Spirits call

 

Really, muse?

It's 1:30 in the morning. 

Was it the wierd dinner? (A big bowl of cantaloupe chunks, pomegranate arils, topped with broken gingerbread cookies)

Maybe saying goodbye to Littlefeather? My Singer Featherweight has been languishing too long. As part of my Reconnection project a perfect destination was revealed. We'll be at FedEx later today. 

(Open yourself to change. Come down from your walls. )

Maybe it was this. I finished Vigil today with the intention of letting it go (if chosen) to the show and beyond. 

This was the piece I worked on during Jim's last weeks. Sweetie here is gone now as well.

Today marks twelves years without Jim. I take comfort in the knowledge that I've still had more life with him than without him.

Restless, strong spirits remind me of the business of life. Push the Wheel. 

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.