virginia

the copy is aged the

paper turning orange

and yellow

ive been reading to the lighthouse by virginia woolf

there is no spine of

which to speak

with each turn of page a sheet

pulls off like petal

from flower

my kittens have taken the masterpiece across the hardwood floors

and made better use of it

than i

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may sometime five

relocating yourself is hard. i was all wound up and so tightly there was no room for a catch, twenty two, or a finger to inch its way between the string and the spool. the risk was decapitation of an innocent digit, say number two, flat on the ground without its curly-q. the tale had a tail. i saw the end of it, too. it was bushy like a cat’s just washed, having dried. the cat was my tiger approaching me now on the bed, after another long night moving more stuff from point a to point b. all crying in his cage earlier, soaking wet. feeling scared and mistreated. now it was long after my usual bedtime and i was the one hurt and crying after the longest of days. finally lying down @ point b. suddenly letting go. the wind took the kite and all, pulling the spool and the string right out of my hand. now we are free. my tiger and his brother approach me. blondie comes up and nestles his head under my ribs. his brother, pitbull aka bunny, settles down on the blanket by my feet. these are the only kids i have. i am suddenly unwound and so happy. the breeze draws in from the window. we are home. we are flying.

greenblue

today is history, tomorrow. whatever was said or done already is etched in our past. a historical record. this post is me creating my history. i write these words in a pyschosocial fashion on a paperless trail, connecting my life to yours. i like how well we make history, together.

goodbye sweet moment. lying in the warm light of a summer morning, California. readying myself for whatever highs and lows the day may bring. getting right with God. watching my kittens thirst by their eyes for the birds. drawing back the bow. these eyes are emerald. these eyes are amber. mine are greenblue…sending this message to space.

the cats don’t know

the cats don’t know what to do with me

i saw my bean counter guy at the café today and got the word on the new release, soon to be roasted. i’m not a big fan of ethiopian so i discarded the news while enjoying the curious taste of the organic peru being served. i bought a cup of that. i like this café because here it’s presumed you are a human being and worth talking to, which may not go for much in other cultures but trust me, here in corporate america there are plenty of spaces where no one will talk to you and you will draw suspicion if you try and be friendly. i got a croissant, went home and fried an egg with bacon to put inside it. i burnt the bacon but not all of it. my coffee got cold so i took the opportunity to reheat it on the stove with some rice milk and dark chocolate, swiss miss. i’m pretty sure i planned it that way. meanwhile my car was being ticketed across the street without my knowledge. i was enjoying my mocha while sitting on my couch in the morning light, a furry throw pillow supporting my lower back and the coffee table setup perfectly before me to hold my laptop and allow me an ideal position to work on my novel, which i did for a half hour or more before i spilled my coffee on my new faux oriental rug, cursing under my breath and running for a rag and some water. the cats don’t know what to do with me. now i owe the city of Sacramento fifty-two bucks for street cleaning obstruction, and the driver’s side tire keeps deflating on me so it will have to be replaced. all these setbacks broke the fragile beauty of my writing bubble, so i took a nap. i found myself irritable in a meeting at noon. at least i showed up. i perked up a little after meeting a few new friends to discuss fresh applications of narrative therapy, not a widely embraced modality but we wish it was. i guess it all started in australia, too, which makes me smile. damn, i could use a vacation down under or enveloped in the mountain folds of new zealand. i think i even have friends there. too bad my passport’s expired and i can’t afford to travel. honestly i’m just trying to keep my microcosm together and live an honorable life and keep my bubbles sparkling whole in the air.

make me

make me get outta bed

Getting up last night for work turned out to be the same as getting up was last year, this year. I felt simply unwilling to push the blankets away and step into the cold unheated air. I thought what with my incredible anti-depressive mentality things would be different this year, but they weren’t. The logistics are always painful. Once I got outta bed and put my malt-o-meal on the stove and took my meds with leftover cadillac (the chocolate residue on the bottom churned back into the mix with some flexible wrist action), I could breathe again. The cats were all crying for food and I must provide. Otherwise it will be a claw to the neck when you least suspect.  Life is demanding as always. And faith is still there, waiting to be called upon, to get you through.

K. #6099 CIM

on washing a cat

When i picked up my cat ‘Mouse’ and took him to the tub with the bucket for washing, the whole organism fought me from the musco-skeletal channel, buttressing into an indefensible arch. It started in the mind of the cat, triggered the moment we crossed the divide of hallway and washroom, and before any water even touched the body. Dogs at this point begin to paddle their wrists instinctively.

The cats are no stranger to my washing them, and always appear more content afterwards, when dry and clean, and sleep soundly without the pests. And yet the fight comes up again every time we go to wash.

See how we fight both the good and the bad? Someone wants to help us, they offer a way out of our problems, and our whole organism reacts against the change, almost as though we believe they would hurt us.  Takes a funny resolve sometimes to do that which will be good for the health.

journal entry

Journal # 03.24.16

Life was gonna be painful for a morning dove whose call was so random and throaty and pure only hours before my tigers took him out. what was left of life was gonna be painful then surreal then blurry, then over. i imagine euphoria takes over in the end, when defenceless one’s life force rushes to heal. life is bloody and open wide and clawed at. attacked from all sides. in the midst of a glorious spring morning. the dew has burned off and the day becomes sharp and direct and furious when you’re caught by those who were born to hunt you down. actually they meant you no harm. they just do what they do. it’s the same the world over. impersonal. intimate. euphoric. terribly violent and sad. ever changing. renewed. life.