Category: Writing

 

 

Fall down
moon and
be done 
with me
always
staring
at you

woke up ripping hair out of my head (caught in a zipper in a blanket) then listen to hail crush down for about 45 seconds. buh bye seedlings

Buster was playing and ran into my door so hard he scared the crap out of me. (I thought Jeff had maybe stroked out or something and collapsed against my door as it had not occurred to me to Occam’s Razor my way through to ‘it’s the darned cat’)

Then Buster did a magic trick (he moved while I wasn’t looking – I was getting a treat ready for him) and just APPEARED in the place I was going to encourage him to go so that was really funny.

I love him, he’s just the best kitty.

Margot as a kitten and young cat

 

 

 

 

She looks so much like Lois there.

The Kwik E Mart comes to Coquitlam

these words have not given me consent

if they exist outside my conception of them
and they do

they bleat even now
on some unheralded frequency

walk with Paul today it was absolutely horrible his driving terrified me and the place we ended up walking down at the Quay was full of construction equipment at 90 dB

CP Cavafy wrote

What is to become of us without barbarians? Those people were a solution of a sort.

and gosh, that still seems true.
He also wrote this:

I will be buying some of these since they support Vancouver Aquarium.

YIKES

LOL

 

 

found this on the bpdfamily dot com website and I AM HOWLING

 

IT’S LIKE ALL MY FANFIC CAME TO LIFE. All my fanfic is about hot guys navigating their way toward sex while negotiating life partnership agreements BECAUSE THE REUNIFICATION OF THE COUPLE AFTER DUMBASSERY dadgum HAPPENED AGAIN, did you miss it, sorry, (furtive sounds that might be regret) anyway it’s all a bog standard thing, but I’ve been hit by that lightning a few times and it isn’t difficult for me to recreate the hopeful, lustful feeling of anticipation tinged with panic that is the beginning of a returned interest.

anyway, it’s a stupid subset of a ludicrous fandom, and be happy I’m not more locavore about it, I could have been haunting locations all this time, as if my feet would let me. Although I suppose in those hiking boots I bought for Iceland… why do I go there.

You see how lonely people can get to thinking sour thoughts with all the angry voices boinging around with them in their cells, and slowly start to go off the rails.

I’m not lonely, I talked to Mike and Tammy today.

You gotta hustle when your friends live in different time zones. Tammy lives in Toronto, Mike has this timezone called ‘work’ and it is filed under my ‘amorphous blob of time zones’ theory.

I am supposed to make more masks.

scanged from Reddit. Damn she gorgeous

 

that was weird

Well, I don’t know what happened, but all the memorably sub-optimal and entirely my ownership horse puckey that’s happened over the last ten years has turned into me being a lucky sod.

I have water power heat netflix and wifi. I’m not living alone, and I’m not living with a bunch of people who all leave the house every day. I have enough food, musical instruments and projects to keep me through this pandemic and the next one too.

I had a bunch of bad luck that forced me into a situation where I hardly ever leave the house, and then everybody else is in it too and I think, well, I really feel sorry for the extroverts, because this is HELL, SHEER HELL M’DEAR

I suppose five sf novels and a hijjus tonne of fanfic and at least thirty tunes, (I mean I wrote all my stargate stuff in the last ten years, and that’s five feckin’ tunes, right there) is nothing to sneeze at for all my previous isolation. I keep forgetting that all the way through no matter which mental health crises I was having, I placidly continued to practice, purchase new instruments and bang into new ways of singing and hearing and forming songs.

If I think of what else I’ve done that’s worthwhile, I can relax, because inevitably I can travel back through the blog and remember that I indeed, erm, did, erm, shit that was worthwhile. Much of the time I’m dreadfully self-serving, but defending my artistic capacity is not a job anyone can do, ’cause ain’t no other mofo got time for that shit, candidly, and I’m the one of the few people motivated, which given my innate slothican tendencies and my immense distractibility creates its own issues with all that ludicrous reality interface stuff that we all just watched dissolve.

So travel, a few family visits, back to Toronto twice, not as many visits as I should, but I have to be in decent shape to travel, and air travel’s gone, and believe me that’s an issue more and more; we must look to local mutual aid, which means

Mentally and physically I have to be there, and it’s harder and harder to put together, because I’m simply not as sharp as I used to be; just as clever, spread out thinner, and blunter, alas, and dead slow, like a shadow dawdling in a cartoon to mime looking at something of interest elsewhere before perforce being dragged back into real time with everyone else. Iceland was my farewell to that and I’m glad I went there and I hope never to trouble its ecosystem again.

I just have this horrible presentiment that someone ran off with my dirt in the night. Isn’t that irrational? I mean my window faces the alley…. I’m dying here, it would have made so much noise. I’m not getting dressed just because I’m a feckin’ worry wart.

Didn’t leave the house again yesterday so I’ll mail Dave’s package today. I’ll mail mOm and pOp’s when I’ve finished policing up the threads. The glue on the stamps is still gluey, but the taste, after how many years, is bad enough to make you temporarily hallucinate that your tongue is doing a backflip away from your face.

NOW I have to move it to where it belongs.