 |
| gravesite for familiars |
 |
| first pic from Amsterdam |
 |
| in the arms of my pond husband |
.jpg) |
| 🙄 |
 |
| D-ball can throw shade |
 |
| Nebraska left; Disco kept his dog, Janis |
sunday girl - where is my mind
 |
| loves of last resort |
But I did not want to be a priest. I was the same as most girls who wished themselves in a convent: I wanted to be where I could think, and where not just anyone could look at me.
I wanted to choose constraint and be freed by it, after constraint was all that had ever been offered to me.
Part of what you have to figure out in this life is, Who would I be if I hadn’t been frightened? What hurt me, and what would I be if it hadn’t? Priestdaddy
(why ask now?)
 |
| water |
I’m sorry I keep saying How are you? when I really mean Are you happy?
If you find yourself trapped inside a dimming world, remember it was always this dark inside the body. Where the heart, like any law, stops only for the living.
If you forget me, then you’ve gone too far. Turn back.
"no ambivalence (dogs only)"
everything feels heavy, it doesn't matter where I am, and I (have to) decide to breathe
he explained that once to me, breathing, the way a ventilator makes your body forget how to breathe, he said, and I remember how I thought that can't be precisely correct because it suggests you had to learn how to breathe in the first place but breathing is automatic, I thought
I have a new phone. I hate that. I only do so when my phone hopelessly dies. One of the many reasons I hate it, besides that it's bad for the planet and makes assholes rich, is that I know none of my passwords. It takes days to figure out how to log into things again. Such as this blog. Just getting into the Hotmail associated with it is like archeology. The lady ahead of me at the phone store was trying to recover her shit from AOL. I didn't know that existed still. I thought welp at least I'm not trying to log into anything through PARIS 🤨
I am grateful that I can still log into here, tho blogger is unsupported and glitchy. Nobody blogs anymore. Everyone moved to SOCIAL social media and lost their fucking minds there. People lie there. The lying started with posts about how awesome your life was, Lake Woebegonesque, everyone's children were above average. It was just bullshit, then it grew to monstrous. Lying tends not to turn out well, generally.
This blogspace is like a mall that closed, it used to be noisy and lit up but now it's quiet and I tape notes on the wall to record the time(s).
This is the time that everyone is "over" COVID. I went to the farmer's market today and was the only person wearing a mask. I am getting over it too but in different fashion - I am giving up what I collected during the pandemic's early years 2020-2022. Like drinking. Drunk texting with friends, us all killing time with abandon, saying crazy shit to each other, it had its moment.
I'm not sure what comes next, for better or worse.
 |
| "setting:faded" |
But let me see if—using these words as a little plot of land and my life as a cornerstone— I can build you a center. —Qiu Miaojin
On my next book tour the theme was monkeys, and on the latest one it was items men shove inside themselves and later have to go to the emergency room to have extracted. This started when an ER nurse told me about a patient she’d seen earlier in the week who had pushed a dildo too far up his ass. The door had shut behind it, so he’d tried fishing it out with a coat hanger. When that proved the wrong tool for the job, he’d snipped it with wire cutters, then gone after both the dildo and the cut-off hanger with a sturdier, fresh hanger. You hear this from doctors and nurses all the time: their patients shove light bulbs inside themselves, shampoo bottles, pool balls…and they always concoct some incredible story to explain their predicament. “I tripped” is a big one. And, OK, I’m pretty clumsy. I trip all the time, but never have I gotten back on my feet with a pepper grinder up my ass, not even a little bit. I’m pretty sure I could tumble down all the stairs in the Empire State Building—naked, with a greased-up rolling pin in each hand and a box of candles around my neck—and still end up in the lobby with an empty rectum. Another common excuse is “I accidentally sat on it.” Implied is that you were naked at the time and this can of air freshener that just happened to be coated with Vaseline went all the way up inside you. “I must have left it on the sofa when I came home from work and took a shower. Then I sat down to watch the news the way I usually do, and, well, you know the rest.” A week into my tour—again because I’d mentioned the story onstage—a nurse handed me an X-ray of a man’s pelvis with a set of hand weights in it. How on earth? I thought, imagining the work that must have taken. And to follow the first with a second? Who does that? Days later I saw an X-ray of a Bose speaker inside someone. “And it was still connected to Bluetooth,” the woman who showed it to me whispered...By the time a nurse told me about a patient who had inserted an electric toothbrush inside himself, and another who’d managed a two-liter bottle of Diet Mtn Dew, I was so inured that I said only, “Wait a minute. Diet?” ~ Happy Go Lucky, David Sedaris
 |
| I used to really laugh. Now I rarely smile. |
 |
| Dball's spring fling |
 |
| diamond remix ft handfasting ice |
 |
| "good morning!" |
 |
| nasturtium sprouts |
