States of mind

 Some are deeply concerned. 

Others have no fucks left to give.

Confounding the auto-wankers

Using up mostly blank pages in an old notebook just to spite data scrapers.

The chaos continues.

Now that I have an idea of what the exhibit space is for the show in January I have to choose a very small handful of pieces to offer the curator of the show.

I've unrolled a couple of these and thought, "What the fuck was she thinking?"

 And a few others have lifted my spirits and flown me away.

This is my Swedish Ivy, unhappy about having to come inside now that winter is here. 

 If I'm going to do this notebook thing on a regular basis I'm going to have to work on my penmanship. And I apologize. I just felt like annoying some data scraping program with an image that can't be parsed.

Full Moon

 "Instead of dinner, they might climb to the rooftop, hungry. Wine was poured, and various spirits were toasted. They lay on the mound of white, sun-warmed sand and conferred with the heavenly host. Stars and planets, and the names of the constellations they rode, were noted. He reached up and cupped the moon’s ass, captured it in his hand, and brought it down to her lips to be kissed, or perhaps bitten."

Slash & Burn (right now, I am suffering through a complete rewrite. Square One.)

The night was so soft and cozy that I decided against building a fire and just sat in the darkness, waiting for moonrise. I had forgotten how familiar the night is, how comfortable I am wrapped up in it. For my entire adult working life, I chose the night shift for many reasons. The night life was not always about the boogie. 

The great water oak in the front yard blocks a clear view, but this was enough. My tarot and I got a good dose, and the next morning, this view testified to the glory of the hours before the dawn.

With many, I am cautiously celebrating the blue wave taking shape, gaining strength. Keeping my warrior stance and attitude because there is so much damage to undo. Heads must roll. 

Cards speak

 Yesterday was my Mom's birthday. I don’t give her nearly enough credit. That creative Scorpio was wild at heart but had to operate in the social framework of her time. Before she was wife and mother, she was Rosie.

~○~

This was last night just before I went to bed. (Sigh) Yes, duty. Yes, Responsibility. Yes, I have Strength.  Can do. But.....

today, I'm taking the Four of Pentacles advice. Rest, recharge and bring a new perspective. Shit's gotta get writ.

It's supposed to hit 70s today. I'm out.

Halloween

 

Colin 1983

I've never paid for a Halloween costume. If I couldn't make it, you weren't wearing it. 

This was my mother's influence. One year she used Rit dye on our tired footy pajamas to turn me and my sisters into a litter of black cats complete with black velvet,  stuffed and wired tails and hoods with ears. Eyeliner penciled whiskers!

The last year that I went trick-or-treating (I was twelve or thirteen), I cobbled together a Gypsy Fortune Teller get-up that featured a thrift store embroidered peasant blouse that I was forbidden to wear to school ('cause boobs), a couple of full skirts layered, lots of makeup and half of my mother's costume jewelry. And sandals. I know I snuck out mostly mummified in a cardigan because Mom would have shit a brick over that blouse. She wasn't ready for teenagers.

There was a house party at a neighbor's up the street. You know the unpopular kid whose parents throw parties for him. We all went. 

When his mother was sick of our noise in the basement and it was time to go home, there was about four inches of snow on the ground. That was a long walk.

Jake 1983

The Bride of Frankenstein and The Mummy 1976

This year...

Gambit and Wolverine

And a Halloween hangover.

caesura

 I'm closing the blog for a spell until the AI bots from Brazil get bored and move along. Not much to share here anyway at the moment. Writing makes for a poor audience experience.

In the meantime, be good to yourself. Reach out to your neighbors as you can. 

Email works just fine.

I have writing to do. 

Upcountry

In three weeks, he's grown. 

And going through one of the minor rights of passage, a fracture. All things considered, we heave a sigh of relief for good care and a good prognosis. And he thinks nothing of getting back on an electric scooter.

The splint in a sling will be replaced by a hard cast on just his forearm tomorrow. 

Jake went to pains to make sure his costume fit over the splint and his hair was just right for a trunk-or-treat event on Friday. A dry run for the real thing on Halloween. 

The last time I visited, I spent most of the time ministering to Ms. Nibbler, who scared us all with a few days of refusing to eat or drink anything and some hostile behavior.  Very small in the first place, her little cat liver could not afford the stress, and her attitude on a good day is "Hi there. Now, fuck off."

With tools and tips from her vet, meds, and a little force-feeding (quick and firmly are key) she's made a full recovery and was sassing and photobombing us all day.

Back home, I was greeted with more feline hijinks. A shitbox that needed a bulldozer and nice long cat naps. 

My Waterman finished the tournament season with yet another championship in an insane sport. I'd watch baseball, but the MLB has decided that ordinary people have to pay an arm and a leg to see the game played. When I'm in the mood, I'd rather listen to it on the radio, commercials and all.

There's not a lot of "seasonal" in Georgia that moves me, but a nice pomegranate will do it. My mother loved them. 

I guess they've always been expensive. It's nice to be in a place in life where I don't have to share one with my sisters and my mother, 

But I would if I could.

This brings me to thoughts of people who will be going hungry in the coming weeks due to the venal cruelty of the Idiot-in-Chief and his asskissers. 

I'll be taking advantage of the BOGO where I can, and leaving the extras with a local food pantry. 

Cat and dog food, too. 

This will be the extent of my holiday spending.

Everything in my studio has grown eyes and teeth and is causing me a few foolish grins.

Best of all, the writing groove deepens. I may have Slash & Burn wrapped up by the end of the year. 

Complaints (or move along)

 

It's dropped into the forties overnight, and I have yet to turn on the furnace. For the first time in my entire cat-enslaved life, I have two (almost) cuddlers. 

You see them all over the internet, feline yin and yangs. I thought it was a myth. 

What we have here is a deep sleeper and a furred bulldozer. The sound of twin engines running is an opiate. And good thing, cause I'm bitching.

No, those are not my bones. That's my co-pirate's first fracture. I'll get to sign his cast tomorrow. 

My complaint? I decided to get all the jabs the other day. 

The technician said, "Right, left, or both?" 

"My left shoulder has been bothering me (keep lolling on the bed like Jabba the Hutt, propped up on that left elbow...) so let's give it something to really bitch about..." 

Since then, I've been buried under the feather comforter and cats, considering the error of my smartass ways.

It's fun to watch action movies with a cat who seems to be following what's happening. Barking dogs get her going. T

That's Leonardo DiCaprio in "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood" doing what I'd like to do to the Shitweasel and his entire squad of asskissers.

R&R & what's next?

 

I wanted to have a quiet stitch this morning. Gather my thoughts and all. 

Then there was a twenty-minute bug hunt looking for the very last few yards of undyed, 6-strand DMC cotton.

The question is, do I go out and buy one or two skeins, or do I order the 2000-yard cone that usually starts each new dye season? 

I'll use up what I have, for now. Fuck Amazon. Fuck any retailing beyond life's necessities, like kitty litter and cat pate. 

    ~O~

On the No Kings gathering.

Suwanee Town Center Park was magnificent. I was there early, and while my friend and I had lunch outside, it looked like a typical, beautiful day in the park. Then people dressed in yellow, or carrying signs began arriving and heading for the registration area. The line of people holding signs and waving at passing cars grew quickly, wrapping around both the main streets that bordered the park.

Many of the cars passing by honked enthusiastically. It was hard to interpret the noise as anything but joyful.

I lucked into a parking spot right at the entrance to the park and across from the agreed-upon lunch spot. 

This is a magnificent public space. When Charlie was little, we used to come here for the splash pad. There are fountains now. I'll be coming back and posting more pictures. 

This was right at the entrance to the park. I should have brought my camp chair from the car. Instead, I stood as long as I could, then tottered to the nearest bench to rest. Then back to my post. It was the least I could do. Everyone there was so engaged in the purpose. 

I don't care that the Shitweasel was probably not shown images of the protests at every city, town, and podunk junction in the country. His handlers have seen it. Senators and congresspeople have seen it. They know where we stand. 

This morning I read that for every one person who attended the protests, there were TEN who wanted to.

THAT is a mandate.

Have you ever read beyond the first sentence? It's hard for me to say how much of the language is of its time and how much of it is deliberate lawyerese.

It's no wonder that people spend their whole lives becoming Constitutional Scholars. 


The day was a complete success. Uneventful until I got out of my car at home and closed the car door on my left ring finger.

I was able to get my rings off and ice it. This too shall pass.

No Kings

 For some reason, 50501 organizers have asked attendees to wear yellow. 

 A half century ago, I owned a chrome yellow satin blouse with full sleeves and three button cuffs. It zipped up the back to a high collar and fit like skin. With black jeans a pretty nifty outfit.

There was a party. I was standing in a crowded room with a drink in my hand and happened to catch a glimpse of myself reflected in a glass door. I looked like a BRIDGE OUT sign. I was mostly averse to wearing yellow after that. But then I thought about it and looked through the pictures and there I was with my pale yellow fuzzy Angora boobs,  my head in the boyfriend's lap right after we announced our engagement on Christmas morning. He loved that sweater.

Yesterday, a brief look to the closet proved nothing yellow. I might bring these creatures along as Guardians.