Friday, March 31, 2006
Time Has Changed Its Schedule, Please Observe These Changes and Act Accordingly 'Til You Realize No Matter What You Do...It's Gonna Change Again!
The morning has been so beautiful. I woke up and took my time, not having to be into work until noon. Took a shower. Prayed.
And most of the cloth that covers my bed was on the floor. All of my scarves, sarongs, sari, springy long flags (actually table runners) of purple, yellow, and brick red sunflowers were also...on the floor. My blankets were covering only half of my bed. All before the window. Their plan of escape foiled by a crazy Indian whom, after taking a shower, made his bed and replaced things gently upon the place where I spend most of my life. I didn't go through the lengthy ceremony I like to do when I have the time.
The clouds, my friends, are beautiful on the distant horizon I see outside my window. I...am the wealthiest man on earth!
Crazy racist roommate is still showing no signs of getting her rude passive aggressive ass the fuck out of our house. Heidi is still upset.
To top off all of Heidi's stress on this issue, one of her bunnies, Maude, the white one, was attacked last night by our neighbors dog. She is at the vet and it is questionable if she will survive. Prey animals, like bunnies, have a tendency to give up when severely attacked, whether or not they survive. There is a tear on her ass and a few of her teeth are loose. If they don't set proper, she can't eat. If she can't eat...
Heidi's husband, who is Romanian (the most depressed nation in the world), shows signs of being further stressed by these issues.
Heidi and I cooked together last night, but with the emergency, we didn't get to finish. I went as far as requested, then made myself a meal of potatoes and onions, went upstairs and did ceremony. I heard Heidi back in the kitchen about 8:30, but felt the need to finish my prayers and for Heidi to sit with her sadness a little before I joined her. When I did join her, she asked if I wanted to eat again, and since I didn't eat hardly anything other than those potatoes yesterday, I sat down to Afghan ravioli wrapped around leeks with a tangy cream sauce and topped with a delicious fake meat sauce made with mushrooms, carmelized onions, and other such wonderful tasty goodies. But the celebration going on in my mouth was intertwined with the sadness of a second bunny being attacked by a pooch...the same pooch.
I have taken to wearing a teal silk scarf. I have done ceremony with this scarf, but hadn't started wearing it until a few days ago. I love it when the wind on the bridge lifts scarf to caress my cheek and teaches me to feel Loved. I smile greatly. I Love the feel of the silk against my cheek and the way it teases my eyes as it dances with me and the wind.
Last night, while stirring up magic in my drawers in searc of red cloth for ceremony, I found a shiny brown paisley scarf with a soft brown fringe/friend. I wrap it around my neck where my teal silk goody was still hanging, go downstairs and check it out in the mirror and think, "Hey! That looks kind of cool." This morning I tried to wrap them together, but realize they look much better when I place them on my neck separately-together. The silk feels good all over my hands. The fringe of paisley feels so delicious to the back of my hand, and I am feeling glorious.
The bus ride in is amazing. I caught the second instead of the first bus. I whip out "Cunt," and start reading. I feel a certain tension in the air, mostly from women whom I know can read the title and probably know nothing of the book. I pray they are curious. I pray they want to know. I pray they find the book, read the book, and become "cuntlovin' goddesses of the universe," even if they already are.
Self-protection is the word I am studying in the book as I read through the "Reconciliation" section of said wonderful book, by Inga LaGringa Muscio. Self-protection, womanifesto, life is interesting. Life is Good! I know, as Inga has made peace with her "cunt," that I somehow must do the same with my "penis." My penis and I have a serious Love/Hate relationship, mostly hate. Even though the thing has brought me much pleasure, it has brought me years of pain that have made it hard for me to look in the mirror at my own image until recently, just months ago. Inga LaGringa has helped guide me to that place as well as many others; Starr, Mikhelle, Cynthia, Ani, Leigh Anne, Melodie, Lisa, Myself, and many others get credit here. A place I need to look and deal with and claim as my own and love and forgive myself has to do with my penis and my relationship with what defines me as a man.
I stared at a pine tree down 67th St., where I live in the Garden Home area, as it was blessed by the morning sun and blessed my eyes with such beauty before I caught the bus. I remembered the rhythms, fierce and gentle, that the rain prayed upon the skylights of our house the evening before like hundreds of drummers. This morning, the earth is damp, the streets are still wet, and the sky is mostly clear with spotty clouds. The sun is shining its great golden beauty upon the earth. It is a beautiful morning.
I observe the beauty outside the cloudy windows of the bus during spots of our journey. My little voices tell me to pack out early from my bus ride, and I get off in the heart of downtown Portland before Pioneer Courthouse Square instead of my usual Burnside stop, and there I am...standing in beauty. The light on the moist city is wonderful. I partake in a journey of the city I am so familiar with, yet not familiar with at all. I look in a shop window and see a ceramic Buddha covered in children and other Buddha ceramics. I see ceramic busses crammed full of humans and life. A magic bus ride all of us wonderful humans are on. I found a wonderful Russian shop that has cloths covered in rosy designs...mmmmm! I look up at a glass building and am amazed by the reflections of the spotty clouds in the sky.
I find myself on First Street, where the Max trains whiz by and suddenly I'm heading down a little alleyway where there are no cars and it travels under the Morrison Bridge. I see a beautiful woman walking my way. I see a troubled look on her face. I say nothing as she passes by because I realize she is in a place that is unsafe for her; narrow alley, few flight options, lightly traveled, lots of potential dangers from hiding places where men could be waiting to rape her. I have no idea really what she is thinking, but after reading the "Rape of Cunts" chapter of "Cunt," and what I've read of the "Reconciliation" section thus far, I know that here she is unsafe. I assess the positive and negatives of this area where There Is Always A Potential For Rape.
I make my way to the Burnside Bridge and am amazed at the beauty that I am always amazed at. I make prayers along the way to my praying spot, and then pray to you and the spirits. Then I come here to pray more to you with these words where I am greeted by the black fuzzy puppy known as Mazzy (Aileen's puppy)...and...in case you haven't noticed...listen...very carefully...pay close attention...look...
NOWS THE TIME FOR REVOLUTION!
And most of the cloth that covers my bed was on the floor. All of my scarves, sarongs, sari, springy long flags (actually table runners) of purple, yellow, and brick red sunflowers were also...on the floor. My blankets were covering only half of my bed. All before the window. Their plan of escape foiled by a crazy Indian whom, after taking a shower, made his bed and replaced things gently upon the place where I spend most of my life. I didn't go through the lengthy ceremony I like to do when I have the time.
The clouds, my friends, are beautiful on the distant horizon I see outside my window. I...am the wealthiest man on earth!
Crazy racist roommate is still showing no signs of getting her rude passive aggressive ass the fuck out of our house. Heidi is still upset.
To top off all of Heidi's stress on this issue, one of her bunnies, Maude, the white one, was attacked last night by our neighbors dog. She is at the vet and it is questionable if she will survive. Prey animals, like bunnies, have a tendency to give up when severely attacked, whether or not they survive. There is a tear on her ass and a few of her teeth are loose. If they don't set proper, she can't eat. If she can't eat...
Heidi's husband, who is Romanian (the most depressed nation in the world), shows signs of being further stressed by these issues.
Heidi and I cooked together last night, but with the emergency, we didn't get to finish. I went as far as requested, then made myself a meal of potatoes and onions, went upstairs and did ceremony. I heard Heidi back in the kitchen about 8:30, but felt the need to finish my prayers and for Heidi to sit with her sadness a little before I joined her. When I did join her, she asked if I wanted to eat again, and since I didn't eat hardly anything other than those potatoes yesterday, I sat down to Afghan ravioli wrapped around leeks with a tangy cream sauce and topped with a delicious fake meat sauce made with mushrooms, carmelized onions, and other such wonderful tasty goodies. But the celebration going on in my mouth was intertwined with the sadness of a second bunny being attacked by a pooch...the same pooch.
I have taken to wearing a teal silk scarf. I have done ceremony with this scarf, but hadn't started wearing it until a few days ago. I love it when the wind on the bridge lifts scarf to caress my cheek and teaches me to feel Loved. I smile greatly. I Love the feel of the silk against my cheek and the way it teases my eyes as it dances with me and the wind.
Last night, while stirring up magic in my drawers in searc of red cloth for ceremony, I found a shiny brown paisley scarf with a soft brown fringe/friend. I wrap it around my neck where my teal silk goody was still hanging, go downstairs and check it out in the mirror and think, "Hey! That looks kind of cool." This morning I tried to wrap them together, but realize they look much better when I place them on my neck separately-together. The silk feels good all over my hands. The fringe of paisley feels so delicious to the back of my hand, and I am feeling glorious.
The bus ride in is amazing. I caught the second instead of the first bus. I whip out "Cunt," and start reading. I feel a certain tension in the air, mostly from women whom I know can read the title and probably know nothing of the book. I pray they are curious. I pray they want to know. I pray they find the book, read the book, and become "cuntlovin' goddesses of the universe," even if they already are.
Self-protection is the word I am studying in the book as I read through the "Reconciliation" section of said wonderful book, by Inga LaGringa Muscio. Self-protection, womanifesto, life is interesting. Life is Good! I know, as Inga has made peace with her "cunt," that I somehow must do the same with my "penis." My penis and I have a serious Love/Hate relationship, mostly hate. Even though the thing has brought me much pleasure, it has brought me years of pain that have made it hard for me to look in the mirror at my own image until recently, just months ago. Inga LaGringa has helped guide me to that place as well as many others; Starr, Mikhelle, Cynthia, Ani, Leigh Anne, Melodie, Lisa, Myself, and many others get credit here. A place I need to look and deal with and claim as my own and love and forgive myself has to do with my penis and my relationship with what defines me as a man.
I stared at a pine tree down 67th St., where I live in the Garden Home area, as it was blessed by the morning sun and blessed my eyes with such beauty before I caught the bus. I remembered the rhythms, fierce and gentle, that the rain prayed upon the skylights of our house the evening before like hundreds of drummers. This morning, the earth is damp, the streets are still wet, and the sky is mostly clear with spotty clouds. The sun is shining its great golden beauty upon the earth. It is a beautiful morning.
I observe the beauty outside the cloudy windows of the bus during spots of our journey. My little voices tell me to pack out early from my bus ride, and I get off in the heart of downtown Portland before Pioneer Courthouse Square instead of my usual Burnside stop, and there I am...standing in beauty. The light on the moist city is wonderful. I partake in a journey of the city I am so familiar with, yet not familiar with at all. I look in a shop window and see a ceramic Buddha covered in children and other Buddha ceramics. I see ceramic busses crammed full of humans and life. A magic bus ride all of us wonderful humans are on. I found a wonderful Russian shop that has cloths covered in rosy designs...mmmmm! I look up at a glass building and am amazed by the reflections of the spotty clouds in the sky.
I find myself on First Street, where the Max trains whiz by and suddenly I'm heading down a little alleyway where there are no cars and it travels under the Morrison Bridge. I see a beautiful woman walking my way. I see a troubled look on her face. I say nothing as she passes by because I realize she is in a place that is unsafe for her; narrow alley, few flight options, lightly traveled, lots of potential dangers from hiding places where men could be waiting to rape her. I have no idea really what she is thinking, but after reading the "Rape of Cunts" chapter of "Cunt," and what I've read of the "Reconciliation" section thus far, I know that here she is unsafe. I assess the positive and negatives of this area where There Is Always A Potential For Rape.
I make my way to the Burnside Bridge and am amazed at the beauty that I am always amazed at. I make prayers along the way to my praying spot, and then pray to you and the spirits. Then I come here to pray more to you with these words where I am greeted by the black fuzzy puppy known as Mazzy (Aileen's puppy)...and...in case you haven't noticed...listen...very carefully...pay close attention...look...
NOWS THE TIME FOR REVOLUTION!
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