Yikes!

found a file
empty, titled

my fraternal space twin

overheard

"...touch me and I'll tell you what I'm about."

on security (and groceries)

comfort
is my own
to find

and
I’ll take it
too

gotta carry
it in alone
anyhow

unsettling note to self

overheard yesterday

and noted

not because it is thrifty

If you live alone,
what's wrong with
a good onion sandwich
every once in a while?

dog theatre

this morning I realized that one dog is a companion
and two dogs are an audience

did an interpretive song and dance
this morning for the canines

they sat quietly and watched attentively
perhaps the biscuits in my hands were a factor

rather disturbing

my toothbrush tastes like
pickles this morning

Me?

I appreciate a little pushback.
Gotta find that friction somewhere.

I suppose it makes sense

I spent yesterday afternoon in an old slaughterhouse
it was pleasant, filled with books, companionship
the contemplative silence and laughter of discovery

it was noted that I am a very verbal book looker
(I didn't mention that I am a very verbal everything,
though I certainly did think it)

perhaps the tense drive home in the first beautiful
challenging snow of this season and up those
treacherous hills introduced the element of fear

no, it was the description I recently gave to friends
of some cells in the Apple Creek institution
(I’ve seen them, was there for combat training)

the ceilings and floors are slanted with slots
at the top and bottom of the enormous bars
enough to shove in food and a hose, no contact

and the book of photographs, Asylum,
that I keep renewing from the library with the
haunting humanity that fills those now-empty rooms

I had a nightmare - one that made me wake up and
walk it off - about that slaughterhouse in action
the stench and the blood covered walls throbbed

pulses of water from the hose swelled the horror
sent it swirling down drains, drowning
the maw that had been wrenched in the earth

what is my brain doing at night?!

how to put the legs back on an octopus with your teeth

(found in the dream notebook in my bed)

ah, it is the lingam

the dreams about being stabbed
by one peer and seduced by another
were so troubling that I unwittingly avoided
deep sleep several nights running
but really, what's the point in avoidance
the truth is still lurking somewhere

I got exhausted, uneasy
so revisited my hierarchy of need
the obvious, as elusive to me as ever,
presented itself eventually
it is so simple - I have misplaced safety

yet I know it is lurking somewhere
and I will seek it in the eye of the
elephant, in the cries of the eagle,
in the coils of the snake

no matter what else has happened, there are reasons to distrust machines

the google thinks I don't deserve all of my email
(not sure which of the gods would be responsible)
I received a tentative inquiry about my lack of response
or I wouldn't have even known anything was amiss
(oh wait, I am getting an idea)
I am frustrated and angry that I won't know what else
is missing - what important information is gone
(is that a trunk I see from the corner of my eye?)

aw hell!

My eyes already hurt.
I seem to have left my glasses on the river bank.
Today is the first day of gun season.
Wearing orange just isn't enough.

I am reminded of the last pair that I lost
a few years ago. On the banks of the Missouri.
It happened the day he took me to a special place,
knew I needed to run like a dog for a long time.
He patiently waited in the car, reading. Struck me
as funny later on, to be taken out for some exercise
and losing my sight while running so free. But,
you know, I needed a change of view then too.

nice couple of hours

small comfort in the unknown

sleep arrived fine last night
but departed shortly after midnight
and I could not coax it to return
to save my soul

after hours and hours of
a book and some movies
I did finally drift off
for a short time but

pain in my back roused me
and for several moments
before I opened my eyes
I could not tell where I was
couch or bed, city or country

another memorable morning

or
I could smell skunk even before I opened my eyes


since yesterday morning I’ve been reconsidering a policy of mine
you know, the one where I tell someone when I dream about them
I have faithfully done this for years, even told my friend's
hat when I dreamt about it (someone was eating a salad from it)

in the past my dreams have often been more literal regarding
the cast – symbolism seemed exhausting, really
but things have changed of late, many many things

my dreams certainly have and now my sleep is filled
with intensely vivid scenarios; there for a few nights running
it was so frightening so terrifying that I had to work hard
to remind myself of the real world though that is no less distressing

but the very nature of my dreams has changed, metaphor has returned
with a vengeance and my brain has reminded me what an unusual
specimen it can be though people do seem to mention it occasionally

yesterday morning there was a peer, a poet in my dream
our conversation was all very friendly as he leaned forward to say
something hovering close to my face, our cheeks nearly brushing,
eye to eye until he sliced into my upper thigh with a pocket knife

he stepped back, glanced down, removed his scarf and bound
the wound while the whole time continuing to say those innocuous
things people say to each other in social situations, poetry readings

it was such a strange thing to dream, this peer would not behave so
and when I woke up and thought about telling him, it didn’t make
sense – no sense at all to think this man is a threat. my imagination
is grasping more than inanimate objects to point out the obvious

(a thing I need and deny) and this morning, I knew for sure that things
had changed; I’d taken a notebook to bed – the top of the page reads
“symbolism trumps,” “another trend” and “I decide to break my policy”

another dream, another peer, another poet arrived with a playful
flirtation that quickly turned into a joyful seduction as I was held in
some engulfing music, a gentle hand cupping my breast while
the most delightful desires were whispered into my ear

a pattern develops

either I've been spending
a lot of time at my desk
or it has just happened to be
the place where I've started
to take off my shoes sometimes

Humanity?

It is shaking and sweaty,
holding its face in its hands.
It sings to itself
and dances on rainy afternoons.
It is content and knows
without looking what is the deepest part.

why I hate rural living part 1

or
the nights are getting long


it is that time of the year when I want to go to bed
early to read, wait for the world to stop moving,
stew in my own juices but the flies have come inside

or were born inside just now (I can’t remember
their life-span) but somehow they weren’t
here for the summer, I slept well then

the desperate erratic frantic buzzes in the shade
of my reading lamp begin to resonate with the
buzzing in my head, a disturbing distortion develops

and one night last week when I needed the silence
I found myself with a ferocious desire to stop
the relentless cacophony so leaping naked

I wielded my weapon, my bra – it was the thing
I had at hand when I realized they remained
before I crawled into the sheets opened my book

slipped away

impossible afternoons

the skull in the rudbeckia took me by surprise
yesterday when I was lost in the smell
of the upturned dirt and the crushed bergamot
watching the slow moving worms
and listening for the growing roots of the bulbs
that I’d planted before leaving to bury you

there are times the invisible dogs are not enough

today as I lay in the early morning sheets
I heard Edith, long dead dear Edith,
barking outside
it was her polite bark, one syllable with a particular statement
a mention that she’d appreciate the back door being open
just a moment, so she could be back inside
sit touching my foot

ill composed and incomplete but out of my head

there are times
it is easier
to see through the haze
or wait for the fog to lift
but patience
is not one of my virtues

at the moment I was reading

Phil Lesh said in my bathroom: "It was a classic example of an all too human tendency to misread situations negatively, respond in kind and then see the light after it's too late."

no more

no more
mokita
for me

not a thrift store purchase

but I sure enjoyed looking at it

(not to mention the breath, the music)

company in the garden

just a few moments

I hear, clear as day
a flute playing in the valley

it changes my spine

I note the time
and move on

"...what is not spoken can seem not to exist...."
- Isabel Allende

she writes

hard to see an end
there will never be an end

go ahead and lean into it
- you have to eventually

gray morning
rain weighs down
my thoughts

brass bracelet with key

it hangs from her wrist
brushing out notes on the cabinets,
chairs, appliances. it hangs
against her skin
repeating the touches of cold fingertips
as she turns her hands this way and that
through the slow river of her day. she rises
to remember the song of
the man who polished her bones.

mother is alone now, waiting for the consolation,
balancing the accounts again and again.
she keeps a hope the deficit will be filled,
that the mysterious key will find a lock
warm enough to open the improbable door.
it is clear that when she passes such a device
the brass will warm, begin to dance
guide her surely without thought toward
some kind of rest.

no hard metal encircling my wrist,
no ring in my nose, on my toes
but as mother passes
her key begins to vibrate –
her wrist trembles, face falls.
she raises an arm slowly,
an arthritic finger making the exclamation
for her silent mouth. it points
at my middle, my cautious heart.
I feel my own lock begin to sing.

across the library

voices of children
a flock
rising, plunging

I feel so dirty.

I used the term 'team leader' in a cover letter.

cinquain for a fall morning

pink fog
fills the valley
last of the crickets sing
tongues of the softened sun lap
it all

why I love rural living

ran into a friend
at the gasoline store
she was on her way to town
the post office called
her chickens had arrived
the postmistress didn’t want them
hanging around too long

the morphic field or too much The L Word

(or has it just been a while)

woke up with the words
"slick whoopee juice"
being signed in front of me
with subtitles

after dutifully recording this
I turned on NPR just in time
to hear someone say
"Oh please, I'm all wet. I can't think right when I'm all wet."

Well, I do know how to do a little plumbing.

The ad for the job reads:
"Would prefer someone with breastfeeding experience."

"A pretty dramatic sunrise."

Said the man on the radio just minutes after I took this photograph.

on a self performed hair cut while suffering sleep deprivation

under such a blue
sky, won't know
for a few days
if
I have made
worse choices

oh no! what am I listening to?

my music-management system
declares the song that is playing
as unclassifiable

Can't find the right book.

For the umpteenth time I have finished reading something and am looking for the next one. There are so many books and so little time. This is an important decision. Even after a bit of a purge the pile on my bedside table remains large. I am having trouble settling. The pile contains:
'When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead' by Jerry Weintraub
(This is from the library. I read a favorable review somewhere.)
'Ecology Of A Cracker Childhood' by Janisse Ray
(Also from the library and definitely here because of a favorable review from a blog found from a blog and if memory serves, the recommender is a proponent of slow-reading.)
'Musicophilia' by Oliver Sacks
(Music is medicine for me. I know this will be a delight and keep renewing it but haven't felt up to non-fiction.)
'Pleasures: Women Write Erotica' edited by Lonnie Barbach, Ph.D.
(Library. The pieces I’ve read have been rather disappointing so far.)
'The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde'
(I needed her strength. Library.)
'Another Roadside Attraction' by Tom Robbins
(Revisiting this book might be interesting.)
The Audubon Society's 'Field Guide to North American Insects & Spiders'
(There was an unusual spider crawling on my wall and bed the other night.)
Charles Dickens' 'Pickwick Papers'
(Been meaning to get around to this book.)
'Troubling A Star' by Madeleine L'Engle
(Found in the library’s sale books. Gotta love Madeleine.)
Marge Piercy's 'Fly Away Home'
(The first few pages were oh so good but moderately distressing.
I'm not sure now is the time for this.)
'Slow Hand: Women Writing Erotica' edited by Michele Slung
(For years a regular presence on my bedside table.)
Mark Sebastian Jordan's 'The Book of Jobs'
(A new book by a new friend.)
'The Comedians' by Graham Greene
(I loved 'Travels With My Aunt.')
'How I Became Hettie Jones' by Hettie Jones
(This arrived here because of a memoir kick that I was on a few months ago.)
Irvine Welsh's 'Filth'
(I loved 'Ecstasy.’ Know that I need to read more of him.)
There are also two dictionaries - Webster's New World (paperback so it can be easily tucked under the pillow) and Webster's Ninth New Collegiate (because sometimes paperback is not enough).

Aw, cut it out!

Just what is it that damned machine is suggesting anyway?

A note that I did not send.

Things here are fine. It is a beautiful summer, though definitely on the wane. It is again the time of year that the leaves on the soybean plants turn in patterns with the wind and the milky way is spectacularly visible. The weather broke long enough for me to bake all day on Saturday but it is getting hot again. One of the feral cats was hit by a vehicle the other day. You know, I never wake up thinking that I'll be digging a grave. She was in the very middle of the road up by the barn (near the top of the hill) and I could have been hit by a speeding milk truck while prying her body off the pavement and trying not to look at the eyeball that had popped out of her skull.

Good Day

Dinner tonight from the farmer's market - left the chick peas cooking on the stove when I went. Great success! My small budget (firmly adhered to) provided a large head of cabbage (picked that morning by the man who used to be my doctor), three zucchini, four green peppers and beautiful shiny rocks. They were 20 for $1! I asked the girl with braces and freckles and summer skin if the sign was right. It just seemed too good to be true. Yes, the sign was right. There was mild confusion when she couldn't find a bag for me to put them in and I didn't have reliable pockets. GrandmaMrsdoctor found one for me and suggested that I carry the stones into the sun to see them best. Of course! No hurry but the chick peas. I took her advice and took my time. In between the bread duties today I played with the stones. Eventually I found a shiny little bowl for them and have put them within arm’s reach of the porch swing.

I have been fussing around my house all day and have finally put my feet up. Baking was my main focus. Though I got a couple of other little things done like charging the drill for the upcoming construction and finally unloading that big box of cat litter, I was in my kitchen most of the day. It got pretty complicated there in the early afternoon with three batches in various states, two of them in the oven and that music. I got caught up in a strange song and having it on repeat for godonlyknows how long might have been the reason that the second batch of apple wheat was left rising for too long and is a little off (still quite yummy and good enough for me). Just a few minutes ago the last batch came out of the oven. All told I baked six loaves of bread (four apple & wheat, two whole wheat & oat) and sixteen of the most beautiful kaiser rolls that I've ever seen. I’ve spent at least one hour this day kneading bread.

Now, I sit.

Wonder what tomorrow will bring.

The cat, now 17, has started to act funny. She has outlasted a large number of other animals and perhaps is lonely. Most likely she is smug. The house and the person are finally hers and hers alone. Her latest odd behavior is to smell my lips between 5 and 5:30 in the morning. This I could live with as I learned to live with her brother nursing on my ear in the middle of the night – pull the bed covers over the ears – but she is a dangerous one. She bites. Never enough to draw blood but who can say what will happen. Besides, it hurts like the dickens. So for a large number of recent mornings, I have had my day abruptly begun by this behavior. Yesterday I fooled her though. Being well rested, I arose shortly before 5. I vacuumed, changed the sheets and tidied my kitchen instead of my usual habit of reading with an available lap and scritchy fingers. This morning she waited until 6, until my consciousness was stirring. Springing onto the bed, she bit my bottom before springing out again and scampering out of the room. Good one.

domestic haiku

time to do laundry
only things left - a sports bra
or the bustier

was I visited by Mr. Funny in my sleep?

The other day I woke up with the phrase

"Hors d'oeuvres: tweets from the chef!"

repeating in my mind in a
we're-all-happy-aren't-we-kids
I'm wearing suspenders and some sort of plaid
desperately cheerful rollercoastery
sort of voice. There might even have
been a little soft shoe involved.

It was quite confusing.

I miss you, chicken lady.

I heated water on the stove instead

OR why I murder bugs
please note: this device is not plugged in

Wednesday afternoon

Kissing trees on the river bank.


Animal hole with cat and human footprints.


The skull has fallen out of the tree.

at the park

unexpected and increasingly disturbing scene at the Goodwill

note

a straight jacket
is not
a hug machine

tidying up

(notes from an essay on Lem's 'Solaris')

supple and satisfactory
literary cognition
history and methodology
development and implications
catastrophic alternatives
non-dogmatic, open, yet plausible
techno-sociological antifascist
well-aimed allegorical shafts
anthropocentric criteria
biopsychological puzzle
deepest life-affirming heresies
simple and difficult realization

self immolation or spontaneous combustion

fear -
I invited it in
spent all day
baking bread with it
and finally
we settled into an uneasy truce

but rage -
I cannot admit
the dangerous breath on my neck
and the fire in my soul
stop me

outside my (dirty) livingroom window

yes, it has been snowing

I tell the cat, just before he dies, to look at Saturn.

I have a fervent hope that as I am unfolding I will get to perceive our solar system before I am too diluted to care any more.

notes from Speaking of Faith

grieving elephants: acoustic biology


we just don’t know
all possibilities are open to us

the whole herd becomes completely still
wonderful practicers of simplicity

I see my responsibility as being
to listen to this planet

we just don’t know
we just don’t know

this planet is the only place
where we have this kind of life

sunny morning

oh heavens

realized that I just used the phrases
"it has to be good enough"
and
"it'll be good enough"
in the same paragraph
(nearly back to back)
in a note to a friend

the context?
"Last year on my birthday I stuck my finger in a live socket. I'm not sure if my position is improving but I am going to choose to believe that it is (and hey, as far as sex goes, 2009 beat 2008 all to hell)."

Perhaps I should give this a little thought.

found myself writing in a letter this morning

I've been careless with my reading of late and have thrown myself into strange mindsets due to a string of memoirs. Am trying to give up reading them for a while but Andy Williams' "Moon River and Me" is waiting for me at the library. How could I resist that?

items found - many years old

news from town

Carol heard at McDonald's that the earth went through global warming in the 1920s but all the glaciers froze up again. So, there is nothing to worry about. Glad that is clearly settled.

surprisingly big label on my new underpants from the dollar store

For a few strange moments, I wondered if this was a plea for help from the soul who made this thing.