Why won’t you die? (It’s a song, don’t worry)

Here it is…

Also, I thought I’d lost a different SG1 song, and it turns out I haven’t.  I’ll have to construct a new tune for the verse, but the chorus (the most important part of the song) is still firmly lodged.

Yesterday was an editing as opposed to writing day, but I still ploughed through some stuff on section 2, mostly in the “minions find the hologrammic skeleton” section.  I also did laundry, cleaned up cat puke and cat litter, baked a banana cake, ran the dishwasher, talked to a bunch of my friends on the phone and drank far too much coffee.

I think it’s possible I had the CPAP on for as much as four hours last night.  I get very dry eyes and it’s hard to swallow.

Buster is just as affectionate as ever.  Apparently he enjoys my skritches.  He has learned how to scoot his ass across the floor to scratch his bum where the surgery was, since it probably still itches like fury, and whenever he does it I burst out laughing, for never did I see a cat so locomote.  He can get up quite a turn of speed.  When he still had the cone on he was dreaming about cleaning himself in his sleep.  (Paw twitching, tongue coming dreamily out in licking motions).  He has finally policed himse’f up to the point he no longer smells, which is probably a relief to everyone.  He’s still pestering Margot, and yet they sleep in the same room, every day.

I will be getting chicken and chili ingredaments today for my various activities today – Jeff got home from various work related stuff so late I didn’t feel like going out.  Kids are going to Victoria, yay!  My mOm is kvelling herself into a little groove there, I’m quite sure.

Buster’s promenade

He came back about 5 am after an evening catting around, and demanded, importuned, and got up in my grill for skritches.  Then he abused Margot for a while, who is starting to have tics from all the chasing around, she’s permafreaked.

I’m reading Amanda Palmer’s The Art of Asking.  She is a very remarkable person.  Check out her TED talk.

I’m off the grocery store to get what I need for foodicles for the Beacon Congregational Dinner and the chili for the Anti_superbowl_musicfest on Sunday.  Much cooking.

Went to Fish the same day Paul and I went to the Foreshore park and picked up a PERFECT haddock filet, which Jeff and I devoured with happiness.  Last night it was a really yummy pork chomp with taters and red pepper and tomato.  I was going to make it like a greek salad but the feta was growing a most interesting and scary kind of mold, sigh.

Back to the CPAP machine.  Two hours of not sleeping, followed by maybe one hour of sleeping with the mask on, at which point I woke up and ripped it off.  This morning both of my eyes were stuck shut.  If I am going to continue I have to solve the dry eyes problem.  Apparently I don’t have enough grease in my eyes.  I am disgusted by the prospect of seeing a doctor about it, so I may just use hospital tape and tape my eyes shut, a solution that at least has the advantage of being cheap.  I may also get Omega three oils, if I can find one that doesn’t give me heartburn flavoured like the ass end of a fishing trawler.

Sandy’s toilet is now running again after much stupidity and spending of money and waiting for plumbers.  I hope to the incorporeal remnants of religion that she sells the place this year, as much as I don’t want her to because I love the house and campground.  Paul wants to take me out there for a flying visit at some point and I am much pleased by this notion.

I am FINALLY back on the writing horse, 600 words yesterday and with luck I’ll get something done today. Reading Amanda Palmer helps.


I have been fed a pleasant breakfast at White Spot by Jeff; I have finally finally read The Fall of the House of Usher, and much pleased with it was I (Jeff triggered me reading it by declaring yesterday that just smelling coffee brewing made him uncomfortable, so I got up and read the story – and now I’m thinking of reading Poe’s Eureka, seeing as how it’s all over the news); Buster’s cone of shame is off and he’s been for a nice walk around the yard with Jeff in tow; I have heard nice words about the first part of the novel from a friend; Paul took me for a lovely long walk in the Fraser Foreshore Park yesterday as the sun beat down with an intensity truly thrilling for the end of January (and he tried to tease me into a canoe ride on the Fraser, which I lifted my eyebrow and nothing else at) and let me drive thither and hence; I have a plan of attack (finally) for section two that I think will possibly even work this time; I have a plan of what to do when I’m not writing. Much of my anxiety over the last little while has been shed, although I still think we’re going to get an earthquake. Hey, I prepared as well as I can and I know where my go bag is and what my first move will be.  (Making coffee on the barbecue for the rescue workers).

And apart from the deck being more slippery than Stephen Harper’s morals this morning, everything is a-ok. Oh, and Suzette Haden Elgin is dead. Her observations on language and feminism have deeply and crookedly informed my own ideas.

Give me five, give me ten

Give me Five
Give me Ten
Give me round the bend again
you will know when I roll
through your town
Give me Five
Give me Ten
Give me round the bend again
as I impart the wisdom that I’ve found

You may stray
o so far away
you may go where only god can follow
But your mind will find
a thousand ways to shine
and your heart may ache and never yet
be hollow


You may settle down
in some quiet town
You may mind your business and your manners
But life itself will not stay on any shelf
and it kicks aside whatever’s in your planner


Will you lift your wings and fly
into a strange new sky
Is every minute made for thought and caution
If you stay behind will you get to change your mind
or get hung out to dry just like your washin


You may wait … for an important date

And find that life has gone by in the meantime

But it’s one short breath between your birth and death

so you might as well enjoy yourself between time

Chorus x 2

Every age holds its terrors

At 56, I do not wish to be fooled.  So when I see something on the internet about how if you type in

“Im 9 should I”

and then increment up by one year until you hit forty, you get this.

I thought, you know that is just bullshit.  I bet I get different results.  Well, not by much.  It’s a horrific indictment of our culture, our family structures, our septic and moth-eaten education, and the din of heteronormativity.

Herewith, the Allegra Sloman Google search poem entitled I’m x should I.

I’m 9 should I wear a bra

I’m 10 should I date

I’m 11 should I finger myself

I’m 12 should I finger my girlfriend

I’m 13 should I finger myself

I’m 14 should I shave

I’m 15 should I lift weights

I’m 16 should I finger myself (Ed. back to that again I see)

I’m 17 should I buy M Rated games

I’m 18 should I get a credit card

I’m 19 should I move out

I’m 20 should I get life insurance

I’m 21 should I move out

I’m 22 should I move out

I’m 23 should I move out

I’m 24 should I join the military

I’m 25 should I go to college

I’m 26 should I go back to school

I’m 27 should I join the military

I’m 28 should I have a baby

I’m 29 should I work out

I’m 30 should I work out

I’m 31 should I have a baby

I’m 32 should I have a baby

I’m 33 should I freeze my eggs

I’m 34 should I have a baby

I’m 35 should I have a baby

I’m 36 should I shave my pubes

I’m 37 should I have a baby

I’m 38 should I have a baby

I’m 39 should I have a baby

I’m 40 should I have a baby







The Northern Hemisphere gets weather

It’s precipitating like, very hard, man, in a variety of places, including, according to my correspondents, England.  Israel and Norway are also getting pounded.

This showed up in my feed this morning courtesy of Ian Michael Walden

To quote the Two Ronnies – “It’ll be choking ’em in Wokingham, killing ’em in Gillingham, and if you live in Lissingdown, take an umbrella”.


Paul asked for additional support for the Yes, It Continues unpacking yesterday.  We also noodled around for a while (quite a while in my case) on musical instruments and vacuumed and swept various surfaces in prep for the party on Sunday…. and Paul made pork stir fry with yellow curry sauce and quinoa and greek salad om nom nom, while I collected Keith from work. Ayesha is a TUB but so affectionate and sweet.

The downstairs neighbours are appropriately chastened that Buster wuz not a grrl.

It would be nice to have a job.  This week I started pulling all my lyrics into one place; I know I’ve written a lot of songs. I’ve gotten better at it as I get older.  The novel sits glaring at me.

Sandy’s pipes are frozen.  My travails, in many respects, are small.

a visit

Keith and Paul came over yesterday and we watched chunks of Ken Burns’ The Civil War and went for a walk in the glorious sunshine. It was lovely to have Keith here.

I made chocolate chip oatmeal flax cookies. And now they are gone, surprise surprise.

I found this article on weight loss really interesting.


And, for Midnite Moving, this looks kinda interesting as well.  Mostly because it helps solve the problem (by reframing what’s possible) of how George moves electricity around his body when he doesn’t have, you know, organs.

It’s early, but I think I’m going to go for a walk.  And….. I did go for a walk.  The weather is quite pleasant.

Written for Conflikt

Blow you winter winds
blow where you please
hang your icy bunting
on the barren trees
decorate the windows
with capricious lace
send your storm clouds flying
cross the lunar face

Dandelions dreaming
underneath their banks of snow
Soon they will be blooming
Soon enough the seeds will blow

Blow you winter winds
gales and chills
howl around the hollows
echo through the hills
Bringing snow and fog
bringing ice and rain
A moment of the sun
then all is dark again.

Blow you winter winds
blow where you will
Now my spirit feels
oh so small and still
Soon we’ll close the door
on your bleak refrain
For we will rejoice
and we will sing again

Blow you winter winds
mark my skin
Soon I will be warm
with my loves and kin
Two foot and four foot
All will be within
There’s a roaring fire
at the Dandelion Inn

Dandelions dreaming
underneath their banks of snow
Soon they will be blooming
and soon enough the seeds will blow

It isn’t a poem

b ut it’s mine, and it’s mildly amusing

A poem, condensed from my Tweets over the last year

Bizarre bromance

by GrandmaOgre <---- my twitter handle Than a lesbian think I'm a bigot. Way through to spare your feelings. We do what we can with what we got. Shit. Fortunate dudebro! Blessings! Against the NFL. Prepping popcorn. And call it the whole beast. When the blind pig finds an acorn? It needs to be widely broadcast. Go Jodie! Leave the perfect to the critics. Valve. Some traditions need to die. I have ever used it works fine. Had no idea what they were called. "God wills it!" & "I got Mine"


I was deeply moved by, and greatly enjoyed, this movie starring Reese Witherspoon and Laura Dern.

On my brand new seven star Unitarian movie rating scale, it’s a seven out of seven.

It’s essentially a feminist hero’s journey, without being preachy or intellectual. Some drugs and nudity.

Response to Björk interview

oh what is written on this page
and how connected to this other
the words are most important
not the glue that holds the book together

perhaps in this light you can see
what seems to be invisible
pushing against the limits of sight
and derision

How could that glue be more important than the book
when the pages have now come loose and rebuke
all order
she was glue
she was invisible glue

and now the book she held together is gone

you mourn the missing words
and speak of Herculaneum
and when the scrolls were put aside
until some scientist could peer into them
and see how the ink stood out from the ashen pages

perhaps one day you will see me as I am
invisible glue
and in the meantime
you will celebrate
nothing but what I hold together

The Clutter song

Thanks to Chris O’Shea for starting that group on facebook!

When your hoarding is quite utter
And your spouse begins to sputter
Junk away, junk away
It’s time to clear the clutter

A foolish decorative stutter:
Empty jars of peanut butter
Junk away, junk away
It’s time to clear the clutter

Out, the spavined paper cutter
How your heart is set aflutter
Junk away, junk away
It’s time to clear the clutter

Pull your heart out of the gutter
Find a home for that old putter
Junk away, junk away
It’s time to clear the clutter

You will grumble, whine and mutter
You were going to find half a day and do something about that decorative shutter
Junk away, junk away
It’s time to clear the clutter.

The hypochondriac in me

I fucking hate it when somebody on facebook says “I meet most of the diagnostic criteria for X HORRIBLE INCURABLE UNTREATABLE DISEASE”.  Because, lalala, I run off to the dreaded Differential Diagnosis Machine that is Google and go “ARGH MY GOD I HAVE THIS DREADED DISEASE and it isn’t fatal  BUT GOD HOW INCONVENIENT.”

No, I don’t have this dreaded disease.  I am just complaining about how the ‘monkey see monkey do’ part of my brain seems to be hyperactive.

Keith and Paul, bless ’em, have gotten me out of the house for walks over the last couple of days.  Oakalla was gorgeous, as always, full of lovely dogs.  Whom I respected from a respectful distance, but Paul never saw a Samoyed he didn’t want to manhandle.

Inherent Vice is a sterling example of how you CAN film a Pynchon novel.  Joachim Phoenix is remarkable, as is the rest of the extremely well chosen cast.  Josh Brolin is a standout.

I have met Keith’s girlfriend!  She exists.  L. is a charming young woman with a most infectious laugh. I gave her a lift home the other night and so had a chance to interact with her.

Buster is remarkably blithe for someone who’s been castrated. He leaped up onto the pinball machine less than 24 hours after the operation.  If he keeps this up he’ll rip out his stitches.  Remarkable feline. Hopefully his remarkable aim, persistence and bladder capacity will be put to more pious uses in future.

Today’s walkies will include tomaters.  Jeff needs tomatoes for BLTs.  Also, I must cook bacon.

Everybody have a lovely day now!!