threefold...

sweater back complete! whoot! as i knit listened to some nick drake. the sister's head peeked into the sitting room. when i noticed she was peeking she quickly unpeeked. and this repeated. then suddenly she began slapping her knees and whistling a sea shanty song. i'm hambonin' for ya! yeah! look at me! it's all for you! i'm hambonin'! what're ya gonna do about it?! what i did about it was a whole lot of pleading for its swift end. and some lalalalala-ing to keep it from sticking. i'm very susceptible to that.

just now on the walk a scary man followed us. i know for a fact that he is unsavory as he used to come into my place of work (and other nearby places) and harass people. we crossed the railroad tracks and got to the last corner before our house. he had just passed us. when we paused at the corner i looked over my shoulder and saw him turning around. instead of going home we walked the cross street. he turned and followed us. but we gave him the slip in the alley and spied out at him. he was standing where he'd last seen us but on the opposite side of the street. i don't like that.

the volvo may not be long for this world. i'm so sad. i have an unnatural attachment to my car. not so much as a device of transportaion but for other reasons. the squeaky doors. the smell of the leather seats. the sporadic function of the horn...and windshield wipers. the broken hatch. ah well.

in other news...

lately i don't know what the matter is. amygdal cloud say. waiting for the fog to roll back. a sound is integral to sounding. plumb how. somewhere certainly lies a boundary. everything is pent against. trombone and thrombosis have a valve as their common ancestor. it strictly concerns anatomy. i'm fond of ending with that joke.

in other other news...

go see joe's show! go i say! go for me because i can't.

woodward flats. that's in san francisco. right here as a matter of fact: 485 14th street. just to recap that's new work by joe colley. a show entitled i wish i could take all of you with me. it's at woodward flats in san francisco. august 20th-september 12th. now scoot!

alrighty. i'm hitting the hay.

much knitting.

listening: sugar on my tongue-- talking heads.

it was ungodly hot today. when will the reduction come? as the sun set we stepped out. pockets of breathy air. most unpleasant.

a long drive would be ideal now. but it won't happen. the volvo is on blocks. (insert swear words here)

listening: glass dance-- the faint.

well...

red...

we found a red-headed robot during the procedure. the length of a thumb. not just any thumb. mine. father collected me today. he needed help removing a ceiling beam. amidst the rubble produced robot. said notice the hand. i used to put a sign in it that read "i want a martini." then the winder was wound. he quickly grew tired of it. knocked it on its back. at which point i lost concentration. beams were unknown to me. all was robot throes. i laughed and laughed. look! oh...it's so sad! so sad! its helpless legs. its stiff arms. writhing. father shrugged. clearly he's on his way out. and very soon the ticking quieted. the beam was hoisted. i was in top form. tripped on a rope and nearly cracked my head on the woodstove. we forgot the pry bar until both of us engaged the weight. at which point i was made frantic gopher. retrieved. but it was a success. sweat rolling down under my shirt. is-it-a-cobweb-monster feeling. fiberglass darts raising pink pebbles along my arm. hot. planted ourselves in front of the oscillating fan. nothing was broken!

the sweater is coming along nicely. i had knit several inches of sweater back when i realized i was off a stitch. had to rip to the start. so it goes. stopped for the evening at five inches about. not bad. and the fiber is wonderfully soft.

islandia continues. guy was girl crazy. i suppose that's very 1920's. dunno.

g'night.

incongruous...

up until the man contemplating the height of the bronze horse i believed my eyes to be closed. but they must have been open. mesmerized by the flickering of the ride.

burned my wrist whilst making dinner. the pale under part. didn't put cool water on in time. but resisted the urge to put my mouth over it. now it's throbbing. so clumsy. and the black cat perched on my shoulder without invite. scratched my neck.

there was a tree full of juvenile crows this afternoon. loud alternating quiet. a dog barking and the sound was like a distressed child. creepy. i crawled beneath my car to retrieve a bolt. came out covered in duff. willow leaves and cobweb. the grease will not depart from under my nails.

sister and i watch movies for the scenery. pick them apart. mine is about floral incongruity. sister notices landmarks. geology. i watch to see where the sun rises and sets. s.b. hates this and frequently shushes us. i don't mind the shushing because after a while i annoy myself too.

sometimes direct address causes my mind to go utterly blank. no matter the inquiry. no matter the situation. i hate that. in some places people address each other by addressing an object in the room instead. some odd protocol. but if someone addressed the ladle for my sake i would probably fare better. it isn't always a problem. but when it is it is not in mild shades.

a cricket crossed the floor. so wee. it's been a while.

progress...

managed to get a letter off to an italian address. i feel productive! hopefully it wasn't too late.

friends arrive from the other coast soon. family from another shore soon too! whooot! i haven't met my beautiful new niece yet. exciting!

my father stopped today on his way away from a funeral. it's odd to see him wear dark clothes. usually dressed in some sort of green or blue. gave him a bag of crookneck and tomatoes upon departure.

must to sleep. the bells go off at 6 a.m. gah!

ciao.

eighty-eight...

today i was party to a routine small animal surgery. i do not have a weak stomach. and yet. i have never been so near to turning my gut wrongside out on account of such. even to think about it now makes me feel ill in the belly. aye!

just finished taking the bonnet from the eighty-eight. blowing in her ear with the canned air. so dusty in there! btw canned air is a special thing. a thing of beauty.

again somehow the question is posed: why the stay? why the attachment? one would wonder about the appeal of so rural a place. what do you get out of it? the question of the year. someone who'd ask me wouldn't understand the answer. i've been many places. i'll be there again. in another year or so this one will be covered in extraneous vineyard. wal-mart. machine row houses. any day those many places will be there. this one will not. i'm not about to waste it.

last evening i went to the hind of dovie's property (which is no longer dovie's. she's now late.) and gathered pears. two trees. the construction crew building the new house doesn't seem interested in orchardry. the ground is wet with them. smells like hard cider. slippery. but the ones still hanging are good. firm as rock but sweet inside. green and squat not like the newly discovered brown across the way.

for some reason my hair looked exceedingly red with the light shining through it. like a shampoo commercial. as soon as i thought it i thought better of it. supressed the urge to flip it about.

extraneous vineyard (i'm quoting myself!). i have nothing against vineyard generally. and wine is nice. very nice. i just find these fashions funny. no. disturbing. subject land to a whim. a fad. so many yards filling every square foot with grape. and perfectly wonderful ag land put under those clusters too. grapes grow anywhere (nearly). ag land is precious. but it doesn't have a pretty face. and it's harder to brag of.

i'm not going to police my spelling. be merciful.

to bed.

farewell moog...

moog is dead. the premiere sound upon learning was an internal synth wail. oh lamentations. the passing marked by theremin and ondes. and moog of course. how strange to be sent off by an instrument of one's own design.

at my father's urging am reading islandia. currently page 541. it's pretty enjoyable as a matter of fact. he frequently urges. but i don't frequently have time. he forgets what it is to live among the unretired. he reads from sun to sun with little pause. eat. drink. chop wood. open windows. close windows. maintain the property. but mostly staked to a small lamp's cast. often nods in his chair. drags off to bed in the wee hours. i suppose where i've inheritted the trait.

sometimes there's nothing i like better than the clumsy shuffle of two people meeting in a corridor. whether i'm one of them or not. who finally steps aside. there's no outstanding etiquette.

i never know what to wear. on one side of the hill it's cold. on the other hot. or vice versa. which means every day is coat weather. layers layers layers. because there's no telling.

we've discovered a new pear across town. brown and slender pears. the whole grass wide full of them.

the lions club was having a meet in the hall. across the street i saw a woman in her window staring at them. i stared at her. eyes met and she hurried out of the yellow. across frame. wearing obscenely small short pants. i hoped for the mercy of night blindness. a lion in the dark car park laughed like a failing compressor.

adieu.

androcles...

this evening we saw a dog like lewis limping along the rottweiler fence. and it was in fact. after coaxing he revealed a goathead in his paw. he licked my hand all over while i removed the thorn. then took off at a lope after who knows. i had to chase him. i had to crouch and run along his goldy flank trying to direct him homeward. after pissing on a vinca he relented only slightly. spotted an interesting walker and tried to give chase. i was foursquare against it. his front door was open. his mistress in the doorway drying her hair with a towel. here is lewis. he was around the corner. after which followed thanks and a chronological account of events leading to his escape. i still don't know the woman's name. i prefer lewis anyway. but i was a bit annoyed that he didn't offer to grant my three wishes. ingrate.

snacking on habas con chile y limon. listening: un jour comme un autre-- serge gainsbourg and brigitte bardot. i take that back. it just switched over. listening: raindrop prelude-- chopin (performer unknown).

downloaded yarn gauge converter. an alpaca sweater is in the works. very classy one. bateau neck. yes. i think i'll like it.

i ran into somebody in the store today. he smiled. i smiled out of politeness. then i remembered that i knew him and liked him. smiled again. and then i remembered i had no idea where i knew him from. and i felt very silly when he started speaking to me. treading water. looking for sandy keys. nada. i scurried away. the end.

wellidy.

plains...

i know there are bigger more exciting and more important things going on in bigger more exciting more important parts of the world but here in my wee little portion this matter is of importance to me. the majority of my family still raise cattle. ranchers. i grew up studying agriculture. that was going to be my life. but when i got growed up i most wanted to be an environmental scientist (which didn't happen). writing is still the root though. language is the thing i can't shake. twisselmans are known to me. the goodwin ranch is where i spent happy hours when wee. weddings. or having a doin' as they say. there has to be an answer. or several of them. but i don't know what those are.

refrain...

today i had reminder of all that dancing. bumble bees. eggs. phone numbers. cryptic devices of the ravers of yore. do they do that still? i dunno. it's been ages since i went and danced. once someone told me i danced like paddington bear. i thought it complimentary.

i've just washed quite a mound of dishes. i don't remember having a thirty-something year old son. apparently i have one. instead of dishpan hands it's dishpan torso. gah!

now listening: temptation-- new order.

the kitchen smells like ripe peaches. there's a bag of them over there. so nice.

alpaca yarn arrived today. discount but fine. so very soft.

tomorrow!

also you know what word i think is especially strange? refrain. cleave is one too.

g'night.

hansom cab...

this evening's handball tournament left us tired. the sister and s.b. in ornery fashion decided to snub me.

ornery1: let's leave her!
ornery2: yeah! here, hop on my motorcycle. (much miming of motorcycles)
ornery1: wait! let's take my chopper! it's way cooler.
ornery2: no, i got it! let's take my hansom cab! (much miming of horse carriage)

i quickly grew weary of the conversation and sped off in my rickshaw. el fin.

now listening: morning sun--dot allison. somehow it makes me think of tall long-necked spotted ruminants at a run. why i don't know.

in other news...

i may shut down the comments for a spell. i'm really tired of spammers and such. when i feel up to excercising my patience i may bring them back. mail me if you'd like. i'd like.

wet, wet, wet...

thunder. cocteau twins on the phones and the beginning of rain. not an august expectation. that pointillist spell.

you're the match of jericho that will burn this whole madhouse down and i'll throw open like the walnut safe...

dodging the same gideon again and again. my face is unremarkable. or maybe it's only persistence at work. or the theme of saturation. too much decline in my decline. not enough umbrella.

finally sufficient reach for a gum twig. orange from one. red from another. a mass of fine explosion. stamens falling. the sea floor flora. vicarious. and a cluster of iridescent insect egg. fix your eye there. surprising.

i'm standing. cuffed notion. desire nocino and black coffee. the belly of the bright quiet lamp.

must to walk out there now.

overpass...

friday i watched a meteor shower. already there was dew on the ground. i gave up at two and went to bed. but nice while it lasted.

green bunting hops up from the creekbed. bitter frills front the rails. appropriate. the meet of the intoxicated under that span. and in dry weather too. about that...

today's roadkill was a vulture. a vulture.

ta!

fossil records...

killdeer on the yarrow field this evening. we walked to the schoolyard. there's a new device. a glorified can phone that gives the antique announcer voice. so i can say anachronisms. just like that. and someone stands at the far end receiving. the stone wall is gone. the marigolds too. the cypress is a stump chair. rolling down the hill made me thrill and sick. when i stood an arc was evident. and i laughed and patted my thighs. a straight line is much harder now.

where we walk we picnic. heck hoom haw la la. the language adjacent to graves. the lime hill and its sequence. a vista with sinking sun tips. green spurs. a wind-jibing magpie. all of that and a stomach ache too.

to bed.

effervescent...

this blackish thing which girds seems to chafe. why i support it remains a puzzle. the mc mullen orogeny was insignificant. no text notes it. on account of the difficult phrase "the slope of ascent." still i'm often winded from a climb.

bubbles. it's them as what's makes leavening. placement is also of some concern.

gah. tired. g'night.

unbeautiful sunday...

today was so strange and tiring. serried inner bits. spring pleats. open me up and i jack-in-the-box.