Saturday, June 19, 2021

personal essay, week 2

Frog prince twins sipping gin and snorting Torchy's. Mind meld magic in the grass outside the party. Sick so special man yr movie's really arty.

 We blew by SXSW. Full contrarian status, I refused the widely used abbreviation, "south-by," and ran around shouting for weeks,* "We're going to southbee! southbee!" Big business tech tycoon nightmare carnival took over the whole town. When I lived in Austin, I hated the whole racket -- the traffic, the tourists, the lines, the logos, the litter, the excess. Well of course I still hate it, so even though I was ecstatic that we had been invited, I was determined to fully embody anti-SXSW values whenever possible. I stayed up late making homemade paper business cards. I insisted our crew get matching jean jackets, the Ghost Fleet. 

 We trash talk, we lip lock, we jaywalk for miles. We dumpster, we long fur, we sweet meat and smiles.

 You know, of course, it turned out to be a lot of milling around, as is the case with so many conventions. We ate cole slaw sandwiches inside a massive, empty sound stage while the adults had barbecue. We became festival friends with a woman whose movie, in the “Midnights” category, was about a female necrophile. Before the premiere, we visited the new GOAT YOGA studio in same dang strip mall as the movie theatre. You can't make this shit up.** 

 While the world hurdled ever onward into the lie of neverending capitalist death show, I found myself surrounded by my best friends, my very favorite people, love bugs I've known for decades and buddies I’ve known only briefly, together, sharing visions, feeding on each other's passion, running from the juggernaut and WINNING. Day drunk, sun spilling in, what a ride. Somehow my favorite people, my best loves, all in one place at the same time. The overwhelm - the too muchness of it - the bigness of us made small by the drone. 

Thursday, June 10, 2021

trascribed voice memos from my dog walks

6/7/2021, 1:51pm 

sidewalk squat to get a picture of a gutter egg

two doors down real live robin puddle sputtering full robin

and here’s these sticks

the sticks of men

there’s a dead bird

a dead bird in the yard of hte sticks of men , oh god

he had a lawn and it killed them all

the dogs dog dogs dogs with some paws ouch oh jesus

i’m not ever gonna get used to this - what if i - okay

i don’t know if they can still here me

these dogs these dogs noses and paws

tj’s tryin to wiggle away fey

they never liekd it how i rhymed

Thursday, June 03, 2021

personal essay class - week one quick write

cramps grumpy crumpet. blaring bleating trumpet. sticky fickle carpet. yr never gonna stop it.

when t​he​ bell rings in there, ​swings in there, sings despair, try not to care but hey​ you​ over there,
you can't escape the ding ding ding ding crushing twisting cramping.

how about that now, how about you talk to her. what did she ever do to you!

like conjuring my inner critic, i will pluck you, uterus, out and set you up right here on the futon.
it's real hard to get them out.​

the bleeding never bothered me.
​you know i can't abide a lie!
middle school was murder, seats stained, jeans ruined, cruel laughter in the corners.

​this is so boring, i'm bored of myself.
are you writing or reading or even thinking? which one are you doing! pick forgodssake!
you got self conscious and that's okay. are you feeling too vulnerable today?
do we need to go in another direction?

​i didn't mean to pick on you.​ it is just the body of me that is talking right now, so it only made sense.
a sweet bright drop-

you can't stop the squiggles. little worm in there, nast. a lonely sequin on the doormat.
every day i nearly die, and so do you, and so do you.

yr world has really shrunk, huh. all there is, curled and contained. the bedroom. the kitchen.
the walls. the ceiling. the face of yr "honey."
​(​in tarot, the ​figure of the World​ is intersex - non-binary - in between - across - trans​)​
but what about the ant on my pants?
and waht about these fucking cramps?
if i have a body (and so far, i do) will nothing make it quiet?

the World isn't in there. it never was and never will be. the World is too vast and vibrant to be just this. the oven is not the cake. mammals think we are so brave.

don't worry, we're all still god, and so are you, and so are you. i am the white hot center of a web of love, and so are you, and so are you.

the center of me tunes its frequency to the center of Things. it's cool to vibe in, but don't linger. you can't! catch hold of the knot that brought you here and climb back toward it, back to bones and blood and oh, cramps. sing yr thanks to every moon + every womb but bless the ​earthworm, the slippershell​, anemone​. all things god and so are you and so are you​: a sweet bright drop.​

Thursday, April 15, 2021


featuring three (3) not-quite cat calls, entirely zero (0) proofreading, and more lists (!) like this

today i'm gonna tell it like it happened. i stopped writing my morning pages about a year ago. i had fallen off the wagon a couple times but at the start of the pandemic, i had a burst of creative energy. lockdown? what a good time to MAKE THIGNS, i thought, so naively. maybe it was just my own crutch that was the trouble - i had gotten accustomed to treating morning pages as a journal rather than a creative experiment (most of the time anyway). and then, april 2020, i had absolutely nothing to report. i gave up almost immediately. now i think i'm ready to try again but i don't know how to start. this can't be it, it isn't even morning! but it's words in whole sentences and that'll do, pig. last night while high i scribbled down some half idea that good writing is like a light fingering. just a soft pleasant tickle. maybe like tingles across your skin and you want the feeling backwards and forwards at the same itme - past present and future all at once. well taht's what you get when you're high i guess! bull bunk! but i'll tell you, i was walking down the street, walking other people's dogs in exchange for green beans, as one does, when i heard a holler. not a cat call, in my overalls, oh no. a construction dude, although fully invisible, seemed to holler to his construction dude brethren, "WHY THE FUCK HAS SHE GOT ONE PANTS LEG ROLLED UP??" oh, that IS me. huh. the follow up question could have been anything, honestly. "IS SHE A DYKE?" / "IS THAT FASHION?" / "IS IT ALLOWED EVEN?" and so on. i'll never know and neither will you. but what struck me about it most is how BORED this guy (and therefore, everyone in existence) must be. what is exciting about one pants leg slightly higher than the other? the truth is that they were both hitched up but one fell back down and i didn't bother to fix it. the truth is even more bored than that guy. so i suppose me and my overalls were happy to do them this service.

a beautiful lady on a motor bike may or may not have called out my name. we both turned to look over our shoulders as we continued in opposite directions. did this really happen? maybe it wasn't my name at all.

at the stop light, a teenager crosses the street in front of me, carrying an empty orange fanta bottle. ever a raccoon, i scan the block for trash and recycling receptacles. i'm thinking, golly look at this kid, carrying his plastic all the way home to the recycling bin, what a good guy, someone out there really does care after all. and then he walks straight into a sidewalk bump of tall grass and "effortlessly" lets the bottle slip from his grasp. two steps and he even does a double take, perhaps to make sure it was a good drop. "NOT COOL, DUDE" i yell after him, but for once, my windows are rolled up and he can't hear me. my raccoon eyes shoot rays of guilt at his back but he doesn't turn around again. i turn left and leave it too.

at home the war against the ants rages on. i'm just thrilled it's spring again and i can see and sing again. the rest of the week looks something like this list: nonograms, group therapy, cheez its, menstrual cramps and motrin, too much hair (me), the smallest hairball (dr. g willikers), K/D kibble, avoiding doing taxes, 7 fans (window, ceiling, and standing) at a time, funderemployment, sandalwood incense, underwear in the bathtub, IPAs, illegible stoned scribbles, and 6 versions of daniel johnston's "walking the cow" plus my own rendition. i need to do the litter box. i need to do kind of a lot.

Tuesday, April 06, 2021

dream bitties

I don't remember anything about my dream except

Morgan explaining to brock about having to poop sideways

Kat sent us a new selfie of her ex David that he had just sent her. She was gushing about how sexy he is and I was scared that they were getting back together. She sent the picture - and half his body was airbrushed away. He was posing on a bed supposed to be looking hot (also not a selfie, who took this picture??) But with chunks of his body erased. And Kat didnt notice?

Tuesday, March 16, 2021

soup key

Different neutrals - childhood
Ellie had free reign ish aka whatever you want (within limits of their resources sense of indulgence etc)
I had mama signing me up for random stuff none of which I cared about but played along with until I didn't anymore
Encouraging play looks different
Brett brought the keyboards but I have to make them fun ??
I wish I could just play with everybody
I wish I would've done better before covid
I really need to find something to do
After this one I'm going rogue !!!! Ebahakfhajahdhsahaha