post-op kitty

She tried to be tricksy and get the cone off, then waddled over to me like this.

I was amused. She, clearly, was not.

meowmobile

i learned the names of four cats today
not a single human being
a red holed box filled with mews
held by a young voice who only squeaked chester.
he sat the box on the parking lot
so the mews in his box could talk to the mews in my box.
and if the mews became friends for a second
i have a feeling they did not introduce themselves
with the names we gave them.
I hope my cat has a sweet name in mewspeak.
     three guesses what it sounds like...

next to me, identical mother and daughter, one black and one Inky.
lots of cats have Boots, he said
yours does too he said
(I think they're more like socks
     boyfriend says they're gloves for boxing)
so much for this deal on fixing them, he said,
don't speed west on 6th at 7am.

And little sunset-colored

Zuni

 noun \ˈzü-nē\ : a street next to where I finished growing.
(no, she was not pink.)


ii.

i learned the names of four felines
this morning - and not a single human
grey january, cats in boxes each
one pleading for us to stroke them
i always wish the breaths we can see
would spell the words as we spoke them
whisping howls escape pointed teeth
then cloud before irises golden.

iii.

a woman's words, wanton outspoken:
the moon has been tipped over.
this is why the days are warm, 
and the water levels lower.
each pair of ears stitched to a head
 heard these words then tilted
so i caught them in my fist
and hid them.

a moment breaks in ice and space:
it can vanish, or be written.

william carlos williams

to my Wife:

you left your blueberries
in the fridge after a night of
cheap beer and awkward dancing.
now they're mine, bitch.

you can have the tupperware back,
i guess.

Insult to injury.

I respect that you have a magnificent brain, filled with chemicals and magic and processes that I will never understand; I love you for living alongside me, however distantly, struggling with game pieces and feeling largely powerless over them but using your uniquely human capability of reason to make your moves. And so the things I am about to say may sound harsh, but I feel they deserve to be said.

I go in and out of phases where I find myself wrapped around the absurdities floating around the collective brain of humanity. The only way I know to sort out my thoughts is to write them down. My words have earned many labels over the years, and there is no shortage of instances when I have been deemed insulting. If you have ever been insulted by my assertions, then it is time to understand why I am insulted by yours.

I find it insulting the sheer volume of art, literature, architecture, history, and life that has been utterly, gorily destroyed in the name of an arbitrary god. I find it insulting that these acts - inspired by texts that remain unchanged and non-acquiescent to the intellectual development of humanity - are quickly forgotten and written off by entire populations. I find it insulting that human culture is often more comfortable with sweeping pious atrocities under a proverbial rug than approaching them and asserting the need for growth; that when the same small handful of books is responsible for untold millions of mutilated psyches and stolen lives few are willing to admit there might be a problem. I am insulted on behalf of every woman whose child has died in a war wrought over somebody's viciously backwards picture of morality. I am insulted on behalf of every child whose parent has died fighting in wars that, in the eyes of the righteous mercenary, can only be resolved by purging of the heretics and wrong-believers.

I find it insulting that every major religious text was written almost entirely by men, and each one spells it out quite clearly that women do not have a place in society alongside their masculine counterparts; that males are the superior sex and will be treated as such. I find it insulting how many little boys and girls have grown up living a lie because who they love or do not love is enough for a life sentence in the bonds of hellfire. I am insulted how many adults (mostly women, of course) and children alike have been harassed and raped because society is uncomfortable teaching its citizens how to fulfill their natural sexual appetites with respect and love.

I find it insulting how much cultural, scientific, and artistic progress has been observably stunted by religious dogma.

I am insulted that there are millions and millions of people around the world who either refuse to acknowledge or have yet to realize that their core and essential beliefs are based on words that were written justifying alienation, abuse, rape, torture, and slaughter in order to control populations in fear of damnation.

I am insulted because so many people walk along down the street knowing that complete strangers and friends alike, including your and my own loved ones, deserve to suffer for all eternity.

And I am insulted because I am supposed to just shut up and be tolerant.

snuggleplz.

There I was, about to subject you poor souls to a feminist tirade sparked by an acquaintance completely ignorant yet assuredly outspoken on the subject of intimate partner violence, when my friend came over for a jam session. Thank goodness for music. 

Anyway, 

peanuts. not even once.

 I think I am developing a slight allergy to peanuts. Came to this conclusion after having noticed impressive growth in my stomach and asthmatic episodes after the ingestion of peanut butter.

This is sad, as I have ingested quite literally thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No exaggeration, thousands.

So do not underestimate when I tell you that right now, giving up peanut butter is harder for me than it was to give up meth.

Meat. I meant to say meat.

squashsalmonspeakerssweeet.

I have a bitchin' camera now, and should have taken pictures as proof, but you can trust me that I just made spaghetti squash "pasta" (with roasted yellow peppers, tomatoes, basil, and garlic) and salmon, and it was to die for. So everyone out there who is not dining beside me, you probably might as well just die.

Anyway, I spent all day yesterday organizing my bedroom. Here is my new desk setup. I inherited J's old monitors (they are not old at all, he just got bigger ones). Cadence thinks they sound excellent.

[Please, don't anyone die I'd feel pretty damn terrible.]

proof

I inhaled slowly and as my chest filled with new mountain air, a fluttering started in the center of my torso that ended ended at my hips, and in the other direction my ears. I exhaled and opened my eyes; the light welcomed itself back into my body, soaring to the back of my neck then straight down my spine.

Directly across from me I hoped the green irises were floating, begging for another sip. He took a small breath, one meant for spilling quiet roaring thoughts, the hot kind that have been cooking for a few weeks, said,

     "I want to tell you something, but I don't know if this is the time..." his eyes moved to my lips, pupils widened and waited for a response.

     "Well, if you want to keep it in there, that is okay, too. Though I cannot promise that I won't try and guess it on my own." 

"You think you can guess what I am thinking?"

"Not necessarily... I think I can try. But that's more likely a projection of my own thoughts."

"So then, you feel the same."

      My parents raised me to believe that interrupting is rude. So let me make a very important exception: it is often appropriate interrupt a smile with a kiss. 

That night I realized that our brains are selfish and playing us for shivers, and that the fairies darting inside our heads, playing with toy chemistry sets are doing a damned good job. 

Sometimes living is as easy as breathing in, and breathing out. This is how I am sure that love is oxygen.