twat block the church

twat block the church
i set my pussy free

twat block the church
no control over me

twat block the church
it's not about virginity

twat block the church
my body belongs to me

twat block the church
i set my pussy free

A NC Church wanted to follow me on Twitter. I blocked them and thought "I just Twat Blocked a church". This piece (which feels very political rally cry to me) is a shorter than I want it to be, but I needed to get it out there. Feel free to leave lines in comments. We could make this a group project!

the good life

floating on the dock, hand trailing in the warm summer lake. the beat of waves against the posts.
the silence of a heartbeat
easiness of breath
this is what living is made for
a tap on the shoulder
light flooding in again
time and place again
you're sleeping at your desk again
dreaming at your desk again
drool drips off your thumb

A beach, a lake, a.... whatever. Somewhere not at work.

two ducklings

two ducklings born in the same water
a plastic one whose energy cannot be corked
a fluffy one kittenish in its cuddling
living in a human shadow
trying to become the adults they need to be
waiting for their parent to show them how

I had a weird dream last night which involved me getting in a fight with two anti-choice sorority girls on a Planned Parenthood bus trip and watching two ducks (a rubber duck and a "real" one) being born and being mine.

the dénouement

SHE
i think it was a successful holiday, don't you.

KATE
yes.

SHE
we didn't do too much, really, but that's kind of the point, right? to take a day, relax, remember that you aren't at work

KATE
or school

SHE
yes, or school. still, we got a bit done. i'm going to sleep well tonight, i can tell you that.

KATE
and a hundred other things, i'm sure.

SHE
what was that?

KATE
you've been talking for hours about how relaxing and yet productive the long weekend was. i'm tired and ready for bed. can we just leave this stuff to tomorrow?

SHE
it's fine; i'll take care of it. go lay down.

KATE
i want you to come with me.

SHE
no. i need everything to be put away. if i don't do it now, i just won't get to it for weeks. it's really okay. go to bed.

KATE
would you like company while you finish? i could sit and listen.

SHE
you sure that you want to hear me go on and on about the weekend?

KATE
or something else.

SHE
just go to bed. i'll be there in an hour.

KATE
an hour?

SHE
email or maybe i just want a second to myself. good night.

KATE
g'night.

after kate leaves, she climbs up and unscrews the busted lightbulb. she gets down and wraps it in a kitchen towel. she breaks it with her hands, face set in a silent scream that looks ear-piercing. she shakes the bits into the trashcan, drops the towel in the laundry and exits.

I hope everyone had a good holiday. I'm trying not to be tired, but I didn't get as much sleep as I had planned over the three days. Cats are not good alarms.

in the cab

TOM

here's a question: does Jerrod ever dress up? i mean he looks like he just rolled out of bed, went to the gym, and came to the party. all the time. there is no difference, from what i see, between work and play and my party. not that i care really what someone looks like or wears or whatever, but, you know, i just noticed. did he not have a clue as to the type of event this was? again, i don't care, but was, you know, wondering.

MAX

he dresses up. i think that he just didn't really know what the dress code for tonight was. i mean, he said to me when he saw what we were all wearing, "oh, i feel a bit out of place." so yeah, he knows. but i mean, he dressed up for that office party last year. you remember?

TOM

yeah, i guess. it just seems like he's always in the same thing. cut-off sweatpants and a t-shirt. such a tomboy, that one. not that i care. nothing wrong with that or whatever. it's just ... whatever. are we home yet?

MAX

almost. can you take a left at the light? we're about three quarters of the way down on the right. thank you.

I get so tickled when people keep saying that they don't care about something but the rest of the conversation is about that thing.

laundry list

an attention starved cat
dying plants next to thriving plants
burning tongue and mouth (too much hot sauce)
running nose (see previous parenthetical phrase)
long lost bedtime
constant rearrangement of furniture
cool breeze
tight squeeze
stack of bookspapersmagazinesnotesmailbillsnotecardsinvitationsbirth&weddingannouncments
a half read novel
a 90% read non-fiction
a 70% read erotica collection
myriad books waiting to be selected
and a blog to fill my shrinking spare time

Happy Memorial Day weekend everyone (happy memorial?). The last line sounds to me like "and a partridge in a pear tree". You're welcome for getting that stuck in your head. Have a great weekend. New post most likely will be up Monday in spite of the holiday.

what is isn't what i see

Everyone always assumes that I'm X
Because everyone expects Y to L
But it's not
Not always
Not most time
L is the performance of Y
I am Y in the mode of N
Which no one expects
When people meet my Y
They have a choice
Learn the vastness of what Y can be
Or pretend that my N is not an L and
Therefore I must be hiding my X

Expectations will change
Not just for me
Maybe they will just cease to be
Then my Y can be N
or O
or 1
or &
or a million other variations
And her X can be L
or A
or 7
or )
or anything else
or nothing else

Let be let be

I love when people prove me wrong. I like knowing that even mainstream folks can live outside of expectation. I appreciate that courage. Cheers.

he's a cannibal

Florescent light reflected every off-white surface as if trying to prove how clean the mall was. So white and so seemingly spotless. Everyone knows that a black car will show dirty far faster than a white one, but not one patron gave it a thought as they stepped from the warm sun into the temperature controlled air on their way to the latest sale at the department store. The crowd filled the space just enough. Today was not part of the holiday season or some one-day clearance stunt. These shoppers needed new pants for a new job, make-up to impress the date, dress for that cocktail party, shoes that feel perfect until you've worn them after purchase. No one expected the shrill cry just after the lunch rush, because it is impossible to expect the unexpected.

CANNIBAL!!!! Cannibal! He's a cannibal!

The young age of the voice and the repition of the phrase generally would have lead most people to ignore the screams, but cannibal is such an odd and rarely spoken word that people reacted. Parents with children quickly marched them out of the building and seatbelted them into the car before driving away so cautiously that they caused a wreck at the exits. Teenagers ran toward the noise, pushing to get a look at the scene. One barely escaped being suffocated between the mob and his asthma. 

CANNIBAL!!!! Cannibal! He's a cannibal!

The little girl's mother raced across the suddenly empty and snatched her up into her arms. What was the matter? Why was she screaming? Who was a cannibal? The small arm wriggled its way out of the mother's grasp and pointed. The onlookers followed the tiny finger across the floor to a figure standing next to the free-standing coffee shop. It was a boy barely older than the screaming girl.

Thomas Bell! How many times do I have to tell you? Do Not Pick Your Nose and Eat Your Boogers!

This story is much shorter than I imagined it at first, but I don't have time to edit and expand at the moment. Here's hoping (or not) that I have time to come back to it. Also, do we consider people that eat their boogers or chew on their fingers or whatever else auto-cannibals? Just wondering.

minotaurs and walls

falling through down onto rough edge
built just for you, your particular body
finding comfort in the disease
the odd pains reminding you of life
physical adjustments pull attention
far away from the inner labyrinths
where minotaurs wait with riddles
unsolve, unsolved, unsolving
answers lie in wait behind thick walls
which only require the right
question, smell, sight, experience
to tumble and release the
horrors and hope locked away and forgotten
the day you needed to think about
something else

I think I should maybe try to write something less "I"-centric. It's difficult, but the challenge would be good.

riding into the sunset

i've never taken the road before raced down the long line to the sun exploding into the red and orange and yellow

a fire of paint
radiating from a central concrete place blowing back across the desert

why west into the darkness
east meets the day challenges the sun

never racing to catch up

My brain was not in a Wonderlandic place. It's trying, rather to escape, I think. It/I need a vacation. The coming three day weekend should help (I hope I get that off).

forgetting

forgetfulness
a terror of disease
wasting brains
genetics activating
or just a symptom
of exhaustion

Happy Friday, everyone. Have a great weekend!

walking through words

running
sweat in my eyes
trying to see past my own red nose
or tears
tears are trite
forget them, go with sweat
stink of salt stinging
a whole being pushing
out through clogged holes
orifices
limbs left and lost to the landscape
movement perpetuating movement
burning skin burning lungs
stopping
to feel the difference in stillness
moving again before rest
settles in distracts from the unweathered path
how many lost and losing and lying and dying poems can we can i write
before forceful rest conquers these lovely joints

I'm just kind of going with it. I really default to sad, lost, fighting themes, don't I? The fighting is nice (yep, I'm going to stick with that statement).

a description

Brown, maybe tan, bookcases lie on top of one another in a Tetris shape. They have not completed a row. Cubic squares teem with books organized by weight, and the colors interestingly have a harmony. This collection comes from years of buying too many books, mostly in paperback with gaudy covers to balance the austere bindings of the hardcover release. The blood red spine of a Masonic history captures the attention and sends it away to find all other reds. Two are prominent: an essay collection on gender and the illegal Mein Kampf. Scanning away, near the window leans a singular green cookbook. The pages have the wavy and stained quality of recipes attempted. This geologic record keeps the quality of the work secret. Atop of the precarious overhang, lays the cat. She flaunts her white belly and pink nipples, lazily waving her tail. Her spot. She watches. The wind picks up the checkered, green curtain and hides her for a moment. Air movement livens the room and relieves the swollen heat. The cat jumps to the windowsill to inspect the world for birds.

I want to work on my descriptions a bit. What do you think? Do you see this? What pops? What is confusing? I guess I'm asking for feedback.

the way to wonderland - post eight

bit by bit, the earth shifted out of her way. she clawed her path, picking out grubs, slicing worms in two, and scratching away decay. there. the soil was looser at her left hand now. a few steps further and there would be a root and then real work could begin. her pinky nail scraped the outer edge. she moved the right hand back directly under her shoulder and pressed the earth to make a solid floor. the left fingers climbed over the side and top and maneuvered to wrap her entire hand around it. the position was set. one deep breath. inhale, exhale, inhale. PULL. as she yanked the root up, the air in her lungs fired quickly. seven hot breaths then she relaxed. one more time. inhale, exhale, inhale. PULL. this time only five puffs and she was on her side, right arm still balancing and anchoring the effort. the root was large, nearly the size of the cat. whoever was coming had a large need to take care of, but she would be prepared as she always was.

the long lady pulled herself out of the ground, wiped the front of her jumper and went back into the kitchen. the water had boiled down to three inches. the cat waited.

well?

sssshe doesn’t look like sssshe’ll need all that.

she?

yessss. sssshe.

interesting. i don’t believe we’ve ever had a she.

no. sssshould be very interessssting.

she pulled the cleaver off the wall, letting the scraping metal echo. a smirk crossed her mouth, and with peaked eyebrows she slammed the blade through the root. the halves rocked back and forth and back and forth. the right side’s center was a dense black that appeared as a horse. the left seemed like the outline of a country, but not one she had ever seen.

interesting.

very.

how long, do you think?

within the hour.

time enough.

yessss.

the water hissed at the addition of the roots. the long lady climbed the stairs to change her clothes. it was going to be a special night.

My goal right now is to make Monday's post the next installment of Wonderland. Next week, I think may be a big edit day, but we'll see. Posts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six & Seven

playing with rhyme

small, hard seeds fall to mother's feet
dusting the floor, nothing neat

one will surely find its way
to break the shell and find this day

once the world came in to view
the tiniest plant grew and grew

up to the sky, toward the sun
inch by inch, never ever done

dropping seeds in dripping rain
cycling life all over again

roots down through the soil, out to the sea
leaves to the air, anchored but free

This was fun. I felt like I was in elementary school again writing it. I've been planting herbs, so plants are on my mind.

trying something

Her red coat dashed out the front door. "Wait! You forgot your... no, you didn't. Have a good day! You'll do great!" The car rolled off the driveway and changed its mind. "You're going to be late. Did you forget something?" She gave her an almost forgotten kiss and fell back into the driver's seat. "Are we really those people now? Like out of a movie or a bad story?" She smiled. The car revved the engine and tried to leave again, successfully this time. The house is so lonely and so completely mine.

I know this is brief. I just wanted to do a quick experiment (that I now think I'm going to explore). Have a great weekend, everyone!

evening rituals

a little oil in the bath
to ease today's tension
rub away the knots
the aches
stress
something from the cupboard
a treat to celebrate
or congratulate
appreciate
another day completed
a movie and a kitten
the final decent
into a well-deserved rest

I'm trying to be better about taking time for myself. Perhaps not daily, but I have been running on full throttle and need and want to slow down as the weather gets nicer (read warmer). So this bit of writing serves as encouragement and a reminder for me.

nice cans

A walks in to B stabbing the hell out of a can of something.

A

what the hell are you doing?

B

the can opener broke.

A

you're going to stab yourself. stop! we can go get another can opener.

B

i need it now.

A

for...

B

for this. B shows A the can.

A

that is the most disgusting thing i've ever seen.

B

i know. that's why i bought it. that's why i have to get in to it right now.

A

why?

B

because does it really look like the picture? is that what's really in here? i have to know. also, it's canned. can there be that much demand? where do they package this stuff? oh, nebraska. that makes sense. how many pigs do you think they go through a day?

A

why didn't you just Google it?

B

this is real. right here. me, the pairing knife, and this can. this fucking can that i can't get open. help me. you know you want to see this.

A

i've got something. i'll be right back. A exits then reenters with one of those can cut through anything infomercial gadgets. here.

B

where did you get this?

A

...QVC.

B

QVC? i thought you quit. for chrissake's, you're in a twelve step program.

A

it was one thing. i had a little freak out. it was nearly a year ago. and it's a good thing too, because otherwise you couldn't get that can open.

B

you sure there aren't hundreds of knickknacks hidden around this place? because you know i have to go look now.

A

i'm sure. it was just that one time. promise.

B

okay. give me those.

A

they cut through cans. they showed it on t.v.

B

B sighs a sigh that says "you are not helping your cause" and then gets the can opened. oh. that is just gross.

A

let me see. oh god. i ... think i'm going to be sick, but

A&B

i want to try it.

B

i'll get the pan.

Today's story was inspired by this:

Apologies to the folks out there that like pork brains in milk gravy. I'm a vegetarian, so this... isn't on the menu for me.

cyberspace is flat & i've fallen off the edge

could you please put the computer down for at least five minutes? maybe ten and pay attention to me? please.

just a second. i'm almost done.

right. you're always almost done. it's the internet! there is no "done".

seriously, i have almost reached the end of Twitter. look! see, i'm on page... well there are no pages, but i've been clicking the damn thing for nearly 5 days straight at 3 clicks every 2 minutes. there is no way it can go on much longer.

and then you'll have to catch up with the new stuff that was added.

no. i'm actually annoyed with the thing now. i can't wait to get to the end so i never have to check the site again.

just give it up now.

no.

what would change, what would be missing if you didn't finish it?

i can't stop. it's just... no. not possible. it's making me tense just thinking about it.

you can do it. just take your hand off the mouse, sit up straight, blink and look around the room.

i'm almost there.

no, you're not. you need to walk away.

i swear, just 30 minutes more. maybe an hour. i'm almost there. i'm really really really close.

you need to eat something. you need to sleep. you really need to take a shower. change clothes? wouldn't it be nice to stand up for a couple of minutes? the sun is still shining. you could go outside and play with the dog.

i have a dog?

no, not a real one. but you think i'm talking to you, and i'm your cat. so please, for both our sakes, walk away from this stupid task, clean yourself up, and give me some belly rubs!

i...

i'm a talking cat. a talking. cat.

she starts to stand up but looks back at the screen and sits back down.

if i'm not done in 39 minutes, you are allowed to attack me.

i'm going to go piss on your furniture. have a good night.

My cat hates my computer. If I ever try to read all of Twitter, she has every right to take out my furniture in whatever way she sees fit. It would be for my own good.

the way to wonderland - post seven

out in the yard, her long legs stepped over the gate meant for children and dogs and made their way into the depths of the garden. she needed roots and herbs. mama cat stretched awake in the sun and looked at her for instructions. go see what’s coming. a quick sniff into the eastern then the western air and she headed off in the latter direction. the long lady watched the patchwork fur slink out of sight. a dog would have merely run headlong into whatever it was. that’s why children were always the dogs’ assignment. she turned back to her work, stretched out her fingers, and dug deep into the soft garden earth. maneuvering her fingers through the dirt, twisting and pushing and angling her arms, she buried herself up to the shoulder. she began looking. the fingers and nails moved now in a spiral. the labor was unnervingly slow and her muscles began to ache within minutes. the mind must be calm. she silenced her thoughts and pushed her conscience self into the very ends of her fingertips.

bit by bit, the earth shifted out of her way. she clawed her path, picking out grubs, slicing worms in two, and scratching away decay. there. the soil was looser at her left hand now. a few steps further and there would be a root. a minute or so more and the real work could begin.

Look at that. I had time to do some work on Wonderland this past weekend. Posts I, II, III, IV, V, & VI

a little bit of something

once the sun rises, there is no turning back. you have to leave behind the creativity and hallucinations of night. you will not be protected. it is okay if you are afraid. it is not okay for you to stop. stopping equals death. even bad decisions are preferable to stasis. this journey will not and cannot let up. the end is your end. only you can choose when to stop.

I wanted to write something in prose. It's a small piece that fits somewhere in something (specificity!).