May 1st, 2007



Too cold for open windows open, really. But I do this every so often. Oftener in Spring. Can't shut 'em. Can't do it.

Thunderstorm good.  Thunderstorm:  good.

Speaking of windows. I was suddenly at an open window to Takky Park tonight, for a coupla hours. By the old-fashioned means of landline. That window was a window of restful ease and magically thoughtless comfort. A surprise gift, with good timing. Spillover into now? Some, yes, I think, yes. Fading as I fade, deeper into the night, and let go to what darkness comes. It's really too cold for these literal windows to be open, and it's coming down hard out there. The kind of hard rain in which you can catch your death. The air off it is cold with wet-cold cold. Why I don't batton down and take cover, I don't know. Or even put some sleeves on. Under the featherdown should invite. But. It's like Drench me with the air of it, at the very bloody least.

In flurry of texting last night told friend am feeling urges toward the drastic. Not drastic as in offing self. Drastic otherwise, but (otherwise) unclear. I have to do something with this energy. Too much of it is skittering around in whatever feels like me, unable to go where it wants, nowhere else to go. And this great rain and this dark night are too cold for drenching in transformative soul-cleansing saturation, and living to tell the tale.

Maybe what's to do is to let go of living to tell the tale.

That river--- they changed the direction of the river in Chicago. How did they do that? Somebody tell me. In very simply expressed, clear step-by-step steps, adapted for the home version. Somebody tell me a. s. a. friggin' p., already.

'Cept I can't promise I'd do it if I could.

The rolling thunder makes long, long spells of crescendo - decrescendo - crescendo - decrescendo. Rumble. Roil. Cauldron bubble. Trouble trouble. Trouble.
avatar w/buff hat

winding it up

A funny expression, "winding it up"--- it's both a gearing up for a beginning and a settling down to an ending. Lately I keep thinking of swearing things off; I was at it again today, like it was Carne Vale, not May Day. But May 2 strikes me as havin' some potentially good numerology for me. Let's see what happens with 5/2/7. I mean, if ya'll somehow aren't sick of my unveiled obscurity, I sure am. And how hard can it really be to "quit" what you ain't never been hired to? (You have to imagine me mumbling as I'm saying that. Lookin' down, by the campfire, at my feet. Thus lowerin' the hat brim, off and on, to hide my squinty little eyes.)

This afternoon at the shelter there were a lot of dogs who needed a second walk for the day. So I started with Fidel. A no-brainer, today, when real Fidel didn't show to speak, and I was clad in old Che shirt. Still am, but now Che's covered in cat hair. Hope he's not allergic.

There are pictures up at the Voice from the NOLOSE-sponsored My Big Fat Queer Prom. A prom as a beautiful thing--- live and learn; so much is possible. Makes me miss the east coast, too.

Speaking of queer, and what is possible that once was not, tonight I watched a fine movie I'm so glad I finally caught wind of: By Hook or By Crook (2002). Dang! Great faces, solid characters I know will be sticking with me, and five stars on the scale of Fflooidity and gender. And an extra star for reminding me to know what I know, even when so much around me says otherwise.

Maybe the film'll make a good lead-in, a good winding-up, to pulling out my mantra icon to start defaulting with tomorrow. It's about knowing what I know, too.