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| thinking about rugs not lamps - I once had sex in front of a fire, the same woodburner insert that I am having installed again, on a floral wool orange rug, he took pics maybe still on one of zillion SD cards around here... that'd be the comparable location |
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| I just got shit done allllll day, periodically bursting into tears to clear the pipes and keep going going g.... |
the real thing - parker milsap
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| about that gun.. |
"...the kinds of things that happen when your life is falling apart. Suddenly it’s raining hammers. Everything unravels. You sprain your ankle, your car breaks down, your dog dies. You can’t handle anything. And that’s when the madness really sets in, because it seems like the world itself is a machine of pain that has turned its full force against you." ~All the Way to the River
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| No more. |
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| "half a bubble off plumb" |
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| potentially |
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| better |
'The three men approached. O knelt down on the rug, her green dress in a corolla around her. Her bodice squeezed her; her breasts whose nipples were visible, were at the level of her lover's knees. "A little more light," said one of the men. As they were adjusting the lamp so that the beam of light would fall directly on his sex and on his mistress's face, which was almost touching it, and on her hands which were caressing him from below, Rene suddenly ordered: Say it again: 'I love you.'" O repeated "I love you," with such delight that her lips hardly dared brush the tip of his sex, which was still protected by its sheath of soft flesh. The three men, who were smoking, commented on her gestures, on the movement of her mouth closed and locked on the sex she had seized, as it worked its way up and down, on the way tears streamed down her ravaged face each time the swollen member struck the back of her throat and made her gag, depressing her tongue and causing her to feel nauseous. It was this same mouth which, half gagging on the hardened flesh which filled it, murmured again: "I love you." The two women had taken up positions to the right and left of Rene who had one arm around each of their shoulders. O could hear the comments made by those present, , but through their words she strained to hear her lover's moans, caressing him carefully, slowly , and with infinite respect, the way she knew pleased him. O felt that her mouth was beautiful, since her lover condescended to thrust himself into it, since he deigned publicly to offer caresses to it, since, finally, he deigned to discharge in it. She received as a god is received, she heard him cry out..' ~Story of O
The offending passage.
In its stilted old-timey translated way, it's not entirely unlike the good news bible vibe - no?
Maybe I'm making that up, my sexual being so swamped with sadness on this earthly plane atm that I have to take it on faith that it still exists at all. I did find the 5 of Cups Betty Paige collage photo - the exact image meant to represent that faith, been looking for it for months. That collage is the first thing I am going to make there, sitting at the kitchen table. And wouldntcha know, it's the card of the day (again)
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| Ima gonna put a spin on it |
I also got a pistol permit, notice of, and the promise of all needed assistance all of which I intend to accept, and that'll take me into pheromone alive land, ie give me something to fucking do with my self besides wallpaper. Aim. Shoot. Bang. Chaperoned and shepherded so I don't gotta chit chat, love that.
But. I gotta get through this first. There is a rain cloud directly over me every day all day, and I do not want to take that sad monsoon season forward into the new time. I would rather stay in the shitty moment and see the storm through.
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| he sent one every year, not xmas or bday just a valentine, and I will never get another one 💔 |
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| 🤦🏻♀️fuck me |
what would you do to you? - tucker wetmore decent question, though I would add "for"
play me a song worst way - riley green acoustic
rebuttal god needs the devil - jonah kagen
"It will end when it ends— and when it ends, it won’t be you who ended it. Can you live without knowing any more than that? Can you live with accepting things just as they are? Can you take what you’ve been given, and leave the knowing and the wanting to others? Desperate and cumbersome, your mind lurches from desire to fear and back again— taking breaks only to feast upon your own heart. But what if you gave up on all your hungers now, and traded them in for a life of peace and dignity? And what if everything that was offered is simply this: Whatever you see before you right now? That is what’s yours. A world called: Enough." ~ All the Way to the River
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| "always touching" |
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| RIP dad |
Days like these that have something like 1000 pounds of emotional tnt but no, like, clear culmination. I dunno. I mean, I don't want every day to end in a fight or a fuck but. This stuff - life BREAKING - it's a bitch and where are the pressure releases? (Seriously.)
I finally just left the funeral party, which is literally raging upstairs now - I think the women are fighting and the men cleaning up in bemused spectatorship.
It was a great service, great party. Amazing to see my cousins. In a way. Also devastating. My cousin Perry's son killed himself. He is the one who gave me Hammy. I spent the most time with him at the service, him and his wife, they're broken totally but broken together but still. "We have a grandson and a new baby, Shirley (my mom's mom's name, crossing family lines). But are we really allowed to be happy ever again?" They both shake their heads, No.
Then switch gears into the past, everybody go back and remember my dad's life for the service. By far, the best part of my dad's life was when he was with my mother. They danced and laughed and fucked and loved the shit out of life, from which my sister and I sprang, and which we all remember. We ALL remember my parents being all over each other, music playing, food food food, everyone wanted to be with them as much as possible. my cousin Perry had a terrible stutter, but not around my mother. My parents loved life like hell through each other, and that spilled over onto everyone. Then they lost it. And nobody, not one family, not one cousin on either side, didn't suffer for the loss of the authentic Happy To Be that they were together. Like a bubble machine. And the person who suffered the most was my dad, the one who died without her. That story, their pictures, her visceral adoration, his mustaches, their voracious joy in each other, their chemistry, all of it - it's just - no wonder I am so. I don't know what to call it. Dying of thirst while drowning.
😭
My mother looks like she got smaller somehow. She talks way to much about everyone's past, drives us all a little nuts, but to her the past is a much longer shelf to choose from and now it's relentless. Omfg. To her, everyone is dead but us.
She's killin me. She is killing her :/
As always, my sister and I try to make everything funny. If we are going down memory lane, let's list all the ways our parents tried to kill us. Not psychologically, in that regard we were always treated like people. (I bet not once did my parents babble at me - I can see it in how my ma treats the baby, asking her philosophical questions about how she feels being the only thing that consoles everyone she currently knows. They look at each other like 😳👀. "Consuela," I whisper at the non-verbal baby.)
My sister fell out of the van on highway 12, 45-50 mph ish, me sitting in the one passenger seat, her standing in the wheel well, then woop out she went, end over end, my jumping out after her. This is one of our fave mutual memories. My mom picked gravel out of her and we continued the journey (to the then-cottage). This happened TWICE. Like, she at 4 yrs old shoulda learned to close that door tightly! Not to mention me!!
There was also that time Sis took a header off the picnic table, nowhere else to sit but on it and nobody to catch her. She still has the dent in her forehead. "You looked like a unicorn," my mother adds, with some pride. I mean, she was a mere toddler then became a mythical beast - seems a good trade off.
I dehydrated a lot, once in the badlands when my dad luckily said 'she seems kinda limp' and I wound up in a s. dakota hospital for A WEEK (deaths door), it took that long before I could actually drink water not sucked from a half-dry rag. I still vividly remember the hallucinations of almost dying by my brain becoming a raisin.
Etc.
My sister, always the better spreadsheeter, has at least a dozen near-death anecdotes at the ready and we howl laughing at the outrageous acts of neglect. But apparently this is a GenX *thing*, routinely a dinner party subject, 'parented by crapshoot' it's a wonder any of us physically lived. Across the board, we all have near-death stories. The 'remember when mom let us drive dad's sport car when we were 10 cz she was pissed' type stories.
Like the f2f sex thing, I did not know this fact and my Gen-A"pocalypse" friends don't share this reality. Their parents were up their asses while emotionally withholding, and they hid out in the internet getting "political" in response to that environment.
Early childhood memory of "politics" at a family gathering: my mom picked up 'a giant black guy with one leg' (Sis's succinct portrait) (named Sam btw, of whom my mother made a bust, like of his head, I remember it, white plaster) off the side of the road, it was 8 degrees out, he was hopping down the highway and she knew the next exit was 2+ miles. So she brought him to my aunt's house, the one where we got to eat White Castle for every family gathering. Everyone of course thought 'what the actual fuck' but my mom had discovered a cruelty that I am all too familiar with now: university students without family resources have nowhere to live during American holidays that don't line up with any family time they might have in their own traditions. Many college students are serially homeless for myriad social-economic (political) reasons. And we are contractually no longer allowed to home/help them ourselves in any way (liability). Wanna talk about that? Let me apply for a grant? Nope.
"How's work?", asks Sis. It is just work, which is better than no work. I don't gotta sleep with dudes I don't like anymore 👍 But. I mean. Nobody would give a shit about a freezing to death student nowadays except as a "problem".
I do need help imagining Better Than This. My sister wants to prioritize my new house projects (spreadsheet) in the order that will make me happiest. But I don't want to make any decisions much until I feel less crappy. I cannot, actually, pick a kitchen floor at this very moment. I tried. But I am still stuck mostly in the "no"/ "not THIS" phase. A chicken/egg problem - can't make-pretty a house, which would be fun, because I am too sad for it / moving sucks. At least I thought it was a only a phase until my mother, listening to us, says "don't worry, in the end you will only remember the good things."
My sister and I wait a beat. Sis says, "Let's dehydrate her, I mean skin and bones already so we could probably get her to deaths door remembering only good shit by the end of the weekend." And we crack up again. I say "mouthfeel" and put a finger gun on my tongue, spreading the current fave fam joke wider, my sister laughing her ass off.
Tomorrow, a million uncles and cousins will arrive. My mother's side of the family (sense of humor side) because it is more intact, although mostly medicated for insanity, will arrive in groups led by those still allowed to drive (no thorazine [sp]). My father's side, welp there are those left who have not committed suicide, but in every family there has been at least one suicide, so that side arrives in pieces pre-grieving. About 60 folks total, says my sister, making enough food for 300. It soothes her.
My brother-in-law hired a bartender. I can't imagine alcohol doing anything but making all my relatives their worst selves. But, this is WI 🤷🏻♀️
I promised no praying for favors for the rest of the year, or I would say God Help Me 🙏
I don't think there is a joint for that. More likely I will be smoking Lucky Strikes with my non-alcoholic wine like an oxyMoron. The only thing I can think of to talk about is music. There was always music. Always. My father's vinyl collecting is probably how this blog exists in the first place. All the covers I have posted, so so so many a queering of an original, in TJ's dos I put them, unknowing.
The End - The Doors "I'll never look into your eyes again lalalaa"
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| building the shed in Lewiston, probably listening to Led Zepplin 😪 |
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| "8 years old" |
"I’d let go of every substance or person that intoxicated me, numbed me, took control over me, or altered my mood or mind in any way. I’d been learning how to feel my feelings and process my emotions without reaching for anything or anyone to take the edge off. I’d been using my voice, setting new rules and boundaries, and living in my own integrity as guided by my own higher power. One day at a time, I was getting my inner house in order." ~ All the Way to the River, Elizabeth Gilbert
what is and what should never be - led zepplin
(White Snake, " here I go again on my own lalalaa" playing through an airport as I read that)
When I watched this last night, I had to tap out at the grim middle. The 2nd half was gonna be about his dying. I came back to it today, earlier so stronger.
So the the middle, this dude's WHOLE LIFE WORK FOR 50 YEARS BURNS DOWN and boom, scorched earth. And he knows that now he is Dying, from that day forward. There is no coming back from some things. And he's pretty at peace with getting that done, but he slows it down. As if by will, even though almost immediately his organs start to fail and skinny af, but BY WILL he decides he has to live long enough (4 years, all of which he could do without the struggle of, but) to find a group of people who will come and rebuild and live there, nature nerds. He has to find someone to take the scorched earth from him, happily. And he does. And then they all have a kind of dying party as he watches them put it all back and every day he grows happier and closer to death.
They keep showing these shots of the land itself, looked just like when I was a kid in Nowhere, and my dad would take endless photographs (film) of the trees.
My dad would have liked to have died like that guy died. But he couldn't because he did not live like that guy lived. He had too much anger and sadness and self pity to live like that guy did anywhere, even in paradise.
But!, I decided dad did die in exactly the way this guy did, though, and that he sent this film to prove it. In his head, he imagined all that was true and died dreaming about it. (loophole lol)
I want to live like that guy lived, like a happy healthy hippie who thinks of this world as my mom does, seeing beauty everywhere, including in the falling(s). Yes. I don't want to fail at the simplest fucking thing, loving life.
And I have been epically failing at it.
I am going to eat again now, mmm that pork. And then I am going to my father's funeral.
All the men have died, the Marks and Tbones, and she's hauled ass to move to what's left of her mother-in-law's lands, for context:
"Wash thyself therefore, and anoint thee, and put thy raiment upon thee, and get thee down to the threshing-floor, but make not thyself known unto the man, until he shall have done eating and drinking. 4 And it shall be, when he lieth down, that thou shalt mark the place where he shall lie, and thou shalt go in, and uncover his feet, and lay thee down; and he will tell thee what thou shalt do. 5 And she said unto her, All that thou [b]sayest I will do." (Ruth, Ch 3)
When you've lost home, you don't really know how to land without crashing or turtling, you're going because you have to go, you have no home left where you are/were, you do what you're supposed to do / must. You survive and take care of your mother, working every day in the labor of that, picking the ground clean and thankful to be able to do it for her. Then you lie at some guy's feet and he tells you what to do and everything gets better. Right?
I decided to reread it after deciding on this.
I was 8 years old. I didn't just read the book of Ruth, I memorized it. I could recite any part on command (pet trick). They were hard-core Bethel Baptists, I got baptized all the time, they let you repeat weekly if you wanted to freshen it up, like very lite diy waterboarding in front of an audience.
(My mother only remembers picking me up there once and the Sunday school teacher said I was a natural leader 🤣 my mother rightly thought "cult!" but 🤣 she let me keep going anyways, of course. I mean, she got to sleep in on Sunday cz a bus came, so)
" 8 And it came to pass at midnight, that the man was [c]afraid, and turned himself; and, behold, a woman lay at his feet. 9 And he said, Who art thou? And she answered, I am Ruth thy handmaid: spread therefore thy skirt over thy handmaid; for thou art [d]a near kinsman. 10 And he said, Blessed be thou of Jehovah, my daughter: thou hast showed more kindness in the latter end than at the beginning, inasmuch as thou followedst not young men, whether poor or rich. 11 And now, my daughter, fear not; I will do to thee all that thou sayest; for all the [e]city of my people doth know that thou art a worthy woman"
And then he bought her. He went into town, gathered all the dudes in charge, and said basically I know she has closer cousins but I am claiming kinsmenship, all the land she's been gleaning and her with it (and the mother). And they said, OK. And so Ruth "joined Rachel and Leah among women who have worth" in God's eyes.
Both sexual orientation and approach to life breakdowns, written into my operating dos. It is all right there, the seething chaste sideeye at party guys (don't touch me), the belief in moving and working yourself literally down to the ground noticing all the little things overlooked by others, the attracted to the familiar, the anxiety over elderly mothers and their bitter losses. The power to hold steady in the face of all that and submit only from a place of strong enough. Build me up if you want me at your feet.
It is difficult to explain that ❤️🔥 to anyone. Wtf kinda 'submission' is that? There is no easy way to explain "then I just won't eat" until, either. Until what? Until I have done enough. Enough of what? Dunno, not glean barley since that's not a thing, and yes that probably means I need an antidepressant/benzo combo again, the whole 'moving across the desert' (to Cheekdavegas) part is fucking brutal. But no matter how much therapy I get, I can't rewrite the dos. My therapist knows that. That is the moral obligation, not to change who you are, to change how you're handling who you are, hurting yourself and others or not doing that.
If you're trans, you have to accept your gender. And stand for it. Even if people hate you. For instance.
That is what I do believe.
I don't know when or how I will feel worthy enough for hunger. I wish I felt it today, right now, because my lawn needs mowed like whoa and I am too weak. This morning I hoisted a concrete planter that prolly weighs more than half what I do, and then cleaned more and took down ugly drapes, got a kitchen floor estimate, I did did did until I gave out and came home to read the bible. Now I'm gonna smoke a joint and drink milk a while. Put things in carts for when I get $ again. I am so underwater on $ it's crazzzy. But it'll flip in October. And I STILL won't spend a dime until my mother gets here and says "now, you're good to go". And we will buy her a bed, and probably god help me an electric recliner 🤦🏻♀️, anything she wants.
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| kitchen floor, old school |
Ears, just when I am about to lament (I actually cry when I am faced with having to choose food 😪), texts: Niagara Cafe will be there in 45 minutes ❤️
He is taking this man of my house thing very seriously every day.
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| omg so good |
up all night - james bay ft lumineers
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| see? sometimes I can 😪 grateful |
VIRGO - Patti's birthday today, woulda been. She was never not trying to teach someone a lesson 🤦🏻♀️ lol. Yesterday, my PCP told me a horrible story about a young woman who blew off her monitor (that ring is $400! to replace, and do I really understand HRV any better? god damn it), it is ugly and flashes red if you were to dance, as she wished to do. This story was to impress upon me the seriousness of muscle loss. "I could punch you as hard as I could, I mean not YOU but.." We stared at each other a couple seconds, neither the blinking type. She settled for the push against my hand thing and a bunch of bloodwork. I lock my jaw, lock my stare, lock my everything, I LOCK UP, like slamming and locking the door behind me. I hoisted a book-box yesterday for Mover Dude to demonstrate that if his guys can't keep up, maybe be should hire women? The September virgos are different. They begin long slogs of miserable rain like today, with Xmas as a distant and sufficient reward. F that. I either got the last summer festival/hurrah of some kind or I did not. And this year, I got a dying dad and me hundreds of miles away, both of us alone, both fighting for what is left of our self-determination. If I could, as harder as it would make everything on everyone, I would order up snow, wind whipping ice water, sideways sleet, hail - today. Teach the appreciation of Augusts, before the blood runs cold. VIRGO You're not trying to teach anyone a lesson, but your example says it all. How you move, speak or shrug off nonsense becomes a model for others. You lead by living. Keep going; people are watching and learning.
I am going to pull up tacks and scrub floors and box up the Judaica there. And begin to choose boots here, what shall be sacrificed. Hey Dad, ya know that kinda guy who thinks he knows what God thinks, how much you hated That Guy?, he's on your side of the veil now, feel free to slam his head through the wheel/wall of incarnation, send him on his way to pretend he isn't part Black by pretending to be Jewish (for Jesus) somewhere else, Palestine perhaps; tell him to pick a lane and screw your courage to the sticking place.
song to tbd, currently listening to victory - avett bros
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| "Out, damned spot; out, I say!" |
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| "crying snot rag, with Ensure coupons and a million lab test orders" |
If I can hoist 40 boxes, probably my muscles aren't wasting away from whatever wastes you away besides 😭🤮, but still yes I'll go to Quest....soon....
I got the lonely - mel parsons
My sister really needs this funeral process. The obituary, a rewrite every 30 min all day yesterday, choosing photos endlessly - hang on a sec expensive plumber dude, I gotta answer this - etc. It is more important obviously that my dad died than I got this whole fucking house to move and the other one to clean and another one w a blown septic so a hoard of children are about to descend to bathe as I try to get to the Dr on time this morning by way of taking pics of the sump pump problem. I know that. It just doesn't matter.
1 I am going to take pics of all of it, everything to clean there, throw it out to literally anyone including the schizo.
2 I am going to come back here, call Darren, ask his fave storage facility, move my fave shit there.
3 I am giving every other thing away, pretend I died style.
Last night my stupid tracking ring fell off in my sleep, too skinny to track me anymore. I can get a smaller one. Or I can say No more.
Scrapbooking:
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| tired but not in a bad way |
Ears and Huck both asked, separately, why? What possessed you, really? Because sometimes you just have DO A THING, anything, to stop the nothing-but-shitty cycle. All I know is I COULD so I DID. Beyond that, I don't know why I bought this house because it hasn't happened yet.
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| No. All I do is bend over backwards, unspotted under the weights. |
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| I 😭 all day, but she was here - I really could be okay even if it's hard - but not alone in the wilderness or wailing at walls, even chickens need a few |
