery.
six people and I shot up and flew to the side of the train, like mice running from water in a sinking ship. I placed myself close to the door so I could shoot out at the next stop, the boy thought this was a good idea for him as well. He lurched out of his seat and stumbled right at me. I launched myself into the crowd that had mashed themselves into a corner as he leaned over and puked in the direction of the door. I looked at all of our disgusted faces then longingly to the other side of the train where passengers sat watching, looking at us, glad they were not over here.
At this point there were ten of us crammed into a small corner in fear of this one barfing boy, 10 adults mashed together like scared prey. All because of this one slightly stupid human being who made a mistake. I felt foolish for being so grossed out.
I had the sneaking suspicion that we were behaving like we hadn't ever been stupid and drunk in our lives, like we were a separate sect of humans who could not consider taking part in such an experiment of bad manners and uncouth behavior. I was immediately embarrassed and deeply affected by this boys struggle to recover.
I'm not going to tell you that I helped him, I didn't. But I changed my position and became his equal again. I cared and felt no judgment anymore. it felt so good to remember there was no barrier other than the one I had imagined. All of us poured out and switched cars at the next stop, he got out and sat for a while.
But things changed. The boy's body decided it could no longer put up with the vodka soaked watermelon he'd been eating all day. Out of the corner of my eye I saw liquid movement. I think I knew before the boy, he was only half aware of his own existence except for his misery.
six people and I shot up and flew to the side of the train, like mice running from water in a sinking ship. I placed myself close to the door so I could shoot out at the next stop, the boy thought this was a good idea for him as well. He lurched out of his seat and stumbled right at me. I launched myself into the crowd that had mashed themselves into a corner as he leaned over and puked in the direction of the door. I looked at all of our disgusted faces then longingly to the other side of the train where passengers sat watching, looking at us, glad they were not over here.
At this point there were ten of us crammed into a small corner in fear of this one barfing boy, 10 adults mashed together like scared prey. All because of this one slightly stupid human being who made a mistake. I felt foolish for being so grossed out.
I had the sneaking suspicion that we were behaving like we hadn't ever been stupid and drunk in our lives, like we were a separate sect of humans who could not consider taking part in such an experiment of bad manners and uncouth behavior. I was immediately embarrassed and deeply affected by this boys struggle to recover.
I'm not going to tell you that I helped him, I didn't. But I changed my position and became his equal again. I cared and felt no judgment anymore. it felt so good to remember there was no barrier other than the one I had imagined. All of us poured out and switched cars at the next stop, he got out and sat for a while.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Something Else?
A witch I knew in waking visited me in a dream. I was busy at the time she arrived, leaning over into the dirt picking up colorful, fat and fuzzy ribbons, the kind little girl's moms tied pigtails with when I was young.
I was caught up, talking to myself about the importance of being able to hold all of these ribbons at once, worried about dropping them, worried about what next.
I knew she was there in her soft and willowy way. She said nothing and watched patiently, judgeless. Her feet were clean in the dirt and her dress moved silently over them as she moved in rhythm to an evolution she was humming to.
Out from the periphery she came into full view, I looked up to her and she said, "If you worry so much about holding all of this you won't have room for anything else."
I was caught up, talking to myself about the importance of being able to hold all of these ribbons at once, worried about dropping them, worried about what next.
I knew she was there in her soft and willowy way. She said nothing and watched patiently, judgeless. Her feet were clean in the dirt and her dress moved silently over them as she moved in rhythm to an evolution she was humming to.
Out from the periphery she came into full view, I looked up to her and she said, "If you worry so much about holding all of this you won't have room for anything else."
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