givin the devil his due

February 7, 2016

Behold, the costume of the native tribe They Who Spend Too Much of Their Lives Cleaning the Mold Out of the Convertible Seats.

Really, someone tell me. Why is vinegar the answer to everything? I looked up its chemical compound expecting to see simply, 42, but like most of us it is just made out of a neat arrangement of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. Which gives one to wonder, why then aren’t most of us the answer to everything? Like vinegar, always so helpful. I bet Mr Rogers approved of vinegar.

Anyhow, wish me luck with the mold. If Cam Newton is most likely going to win today because he deserves to, then that mold had better go down easy. Although I guess I am pretty well prepared for a difficult day. I have Sun chips.

I am

I never had a bedtime. I never had a timeline for waking up in the morning, either.

As a kid I would roll out of bed whenever I wanted, get some breakfast, and then do my schoolwork at the kitchen table or curled into a corner of the couch. I took breaks whenever I wanted, had food whenever I wanted, and sometimes when I got super passionate about one of my subjects my parents would let me just burn through that set of curriculum all at once as fast as I cared to, as long as I still did the scheduled amount of the other subjects. One year I was done with everything but math long before the end of the school year and reveling in imagined months of nothing but sega genesis and fiction; and then my dad brought home the next year’s curriculum. Le sigh. Scholarly zeal was not always its own reward. And yes, I was always behind myself and my grade level in math.

This style of learning really rocked for me. I never had to worry about the needs on the lower end of the pyramid, because the totally freeform education style always allowed me enough sleep, food whenever I was hungry, and exercise when I needed to get up and get the blood flowing. I was able to set my own pace and reach my own goals. There were downsides obviously, like they way math beyond decimals, percents, and fractions just did not exist in my world until I was like twenty seven, and how I completely missed out on all the universal school experiences and a shit ton of pop culture references. And there was the religion-based curriculum, which taught me all the basics like how to parse bible verses and how many parts of the world there were that needed to be reached with the gospel. Also the way that it completely failed to equip me to deal with the usual and customary education establishment. Once I graduated homeschool high school, I had a hell of a time figuring out how to go about higher education. From the very beginning it flummoxed me in every category except the actual academics (saving of course math’s benevolent presence). I remember showing up on the first day, walking toward campus, and thinking suddenly, I have no idea where I’m supposed to be going.

Fortunately, I figured it out. Eventually. I forgot to finish a few classes, I had to take several terms of math twice, and I struggled every single class to actually make myself show up to the crap building and sit in the crap chair in the crap room. Throughout it all I worked. It was hard to make myself keep at it and I often hated its guts.

However, with as grand a flourish as I can make with a sentence, it has been worth it.

paper the first

I have a piece of paper! Only a few more pieces of paper to go!

I am

a hard lovin soul

February 3, 2016

Last night, apropos of an evening conversation, I dreamed about a blue Yaris. It was a beautiful lustrous periwinkle blue and was basically shaped like the love child of the lamborghini diablo and a 90s barbie dream car. It was definitely still a Yaris, I checked its make and model like I always check any cute car; either back and sides or on its belly.

Where did all my HotWheels go?

This is what my dream has made me wonder. I am not surprised at all that my subconscious can just hop in there and help Toyota out with a sleeker, faster model of their best selling sub-compact. But twenty six or so years after the fact I am totally chagrined out of nowhere to find that all of my HotWheels are gone, including my all-time favorites: a wicked little yellow diablo, and a beautiful blue wide angled 70s dodge dart.

Can the auto industry please just start hiring designers who mash together the greatest hits to get incredible new cars, instead of continuing to turn out shoe car after bug car after shoe car? That would be so hot.

Also I need some HotWheels. We should all just file that away for later. I really hope that there is some sort of car show for HotWheels, were old people and children alike gather to goggle with dazzled eyes at the good strong lines and candy apple paint jobs.

I am

that sea

February 1, 2016


winter blaze

mushroom cloud



open 7am

rice rice baby





seasons first

taking no shit

I am

the distance in your eyes

January 26, 2016

That’s me in the corner, that’s me with the soft bite, losing my forbearance.

I have always been pleased to think that I move through cycles quickly, like a series of HotWheels loop de loops. Recently I am beginning to suspect that I am deeper than previously assumed. Beneath the rapid little eddies and whirlpools there move currents murky and profound; far beneath. They are as old as I am, and many of them are older. We are always swimming, these old ones and I. Come back to the warmth of the murk, they murmur. Come out into the crisp of the clear, I gasp.

I am wilfuly changing my neurobiology. I am reshaping myself in my own image. For years I have been slowly tearing the old, dense, groaning, massive fibers of self away from the fabric I was raised in. My parents were wonderful; they loved us fiercely and we never doubted it for a moment. I wouldn’t trade my childhood for anything. But the religion they raised us with: it broke my heart all childhood long.

I was reading early. My mom read to me all the time and I can’t remember a time before her voice and stories. Some she read, some she made up. Stories were our way of life. I read in gobbles. I read everything I could get my hands on, and then I read it over again. My mom took us to the library twice a week every week and each time I would paw entire shelvesful of appropriate sections into my book bag, and quietly steal inappropriate books and read them in corners, in the dark, in any secret space I could come by. (I always returned these contraband books; it was really more like borrowing than stealing. Really). When my mom was too pregnant to take us to the library, I read all the way through our crumbly old Encyclopedia set (only the interesting bits) over and over and over. I read my eyes into a sort of death spiral akin to nervous prostration, and as a result am the only member of my family who needs glasses. I read like mad, is what I’m saying. And I read the bible a lot.

I think this experience is what makes it impossible for me to look at one group of people, like Christians, or Muslims, or Scientologists, or non-recyclers, or whoever those asshats are that drive civilian Hummers, and believe that they are all just terrible people. I know from personal experience on both sides of the extreme beliefs fence that every way of thinking has its eat a burrito moments and its heaps of tribal steaming horsecrap. I know that many of the modern members of thought factions tend to focus on the delicious buy the world a coke sort of candy coating, and more or less avoid the blood and guts filled nougaty center, and I can absolutely understand how they would feel that this is the thing to do. Absolutely. But the problem is that back of all the goodwill and judge-not rhetoric there is a nasty brutal bunch of closed-minded intolerant holier-than-thou entitled claptrap, and the deep habits and infrequently revisited fundamental beliefs that we hold shape us just as much as the responsive, processed, higher brain ideals we think we adhere to.

This is why it’s so hard to walk the talk. The walk comes from the bones, the old things, we learned it long ago and all sorts of new muscle and tissue have gone over it before we ever thought to take a close look at it. This is why I am unappeased by the knowledge that within every shit belief system there are good people just trying to do their best. This is why I think that everyone needs to start taking responsibility for not only themselves and their own tenets and actions, but those of their like-minded peers and their school of thought overall. You can’t just say about things that you find appalling, ‘well I’m not like that.’ That is not an action. That is not good enough. You have to care that anyone is like that, and then you have to do something about it. I’m not saying that just because you share a demographic someone else’s ugliness is your responsibility; but I am god damned tired of nobody else’s ugliness being anybody else’s responsibility, especially when it springs directly from shared belief systems.

Although I am definitely not just talking about religious beliefs here in general, religion is the easiest to harp on because it is the one that kicks out the highest quality and quantity of heinous fucking shit year after decade after century after eon. And instead of being like I usually am, being all ‘we all have stuff to work on,’ and ‘everybody sucks at some things,’ this time I am actually calling members of religion out. Like I usually am though, I am also calling out members of every other clique or intellectual aggregate. Look to your bullshit. Reign in your rabid hounds. Sort out your bad damn apples. The people their prejudice oppresses the most have been dedicated to maintaining the freedom that allows that prejudice for too long. Rather than treat you or anyone else as they are treated, they have persisted quietly beneath the staircases, mostly just looking to be let alone. Some of us are getting tired of that, and the multiple perspectives our speculative explorations have afforded us are losing their power to feed our compassion. Feeling sorry for the assholes is not forever going to keep us from coming for their cruelty and corruption. Maybe I am just getting old and getting fed up with shit, but I really do feel that coming generations will be more and more willing to meet this rot with the battleaxe; not for the splinter of flesh and bone but for the destruction of that ancient insinuating snarl of gummy threads that weaves every crap old ideology together.

When you spend all your time focused on the dogma between the lines or debating only over the old harangues, you’re only thinking old thoughts and your belief system gets musty. You lose your adaptability, your capacity for growth, your ability to create and discover, your flair for joy. You are so much more dynamic than that. Belief systems need exploration, the adventure of new thought, and conflict. Conflict is what breathes value into something; only when you’ve fought your own self for it do you know that you truly desire and own it. When you never wrestle with an angel, you never know the depth of your conviction. When you never question what you know to be true, you are blind to all the inevitable fallacies that accompany any set of principles that humans have handed down to one another for a long enough time. I don’t even challenge the concept that your god or its chosen prophet(s) handed these principles directly to humanity; or that your scientific study is the one that finally managed to poop out a perfect, finished cause-and-effect correlation; but I flatly challenge humanity’s ability to properly interpret any shit from anywhere ever if no inquisitiveness, no imagination, is ever brought to that interpretation.

We all have to learn to take an active style of responsibility for our beliefs and credos and habits. For our religions, our pop icons, our pet causes, our sports teams, our hobbies. We have to hold them to the same standards we have for ourselves, or let them go. It is the only way we can create and discover and enjoy within the lifestyles we embrace. It is the only way we can ever all grow together.


I am

rolling numbers

January 25, 2016

One of the things I have struggled with most in my life is food. I spend most of my life not caring anything about it and forgetting to do it, or feeling too emotionally chaotic to manage it and wishing you could just take a tablet or something instead of all that hunting and gathering and chewing and digesting. To me getting an adequate subsistence is like playing tetris, where you have to mash a bunch of different kinds of unwieldy individual bits into one space and fitting them together is a pain in the ass that I generally only enjoy when I am really ridiculously stoned. Even when I like food I do not usually like the kinds of food that give you any nutrients whatsoever beyond massive quantities of sodium.

This is why I love the casserole. In my world, casserole is anything that combines three or more ingredients, and it is bar nothing the most efficient way to eat. Tend to just eat things every now and then because they are basically little edible clumps crusted in salt? Cells and dendrites probably dying off by the scads inside your skull due to a tragic food/red wine imbalance? First world malnutrition most likely turning blood, tissue and bone to a brackish brine beneath your skin? Just throw all the foods commonly associated with helpful nutrients into one container, cook as needed, and shovel it all into your belly at once.

Today I have already eaten kale, sweet potato, and egg, and I only like two of those, unfortunately not the one that gives you lots of protein, and I have not even gotten to lunch. If I could have a complete breakfast every morning I could have popcorn and orange juice for dinner every night of my life. Grownup goals.

morning foods

I am

the time or place

January 6, 2016

My husband is apparently one of those weird motherfuckers who puts peanut butter in the refrigerator. This is fine and I can accept and love him as he is, but now he has gone and put my peanut butter in the refrigerator, I can only assume with the best of (if misguided) intentions.

I do not understand you people. Why do you do this? There must be some underlying motivation, it can’t just be tic or a glitch in your thought process…is it your actual goal to make a sandwich consisting of bread and sad cold little pellets of peanut butter like goat poo in a meadow?

Please actually explain. If there is a star bellied sneetch version of this, where wonderful warm spreadable peanut butter is somehow gross or unsatisfactory, please to let me know.

We are each fighting a hard battle here, I am certain. I just don’t understand what the other side can possibly have to say for itself.

I am


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