Shrove Tuesday
There are seagulls in my yard fighting over a small bag of Cheetos. The seagulls are blood fems. My lilacs have formed tight little buds and it's still winter. My lilacs are dark fems. I bought a bunch of store tulips and one of them had two heads. Last week I dismantled one of my bookshelves and moved it into my bedroom leaving behind this pile on the piano bench in the library I like it because it looks like one of those artsy black and white pictures Serious Writers use for their author photos. Except for the can of Endust sticking up like the monolith you know the one with the apes which is hilarious because I despise dusting and usually I leave dust alone unless it starts eating something.
In other news I went to the Country Store a couple days ago to buy canning lids and toilet bowl cleaner and I did this because I yam what I yam.
My Son The Photographer took the photo up top in New Orleans the year before Katrina. I love the utter gorgeousness of those colors and the allure of that great city.
Dear Darklings, thank you for reading. You are brave and curious creatures.
posted by Radish King at 9:49 AM
5 Comments:
Once I went to New Orleans with my brand new husband and we went to the Pearl for breakfast and I almost lost it right there at the counter and I got very dizzy and that was Lillian Rose Moon, not even as big as a speck of dust in my blood fem. I swear.
That is a great picture.
I often leave off dusting or cleaning in the middle of it all and wander back a month or so later to find my rag and endust or Murphy's oil cleaner, right where I left them, covered with dust.
I, too, am sick of this shit where "Christian" men speak for their god. Funny how their god always wants women to shut up and stay in their place and serve their needs and bear their children and not speak up. Also their god always wants them to hate queers and also to go to war and kill people. "Okay, GOD! Whatever you say, GOD!"
Happy Fat Tuesday. Thank you for writing us this letter.
Glad you are back, for a while I hope. I am having a hard time getting myself to write anything down. Stuff whirring in my head, but nothing making its way out. You sound pretty good. Here's to clearer weather for both of us.
Hey Rebecca. I hope things get better for you soon. One of the best parts about getting all this I don’t have to write from that hot place anymore. It isn’t as easy, but I’m just not as angry and frustrated as I used to be. so my writing has slowed down, but to me, it’s deeper. I really wish this for you. Love, Rebecca
Meant to write one of the best things about getting “old” but also one of the best things about getting ‘all this’ both things seem appropriate. it is lovely not to have to live on the edge all the time. Xo
It's odd really. I won't allow myself to write much because of the whirring it sets off in my head, but maybe the cost of this, this denial of myself, is too high. I was thinking about it last night. Maybe there is always a fever bubbling underneath, even when I can't feel it, even when I don't FEED it. I don't know. I have a new therapist and maybe a new therapist is always a bad idea, until it becomes a better idea. But ought I to strap myself to the rollicking horse and ride hard across the beach? Would that be brave? Or just stupid? Maybe very river in me is swollen and angry because I refuse to create beautiful things with all that water. All that foam. All those upturned stones. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXO
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