late fall 2013 life snapshots:
~glittery blue poinsettia for 94yo g. grandma
~snuggle attacks & disgruntled cats
~ringity ring rang
~candy-making. goddam one day my divinity will be perfect EVERY TIME.
"He soaped and rubbed her until her skin squeaked and glistened like onyx. She put salve on his face. He washed her hair. She sprinkled talcum on his feet. He straddled her behind and massaged her back. She put witch hazel on his swollen neck. He made up the bed. She gave him gumbo to eat. He washed the dishes. She washed his clothes and hung them out to dry. He scoured her tub. She ironed his shirts and pants. He gave her fifty dollars. She kissed his mouth. He touched her face. She said please come back. He said I’ll see you tonight."
Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison.
Be still my heart
"No geography? Okay, no geography. What about some history in your tea? Or some sociopolitico- No. That’s still geography. Goddam, Milk, I do believe my whole life’s geography."
Guitar, Song of Solomon
I’m coming for ya this weekend Split Rock
WEARING 8 POUNDS OF MAKEUP MAKES U HAPPY? WEAR IT
WEARING THE GOOFIEST OUTFIT MAKES U HAPPY? WEAR IT
HAVING CURLY CURLY HAIR THAT POKES IN ALL DIRECTIONS MAKES U HAPPY? ROCK IT OUT
DO WHAT MAKES U HAPPY BC THATS ALL THAT MATTERS AND IF UR HAPPY UR GONNA LOOK AMAZING
Passing the time, lusciously.
Illustrations by Mihály Zichy
WHO KNEW SOFTCORE COULD BE SO GORGEOUS
it’s pumpkin weather I can’t wait for sweater flavored everything
"I imagine phallocentric reality to be the space and figures and motion which constitute the foreground, and the constant repetitive uneventful activities of women to constitute and maintain the background against which this foreground plays. It is essential to the maintenance of the foreground reality that nothing within it refer in any way to anything in the background, and yet it depends absolutely upon the existence of the background."
Marilyn Frye, as quoted by Gillian Rose’s Feminism & Geography
mustat kissat ovat älykkäin ja herkin kissat
I awoke after nine and a half months of the coziest, sweetest sleep.
I awoke slowly-
hitting snooze once or twice
rolling over and curling onto my side
tangling my legs restlessly in the bundle of lilac sheets shoved to the foot of the bed
squeezing my eyes shut and burrowing into you.
And I dozed, willing deep sleep again. But-
it’s so hot out, and i’m dying of thirst
the garbage truck is too loud
i have to pee and
the cat wants to be fed
It’s not you it’s me and my—
I woke up after nine and a half months to find myself again, Hello good to see you old pal, overwhelmed and listless and pouring rain and scorching deserts and squeezing hard my fingernails into my stomach because I’d choose an hour of uneasy snoozing over child’s pose on a sticky mat, affected and with nearly unblocked tear ducts.
It really isn’t you, it’s entirely me - and so —
You’re my forward momentum, and for every two steps forward it’s only one step back. Slowly we lurch towards a land of spitzes and saunas.