apnea

Relentless northeast winds breach drywall and dreams, forcing me awake at point of consummation where much was gained and much was lost. Your hollowed eyes from lack of sleep bear irrepressible mirth nonetheless. I twist the bed sheets, a lone occupant, and turn my face away from dawn. Sink the anchor down past beta, willing to approach the delta once more. Which way will the wind blow next. Will I sink into rich sediment formed at the mouth.

Rising now a second time, midmorning, clutching the pillow dampened with sweat and regret and hope - narrowly escaping further dire consequence. I am forsworn. Only my somnambulant stubbornness allows me to turn back the tide. Must we forever be divided against ourselves. When does unrequitedness ever give strength to purpose. Why do I insist on living a dream.

Unexpected nerve and plasma surge. As for the tides, I have no wish or strength to turn them aside. That's a lie in partiality. Nonetheless. Weighing anchor, willing another port, I fix my compass to trade routes and fertile, febrile fields. A brave new front.

importunate

And does it please you to caparison me in wishes, in stuttering confessions, clever and feckless, then I will lean into it. Full weight renders the symbiotic crush fruitful and I will gladly bide for vintage conclusions. Do you speak in conversational tones, then I will remind your tongue how delicate the palate, how swiftly the bouquet spoils upon conceit.
Tell me more. Tell me more. I should be so lucky and thrice times over.

**********

And so. I have no quill, no ruffled sleeves, no plunging bodice. My hair unwashed and wind-torn, a silver keyboard, half-finished drawings of teeth bared and eyes heavy-lidded. Cheap beer and jasmine rice, bladder straining, somewhere a muttering. Spine compacted, sitting overlong gazing at bitmapped palimpsests. Last year's shoes planted flat to the floor, the ones I left outside of temple thresholds in Thiruvannaamalai.

I want to enunciate each portion of my life, as stammered avowals. I want to trill them all together, as an Indian would, replete with sideways headbobble and twinkle in the eye. Absurdly poised I recount Whitman, of contradictions and multitudes.

Do you?

noctural remissions

Abandoning sheets and a three-decades-old quilt, waking with grease in folds of flesh, smearing memories of dreams into a Petri dish. Not one virgin kleenex within reach, back of hand is an understudy. Erstwhile Libran lover with my hands fades after blossoming, a midnight migraine. Why was your face framed in grey-shot black, a diminutive satyr? You've always stood taller than I with wheat-gold waterfalls. You didn't even laugh. Your mouth closed against mine. My mouth closed against yours.

Try living with feigned apathy. Histrionics and half-gasps make lustier bedfellows.

Bones pop and joints refuse to loosen. For that, you shoot the rapids in a one-man vessel. Steady stroke and rigid tendons, shallow breath determination, aiming for the cataract a million miles hence. Arms windmill, legs clamped against one another. Far away at home before disturbed bedclothes, before crawling from the empty womb, fingers bury into cleft. Urgent scrabbling and arched back. Stuffing fist into face, facing the ceiling, fistfuls of chasteless implacable need.

Dramatis personae, indeed.

some do some don't

Aft of midday, no sign of Sandman. Pumping pedals and autumn's tangy air bid him retreat; a handful of hours and dint of will carries him finally across the threshold. (Unruly stomach, cottoned head and boneless limbs protested the ushering) Fizzy kombucha fends off the ague and soon constitution flung away last night from the bottom of a bottle begins to boomerang back.

It's easy to think you'll never do something that stupid again when you're in the midst of paying the price for it. Just wait. The true test quickens on the lee side of the scourge.

Sitting in the five-dollar chair that refuses to adjust you wish you had the courage to just fuck and be happy.

word to the why's

Spire's pear cider tastes like cat piss
Scrumpy Jack's organic cider unless you want a sugar high to accompany your barbituate haze
Fox Barrel hard cider unless you like licking fox-arse
America's Original Pumpkin Ale unless it's on sale and during a drought, although it is a previous fave

The winners remain:

Spire's Cider, straight up, in a 22 oz bottle, no pour, deep throat it

PBR or Pabst Blue Ribbon for the uninitiate. At .89 a tall can and co-operatively owned (I hearsay) you can slam it sound and slap it on the ass with no backtalk.




And I would be remiss if I did not give a nod to my dead brother's favorite, Fat Tire. I only like it when I drink it on his anniversary, or as a PBR chaser.

Long live working-class trash!! Hand over that Bud Light with Lime!

traceuses

Alors, je suis parkour.

Lingering upon the pillow 'til half-past eight, levering into paint-stained jeans and waterproof wear, scissoring through the neighborhood for an hour's span. Forty year old lungs and legs exchange easy greetings with hills. Churning through rain on an empty stomach gives length to stride. There is a brightness in the low-slung sky today. No trainspotting as yet.

The blue-handled snub-nosed shears resurfaced in the pocket of an ill-used coat last night. I fingered them as I walked with head down and soft curses past a house on fire.

The coffee's cold. The blink of cursor and seconds sounded on the wall clock synchronize. My heart keeps a half-beat pace behind. Rain sputters to a stop and lawn engines roar to life. The squirrel who regularly traverses the stapled fence pauses to rub muzzle against plank. The holly bush houses maple leaves and I must return to Tiberium.



"No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly" - Oscar Wilde

which way is prepositional

Up at 10 after a late night movie date with the hole-in-the-wall television and post-viewing literary session in Tiberium. Dragging the grey matter around on a leash, urging it to synaptic willfulness with cheap Earl Grey. How to properly kern the shuffling thoughts that dangle carrots and fishnet stockings before myopic vision. And where are the blue-handled scissors? There are only two proper rooms in this flat and precious little storage. I live with no-one. Kneading frustration into dough. It rises stubbornly. Has the wheat gone sour? Where is the rain that was promised? I forego the vitamins and prop my knee out the window. Track back and forth between the washbasin and the kleenex box, plucking dust motes from the air, reverting to a childhood habit when they were Sights.

I wish I was as handy as a Prufrock poem.

The bead doll climbs the neck of a vase which housed volunteer sunflowers growing from a rubbish heap. The sun lathes across the autumn sky. An engine roars overhead. The neighborhood dogs are subdued. It'll be dark soon; thirteen hundred is four hours away from gloaming and raccoons who march across the yard. One has a milk-white eye.


"This is the sort of cleverness up with which I will not put"
paraphrasing Winston Churchill's quote

cor blimey! gadzooks.

The wind blew in from the north and it is CHILLY HERE today. I rode home in the sideways rain with the wind funneling down the river and into my right ear canal (time to find the winter headband). yeah and thank god someone invented gore-tex!!!

I am wound up tighter than a psycho in a straight jacket hoh mah gawd. This morning I drank tea. Simple Earl Grey. And I was off like a flaming rocket - POW. Wh-wh-what in t-t-tarNATION. Bzzzzzwwwwirrrrrrroooowwwwwshitbang! Good thing I had places to go and people to see; the bike ride helped me burn all the spastic off.

Until I found out that I have been LIED TO as a consumer! No, look, okay? I have been back on the meds for a month - vitamins. Faithful, every day, multis and a magnesium calcium zinc combo. Today I find out that magnesium and calcium inhibit each other when taken simultaneously. Dammit! There are warnings on cigarettes, and alcohol, and even cheese nowadays ("no soy no wheat no gluten low sodium low carb high fiber free range RGBH/THC free). Why in all hells can there not be a regulation that stipulates what science - not New Age hummy gummy theory - has proven:

Calcium and magnesium are not to be taken together. Or you're wasting your money.

Oh right! It's about money! Pharmaceutical companies, I have heard, are less than forthright and more than happy to lighten your piggy bank.

Also, another well-placed caveat upon the vitamin label might prove useful to the uninitiated: magnesium (citrate) has a reputation for giving humans the shits. Actually that could be a boon for some, and could instead be placed on the front of the bottle with a big bright sticker and lots of exclamation points!! bonus!!

So the reasons are twofold, why I drew this self-portrait tonight, in light of the day's double-whammy:



Now what. I need to go buy fifteen different bottles of vitamin and set my alarm at specific intervals for a reminder to pop the pills individually, so as to ensure that my vitamins don't mix at cross-purposes. Ridicule-less.

The good news:

According to a well-respected local medicine man medical doctor, it doesn't matter if you buy your vitamins from a dollar bin at the Cash King, or if you shell out fifteen clams for one bottle at your locally owned and operated apothecary, run by staff well-versed in all their products and how you might correct your ailments with herbs de provence, cat'o'nine tails, or a scooperful of kombucha.

Loo loo loony!

I need to go take a lude. I shall Google 'lude - vitamin' and see if there is anything in my DIY apothecary that fits the bill.

All right, fellow simians....near and far....short and long (in India, they say 'long' instead of 'tall').....keep living the dream!

a nice soak

Hey kids. Shiver me timbers! A howling squall moved through here this morning, just as I was poised to launch myself into the city. I'm glad the Eye of Sauron didn't cast a baleful glare upon my pedaling self - that would have sucked rotten eggs. As it was, I waited ten minutes for the worst of the wind to blow itself out, and then I made my wet way over to T's where I made heaps of mashed potatoes for her husband's birthday dinner.

Birthday Dinner?! Oh the pressure! GAH.

I think they turned out pretty good, and I even improvised a little bit. Found some creamy butternut squash soup in their refrigerator to change it up a bit. I even cut the bad bits of the potatoes off. I was happy they wanted the skins left on though...vitamins! And I used a fancy mixer, and everything. I did have visions of the proverbial sailor's chore, down in the brig: peeling and cutting mountains of potatoes, day in an day out. Even for me, who can eat the same thing for a whole week, would cringe at the homogenaiety. I suppose if one has too many eyes, you could eat potatoes, and cure yourself homeopathically? What the hell am I nattering on about. Shut the hell up, you scurvy rain-sodden rat!

So, here are some flamboyant trees for your viewing edification. The first is outside T's house, looking down the lane (I say Lane, it is Utter Suburbia, with homogenous housing, but anyway):

and then on my bike ride homewards, I snapped this photo...the trees remind me of popsicles



I stopped at the Library and picked up another of my all-time favorite books, which I have also read thrice, but I will read it again to nurse myself through the crash after the high of the last book. Oh thank god for prolific writers.

Once home, the rain had stopped and the clouds had even cleared off a bit. My brakes have been a bit loose, so I tightened them up (I didn't have to replace the rear ones after all, hooray!) and then patched up the seat. What a badass I am.

Here is my bicycle. The sticker is from a trade I did a dog's life ago with a guy who lives in China (or, Chain, if you are into the anagrams).



Painted a picture and smoked a bong....ha ha, just kidding. Yeah right, you know that's bullshit. I am just feeling a little bit saucy after feeling so puny yesterday, so I pretend I can handle the drugs...oh do stop nattering on and freaking on. Going to read a nice safe book now, do a little armchair traveling, to the land of Infidels and Dragons. la la la

pearly gates

My morning:

up at 9:30, after a lengthy awake-time during the middle of the night, sandwiched between a lot of active disturbing dreaming.

3pm - still in jammies, listening to Radiohead and Thom Yorke, doing this:

It's been a long while since I've done any printmaking. I love the process, and the first page I peel back from the fresh ink on the newly carved block is always really cool. I'm happy with my efforts. I'd like lots to be different, but this is exactly what I wanted for today.

I'm patching in to the internet via a little G4 laptop that has been so generously loaned to me by a guy who fixes computers (my landlady knows him and gave me his contact information). Mike was more than willing to come over and assess my G5 after first the Bluetooth disappeared, and the next day, the Airport. So, no connecting to the internet with the Big Girl...the modem (at the landlady's) is too far away and convoluted to string an ethernet cable between us. So for now, and as long as I need it, I'll use this hardy little lappie while my vintage computer (newer than this lil' dude) handles stuff like Photoshop and anything media and graphic related. Ugh. Don't want to buy another computer, or spend a shitload of money fixing it up (not worth it).

Yes, it's really Vintage. It is an official term, and five years old for a computer nowadays is vintage. Incredible. Technology is amazing and wonderful, when you can afford to pay the wizard of Oz.

I just looked out the window and there are these sweet little birds hopping around in the garden beds. I mean. They are the sweetest dearest. Are they a kind of chickadee? I don't think sparrows. They blend in really well with the dirt and rocks, but if you search enough, you'll be able to see their fluffy beaked little bodies:



hmmmm....maybe not. Maybe if you click on the picture to enlarge it. Trust me, they are charming.

I am on this big bean kick. I'm making smashed pinto beans all the time now. I just learned that pinto in portuguese is another word for dick. ha ha ha!! So I'm going to smash little dicks, and throw them in a bowl with some squash and rice. What a delicious meal.

*******

9pm

Finally, it's raining, after nothing but uninterrupted grey dry skies. Like the sun had turned away its face and instead showed a vast, rippling, chilly buttcheek. Well, it wasn't too chilly today, and it was very still....no breeze to speak of, silent and still. I'm glad it's raining, feels like a release cause I've been totally hormonal and weepy all day (without the actual weeping). I finished one of my favorite books, I've read it three times over the last few years, and I feel bereft. And no other good books to turn to right now. I must survive this winter. 

fa so la ti do

Hey don't be shocked by I am gainfully employed again, though under the table about it. Looks like I might be able to keep my promise to myself after all: not filing taxes for one entire year! Ssssshhhh. A friend of a friend needs help in her home with cooking and cleaning, and so I am helping her.

(disclaimer! notice to the IRS! I haven't earned enough cash to file taxes, under the table or not!)

Yesterday at the workplace I wondered, Does anyone really live here? I wrote a friend: maybe it's a movie set, and someone is fanatical, has a weird fetish, keep this for fun. There were barely any hairs in the sink, the tub was strangely devoid of scummy stuff. The fake white-painted wood blinds (there were so many, there could have been so many more, I count my blessings): barely any dust. But I didn't cheat: I cleaned every damned one of those slats in the blinds. I have a weird conscience (once when I was in high school and just learning to drive I accidentally sideswiped the car in the next parking slot over, as I was backing out - hey. I was driving my mom's big-ass station wagon. But I didn't leave a number, I just looked around to make sure no one saw what I did, and left....my conscience is fickle). So, the blinds, and maybe being a bit older now....couldn't be sneaky about not cleaning what seemed clean to me already.

Anyway, today both kids and the husband were home. The kitchen was a total wreck, in less than 24 hours! No surprise. T (name shortened to protect the innocent) had already warned me that her kids are 'enabled' and I asked to clarify: "You mean, you enable them by doing things for them?" and she said yes, and that her mother has a lot of ideas how she should raise her kids (they should do their own dishes, laundry, etc....well, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea really...the kids are 17 and 12...). Come to think of it though..I don't remember having to do many chores as a kid and I turned out all right, and I prefer my environment to be neat and tidy. Last night after seeing how clean their bathtub was I felt inspired to scrub down my own shower stall.

I made a good vegan meal for their dinner, with lots of veggies, coconut milk, and.....pant pant pant...cilantro.

Cilantro is one of those six-senses orgasmic experiences for me. Oh my god. I want to roll around in it. I promised myself as the summer wound down, with all the accompanying yummy fresh food smells, that I would buy myself a bunch of cilantro every week or so. Maybe just keep it as a bouquet, aromatherapy. (yes I said six senses by the way, my...aura....if you will, my 23 gram soul, responds to it in a very spiritually visceral way)

I asked how to run the dishwasher, explaining to T that I don't have one at home (even when I did, I used it for a big fancy drying rack instead of washing dishes). She then asked if I had a garbage disposal after I looked for the switch to turn the thing on (no I don't have one, it all goes into the compost bin out back). "I remember living like that." She said it without rancor or judgement, but I wanted to laugh. I forget that people become used to certain 'luxuries'.

"Do you have a TV?" This was as she hauled out a Swifter for me to use, to dust the floor and gather dirt.

I hesitated..."Yeah, but it's not hooked up. I watch movies on it." My television, purchased for ten dollars used, is small enough to fit neatly into the small wardrobe. A very small upright dresser. So I can close the doors and not see it when it's not in use. She continued, "well if you watch TV then you might have seen one of these Swifters." I said, "I have seen them, on the internet, as an aid to guerilla art." Unfazed, she said, "Well we don't make guerilla art with this."

But you can. I saw a pictorial demonstration! You can use it as a way to lengthen you reach, by altering the Swifter just a little bit, it will hold a sticker, so you can slap 'em up really high. People are so ingenious.

So I Swifted, and I felt very bourgeois.

Later in the garden, we put the beds to sleep. Pulled some weeds, composted the old tomatoes, and I raked and hauled leaves to mulch with (the best black gold ever - if people realized how great leaves are for compost and soil-making, I don't think there would be any fear of food scarcity...and people who sold mulch for a living might be out of business).

How did we come round to talking about how expensive it is, living? Oh, she would like to go off-grid, since utilities and living expenses are astronomical, and "it's impossible to live on not much money." I wanted to laugh again - ok I know that's not a laughing matter but I think she meant, "without certain luxuries" (they have two cars, two kids, big flat screen tv, hot tub, big yard, etc etc). She corrected herself and said, "well it's possible, if you live simply".

It's always easier to want more. Bigger. Better. You know. Before my brother died, I talked of trying to save money, and I'm pretty good at saving money. He asked me what I could live without, what did I spend all my money on? After I was laid off from work the following year and decided to go on unemployment, I learned how to live pretty comfortably on several hundred dollars less. The two combining events helped shape how I live today: without a car, and a lot of other extras...although I do have a kick-ass computer (when it doesn't go belly up, as it is trying to do again), and an internet connection. Completely unnecessary, but as my friend Clark would say, I don't have cable, I choose Internet :) After learning how to conserve and downsize, and not even feel lacking, I could conceive of working part-time...that lead to the job at the library, where I lived quite comfortably working only 24 hours a week. And, saving enough money to take a year off (what I am doing now).

(shit! I hope I don't sound preachy! ooh ick)

Even though I lived without a computer for awhile...for example...if I didn't have mine now, I would feel really deprived :)

So. It is all relative. And personal.

Autumn is upon us, and it is gorgeous. The flaming maple tree outside of T's house, where I raked, is flipping erotic. The colors here aren't as hectic or dramatic on the whole as New England, but the trees are definitely showing off. Smells good too. And there has been rain, with days of sun and warmth. I like these autumns, when we are easing into winter gently. My home is warm and dry...very cosy, and I am thrilled about this. The sunshine this evening was brilliant through the windows, all golden. I missed the golden opportunity, but I did manage some pretty nice photos of the inside of my little apartment to share, since that's been a habit of mine...documenting and all.

After the photography session, I received some emails from my new friend in Sao Paulo, who complied with my shameless request for Portuguese swear words. Much as I love saying the F word, it's nice to round out the vocabulary a bit. Thanks Caio, I am still laughing really a lot.

On with the show!

Standing by the art tables, on the south side, looking north at the wall of kitchen



Standing at the front door, west side, looking into the kitchen/studio and down the short hallway into the bedroom/salon 



The salon by day, bedroom by night



Now we've returned to the front door, looking south (right) this time, towards the studio with the kitchen wall on my left (same room, it's a two-room wonder I live in, and I mean that sincerely...just enough space for me, easy to keep warm, and easy to clean!)


Yes now we are looking back at the front door, with autumn's splendid glory outside, along with the clothesline (on the very left through the window, just visible)



Here is the cow I promised Caio. S/he sees you wherever you go, very kindly and full of the mirth





And now, I must memorize one more foul word in Portuguese, and call this a very wonderful, complete...kick ass day!!