buoyant...

paragliders over west cuesta ridge. bright orange. and the sky very blue. that was nice. something about it makes me want to. but then i might be as satisified in a balloon. i definitely want to do that. i like airships.

birds! and tradesmen. and musicians. and hunters. all made of feathers. and these via wood_s_lot.

strange. a recent dream had flames made of orange feathers. moved exactly like fire. made light. but they were definitely bird in origin. bird combustion? it will illuminate whole cities.

and also...

little letters from moscow you improved my day and it was already a very good one. when the weather gets colder i'll send something scarf-like. meantime have some black bread and caraway vodka for me. heeee.

also also...

i will concoct a friendly one word attack. something like hello. or g'morning.

and finally...

i'm sleepy. and it isn't even late. g'night.

refractory...

a bargain bag of votives. somehow i'm amused by that. does it matter that i'm not using them for holy intents? that my devotion is to light?

listening: if she wants me-- belle and sebastian.

the sister: did he just sing "nefarious beast"?
me: no. no he didn't.

we've come to the conclusion that intonation is of great importance. emphasis on the word "people" for example. well. if done improperly it creates bad feelings. as seen on t.v. or related from that medium. i don't watch it.

like the nevus on my longest finger. easily forgotten until someone points it out.

in another league and another level...

historically headrolls caused us little trouble. we lived all day a tribute to bend. and the succession of flexes sprung us. inside the chest we twung. for that we kept diving. always regained our shape. but once wet someone laid us across the bench back. we dried that way. severe angles. let's hope by morning the damp undoes us again. we're as pliant as then.

another word is somersault. and by we i mean me.

well. it's time to say good night.

corpus...

someone said today we have bodies. we do. we do. we do. it is so. i think that means we aren't only word factories. not only words on paper. what does that mean for someone who writes poetry? two bodies? a body of work and a body body? the tower and the green. we have bodies. a thread between. what these bodies need is a swift kick in the ass.

elsewhere...

boiling water.

today i had s.b. all to myself. and he revealed a victory. and i cheered him. so proud. i had always wondered what it was like to have a younger brother. now i know. it's very nearly like having an older brother but on a slightly smaller scale. oh and occasionally i get to have the monopoly on wisdom. not really. in any case despite his sometimes ogre-like behavior i adore s.b. and i'm gushing.

water is boiled.

adieu!

it's oh so quiet...

i wasn't even making salad. it just sometimes happens that the olive oil makes its way to my hair. and so it was. and during the soak what was heard? silence. how's that for different. no baby. alas. no chundering (for now). just a circle of taciturn owls. low light. a faint rasp in the chest. if we can forecast and if we put faith in ratios tomorrow is as good as now. and that's enough.

whenever given the choice i always chose the written portion. exams flew by that way. when the challenge was oral the grief was great. it's so for many. isn't that odd? less odd if environmental factors are accounted. who where why etc. and so it might be observed that silence is a parry. letters a thrust. because we use the handiest sword. i don't especially like swords. and my observations are hypotheticals really. a grain of salt etc. for my part i'm most articulate when my response is written. that's not to say my everyday speech lacks united joints. it moves just fine. but there are others besides me. perhaps they're uncommunicative for lack of swords. or lack of hands. dunno.

now i'm making tedious thread. enough!

in other news...

when the oil is scoured out my hair is impossibly soft. and so it is.

s.b. has made me a cuppa. sencha. what a dear. and now the sister is sick too. but she is quiet.

someone asked again if we're twins. i don't understand that mistake. but i'm often flattered by it. ask again in five years. heh.

reading: mother courage and her children. because i've never read it. somebody just gave me a copy. why the heck not.

g'night.

bah...

running on three (non-consecutive) hours sleep today was not productive. madhouse. or as s.b. said convalescent house. the one brother chundering sick all night. i'm dubbed nurse. and the baby crying. and random dogs barking the perimeter. then rain. i said it was a dickens story. and he said why did i wake up in 19th century north london? i wish i had the answers. then transit trouble. and baltic ire overfloweth. oh that i had stayed in bed this morning.

sluice...

mare's tails and mackerel scales. and finally the whole sky is glazed over. what is the weather? the right word is lacking. so we'll sum up with strange. strange it is.

appropriately dreams had me up all night. waking to the words i'd just spoken. again and over again. but i don't remember who or where or why. maybe monologuing. or narrating. i'm unsure.

the last week has seen cranberry juice become a food group. those lucky yanks and their gleaming red bogs.

mining and showing empty. sundays.

mutter...

thursday night i escorted the brother's family. night market. how does it compare to taiwan? not so crowded. but my nephew still enjoyed. i was sorry to have missed the tuberose. i saw the man unload them. i figured on buying a stem on the second pass. but they were gone! only an empty bucket. there's always next thursday i s'pose.

my head finally feels like a human head again. i had quite a fever midweek. dreamt that i had the plague. woke to red bruises on my arm. i'd been clenching it tightly. it's funny. delirium i mean. despite my self-imposed sequester mei-mei has caught my cold. heartbreaking. tonight she has the fever. not how i wanted our visit to play out. maybe this means i'll have to visit taiwan to make up for things. good ol' formosa.

in other news...

i knew i liked glenn gould. i had heard recordings. the way he mutters and hums while playing. i had never seen footage until today though. oh my. i think he joins the list of deceased people i have crushes on. he was quite magnetic. i will seek out more footage. oh yes.

alrighty. i'm quitting early tonight. g'night.

creeping crud...

gah! the cold has cut short my baby time. it's not fair. i must push fluids. i must kick this cold!

sister to s.b.: c'mon, it's just blood. you're filled with it.

i'm not sure what it was in reference to but it made me laugh.

to bed.

docking...

babies! adorable babies! she went for my hair first. two fistfuls. and my chin and nose are points of fascination. the nephew used to push on my nose. bidzu. (i hope that's a suitable anglicization. i don't know mandarin.) it was nice to wake up to a different cadence. to be elder auntie. to be addressed as mali goo-goo. sigh.

passage...

a man almost evacuated his nose onto my pant leg this afternoon. exciting. about to board the bus. the man walking in front of me stopped and turned. fired one barrel and then the other. offending matter landed softly on the grass beside me. if only i'd been going at a faster clip. my that's a disappointed tone. i didn't mean it to be.

last week i sat in front of a group of young men. the totality of their conversation consisted of 1) how many babes they'd fucked 2) how many of those had been awake during the event/how many asleep and 3) how the latter unfolding was far more enjoyable. presumably for them. because i can tell you the retelling of date rape adventures weren't especially enjoyable for the several passengers within hearing. and the origins even less so for those who'd been sleeping. i'd imagine.

of course not every trip is like that. that nice german couple and their two wee ones. the elder with her red waldorf case. the younger making cute baby german noises. also the amish entourage on the clickety clacks. not what i thought i'd see in the amtrak vista car. the boisterous couple that told me they were going to test the acoustics of the train washroom. why did they share? i don't know. and the girl next to me who became my friend because of a song. and then other things train-ish. like oscar. our awkward spanglish conversations late at night on a park bench. about his wife and family in honduras. how someone here in town mistook him for a backdoor man. and i learned that new word in spanish. the guy in connecticut who said yale girls cage dancing should not be missed. the old man on the des moines to iowa city who fell asleep on my shoulder talking about rachel carson.

so. yes. there are good things about being surrounded by humanity. but it isn't all sunshine and lollipops. but then maybe i'm on the wrong continent, no?

well. the state of public transportation isn't weighing so heavily now. my car's final little tweaks come tomorrow. and then. and then! i paid $1200 for my car. to me that is a lot of money. to most people who observed the purchase i was clearly doing something foolish. only $1200? it can't be a good buy of course. be that as it may we work with what we have. nevermind that several years later and much of my little volvo is no longer what i began with. things break and are replaced. but she's such a brick. a cute brick. i was in an accident once in a volvo sedan. it was not nearly as frightening as being in a toyota etc.

and about accidents. we came upon one this afternoon. a young guy in a crosswalk. on a bicycle. he kept trying to stand. it wasn't working. and the old man who hit him shakily emerging from his truck to assist. and then four or so other people doing the same. it made my knees go goo. it made my stomach flip.

look at the time. sleep is what i need.

saw...

so strange a day. and this medium is so strange too. we've peopled the invisible again. like the telephone did once. arrive home and find an electric note in my electric box. if people made good fractions i'd be in thirds right now. they do not. i do not.

that lady in the sawbox emerges unbloodied. what a champ. what a god damn champ.

props...

the robot is quite consistently tops. why is he not in the blogroll? doh!

also. visit the hogshead for your pimp name. you know you want to.

also also how do i love this fiery place? let me calculate the ways.

sugarfoot...

last night s.b. made a strange snuffling whinny sound in the dark as we approached the free vegetable basket.

me: that was quite a horse sound!
sister: yes. are you hoping for apples?
s.b.: shut up.
me: calm yourself...i have an entire pocket of sugarcubes here.
sister: stomp twice if you'd like some.

and then we laughed at him. the laughter drowned out his replies. then later...

s.b.: ouch! i twisted my ankle!
me: oh no. we'll have to put you down.
s.b.: stop it!
sister: yes. stop being mean to him. (pregnant pause) is that better, sugarfoot?*

errrm. i suppose it was funnier in person. he's so fun to tease.

i think i'm catching cold. after this morning's bus ride it suddenly made sense why people used to constantly wear gloves. and carry hankies. and those little poesy things. i've rarely been confined with so many coughing/mouth-breathing folk. coughing/mouth-breathing folk who have no idea how to swaddle that maw when some chunky tubercular upheaval comes. coughing/mouth-breathing people who don't understand that it's indecorous and more than a little rude to rub one's body all over that of the person next them. so. thanks for the micro-organisms, bus-lady! very generous!

in other news...

how accomodating while i consider. nice. but it must be said here: beautiful arms. oh.

in other other news...

family from afar come to see me on saturday! hooray! hooray i say!

wellidy. time to walk the hounds.

*this sugarfoot. i am fond of animals. but it's a shame there was never an episode where woody met a taxidermist. or audubon. irritating creature.

one thing more...

oh qwantz. oh ryan north. silly.

madeleine...

now listening: one two me and you*-- little rabbits

strange day. shoe polish. recollections of the black angel. brick streets. the pitfalls of air travel. a slightly north-eastern smell. return of the pea coat. watching the sting of bureaucracy. an inoculation site swells. i can do nothing to help. and phantom saturdays well up from the loquats-- the only pleasantness-- causing a round of laughter.

well.

the larks have gone from here. this is not the forum maybe. or maybe it's the perfect one. i'll consider.

now a song for the sister. listening: white city-- the pogues.

not so glum. really. the evening is nice thus far. tomorrow's walk will improve me.

*this site is better than the official. paroles. grand public. scroll down. one two me and you....

we had a nice walk. the moon is bright. the sky is green!

drive...

given a bag of cactus pear. not for my own enjoyment. the request was novelty jam. the result was eternal hatred for cactus pear. my fingers and palms are full of blonde thorns. tiny and impossible to extract. my gran used to dye the offenders with blackberry juice to reveal them and remove them from our hands. but prevention was the key. touch them little and walk away thornless. that is not an option where jam is concerned. in any event cactus pear is not a fruit to write home about. insipid. acidless. a slightly vegetal taste. but it was asked for. so. bon appetit.

four children's books came home with me today. 3/4 of a dollar. one of them is the story of a mole and his quest for a car. translated from the czech. but what is best about it are the illustrations. also a story about a town that makes a giant jam sandwich to rid itself of wasps. four million wasps to be exact. i do not envy that census taker.

the re-harnessing has begun. tomorrow we install a new alternator too. and (finger crossed) the following day i actually get to drive my car rather than crawl around in its oily guts. yay! thank goodness for my very wee mother and her excellent mechanical skills. it will be nice to have a night drive and hear some music. the bulk of my travelling will remain confined to public transport. even if inefficient it is cheaper and better for the air. it just means i have to wake up several hours early and get home much later than i like. 's okay.

good evening.

a primer...

tomorrow my native language might help someone. if i can reach back and remember how it's done. i before e except after c. and c is a thief. and when two vowels go walking the first does the talking. except when none of those rules apply at all. english! cough. rough. dough. through. why can't we stick to one gh. i'm nervous. i have butterflies.

today was a strange assemblage. audience to the evolution of a machine. hammers and felt. the results of. all of which was interesting. however what was most beautiful was what happened when touched. but for that the weak/strong machine could have grown from spores. i exaggerate. engineering is beautiful too. still.... i'm nervous. i have butterflies.

monkey becomes monkeys. and goose geese. fox foxes. cat becomes cats.

if i remember them as teeth. soft/hard. tongue on teeth. teeth bumping. a kick in the teeth. and every contact in between. poles of sound. an electric ripple follows the floor and into the spine.

well. i should try for sleep now. maybe it will help the laws materialize. silent e skips the t and makes a say his name. relate. mate. sate.

g'night.

how to be a ruiner...

i tried for controlled shrinkage. failure! what happened was the very long sweater became the very small sweater. too small for any human being (that i know of). what's particularly bad is it was a gift. curses! but what is particularly good is that i made a wonderful new handbag from the wreckage. that in a nutshell is how to be a ruiner. alchemize the frustration. a queen of infinite space. maybe i'll link to a photo. we'll see.

clouds have been circling outside for the length of the day. and they settled right on the sunset. made it colder. hmm. that qualifying er is understood without my referring again and again. someone told me once i had the habit of using er improperly because i left the repetition out. left it for the chider i guess. if i want a contusion i'll find a nice wall. or a swinging baton. gaoler. gah! er police. now if you want to tailor my tangents perhaps we'll talk. btw i was referring to the environment. the state of the atmosphere. a police state? nah.

elsewhere...

my fingertips are chilled. the rubbing is meant to rectify but really it's more of a punishment. how could i possibly need gloves in september. it's not a question.

so. the poisonous paper. two @ seventy-nine cents per nabbed me vintage shelf paper of the owl/dove orangey variety. was i pleased? well pleased. am i possibly the most unobservant shopper in history (hyperbole!)? no. but very nearly. the cello packaging was intact. the name of the paper is "no bugs m'lady." why thank you chivalrous toxins! gamma isomer of benzene hexachloride (from lindane). he's a snotty fop with a long lineage. fancy pedigree. ancestral grounds. but i jest. what really has me is this tormented desire to use the paper. perhaps the poison is no longer so poison. but i want to make envelopes. woe! alas. maybe i can scan the pattern and print paper of the very same sans pollutant. but what to do with the roll remainders? gah!

an a bearing a cedilla? poland what are you up to with your tailed letters?! and an e with a cedilla too. well they are very pretty. but i can't produce an equally pretty sound. and that l wearing a swordbelt? wwwwell. at least i already produce that sound.

cold start...

volvo is running again. it goes. but the idle is terrifying high. heart palpitations. the motor's initial cold tantrum. such fluctuation. the problem is electrical. the solution is a new harness.

we wanted cajun food but the local place was closed. our second was italian. closed also. our third was the standby: thai. i do enjoy thai food. yes. the sister. s.b. myself. s.b.'s old friend. a conversation about beef tongue. it's unsettling.

father bought $20 of baked goods from wee girl scouts. katrina relief. so many of them just milling around. squealing and giggling. and one of them said to him you have very good taste. and it was so completely earnest that i had to stifle a laugh.

alrighty. i go.

i should have letterpressed...

trying to cement the new characters. provided with handwritten samples. but like much learning you wear the stains of another's idiom. and years progress before penmanship is level to ownership. the beginning is the roundest mimicry. experience narrows the broad. isn't that a backwards thing.

along the walnut arcade another voluptuous squirrel. articulate dusky hands. big eyes. one wide step from the asphalt. had to stare. later on a fencepost the balancing act of doom! and all of that with a resinous rind clenched in teeth.

also haircuts all around. hmm. cowlicks. the verdict: i proclaim them very handsome.

hope springs eternal. the volvo may ride again. i'm excited.

four little bowls. mid cent mod and two dollars. teak. so very pretty. i will save the tale of the poisonous shelf paper for later. i guess that rules out envelopes.

also also the new typographical template is hard to learn from because unspecific. thankfully the mark of whomever's idiosyncracies is restricted to paper. the other penmanships have had their teachers' stamps rubbed dull: love and speech and patterns of thought...and f*cking. it's a star in place of u.

alrighty. g'night.