|
"you like stuff"
her visceral reaction was
"of course not, I'm ethereal"
yet of course she liked stuff
the good stuff
she kept forgetting this wasn't Sunday but Martin Luther Monday
the day
when
so
much
changes.
She's drinking red
red wine
but not on Sunday.
on Monday
when she lived on Mitchell
she recalled going into her car and blasting the song
MLK
and Pride from her u2 collection. she thought it was from 'unforgettable fire' but could also have been 'live at red rocks.'
she had adored 'live at red rocks' more than she had wanted to live.
she had been such a sad put upon child.
now, she was back to the land of her birth and her mother was alive
.
she had sugar cookies in the oven and had just let the orange cat in from outside.
she had found out yesterday evening it was named 'jo jo'.
"she should never have...."
fill in the blank. there was so much she shouldn't have. it was cute to see the orange cat on the tan felt padding on the wooden desk.
as long as it realized she wasn't going to feed it.
not food.
just emotions.
now people were fleeing rag tag male built patriarchal strings of tyranny as they took stands on their current immoral.
she was trying to love the orange cat, but she only let it in because she was so lonely, and she really did genuinely love seeing it in the sunlight.
she had thought of Andrew a little bit today
like him being a human.
like if he might have also tried to love me and if it was indeed like a storm that gets rid of the loose branches. she tried to un-romanticize the mark years - to remember that feeling of hopeless torpor alleviated by nothing and the annoyance at a car in the parking spot.
a golden
Saturn of course
the smell of cookies is good, and the girl recalled an earlier time - in high school - where she would make home made tea cakes and watch tv. her mother didn't like her gaining weight and offered her $100 dollars - then a lordly sum. she couldn't do it.
the orange cat on the cashmere tan felt mat looked great in the sulight next to the Norfolk pine.
kristen had left the book of faces.
well well
it does matter the humans who play.
it still puzzles the other kristen -
narcissi how Wilmington didn't give the positive vibes
how the traffic of 3rd street made her panic.
she had lived on it before.
she had been a baby
wearing a skirt.
"as if I would have gone for you anyway - you're too light for me - so it was the skirts that kept you from making your move - what really? you know I'm right."
the sun was starting to go down.
she still considered Christmas here until Candlemas
the orange cat was bathing.
her mouth burned of the earlier cookies she had held in her mouth like the dog and the hot oil.
the bad way
she sipped again.
I chose to play
'the bends'
I recall visceraly the first time
Kent's sad suburb apartment on the outskirts
"where are you now when I need you? ..."
that was a trippy time in her life. she had quit rich's - never realizing how beautiful she now was and defected to Wilmington and instantly became fresh meat in a
market that made Athens
"I wish that something would happen."
now she was necrophelia.
"high and dry" now
"you'd kill yourself to never ever start...you broke another mirror. you're turning into something you are not."
"god forgive me for allowing myself to marry Andrew
god forgive me for all of it"
she had tried to fall in love with this room and it was so great to have sunshine in winter.
"los ángeles I'm yours"
the Decembrists.
I guess not everyone can say they've lived in Georgia, new York, Los Angeles, and sort of San Francisco,
but it's all so sad and pathetic-ish.
"the realist thing as ancient choir's sing...."
and all my gambling gambols... for naught naughty naught....
I really being at fourth and Montana and listening to this song - already so many feet out the door but no idea where.
like now.
but so much younger therefore better.
of course.
shhhhhiiiitttt
this brings me back to my 3rd confederate life
'that feel"
"... always see you when you're coming into town. hang it on the wall, you can never take it down... you can pawn your watch and chain but not that feel... I cross my wooden leg and swear on my glass eye..."
I recall living in that little apartment after imploding the queen street situation and being more mobile. the confederate is where we ditched all the deposit and just left everything - the green room, the yellow room, the striped sofa... the kitchen with no sponge. the mattress on the floor and the girl with daddy issues.
she was a beautiful mess, yet she was the bes8t
kind where she needed please you.
and the orange cat.
what to do.
and the foto she keeps that she made of herself that her second husband printed saying it was the most beautiful photo. it was when she was sad.
it now became her van watering blond baboon.
but leaving that, he lived with jungle she lived with the robot.
it was all new.
|
