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anesthesia

March 15, 2017

Keep her busy in front of the mirror, and you’ll never have to worry about her anywhere else.

Begin her addiction young enough and long after natural beauty has faded she’ll worship at the altar of the bottle, the jar, the tweezer, the brush.

This is not the wand I choose. This is not the magic I claim.

drop

 

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One time a couple of years ago I was hanging out with an old friend I hadn’t seen in a few years, and mentioned that I was learning to cook.

You? Are learning to cook?’ he repeated, incredulity lining every word like down in a puffy vest. ‘But all you ever eat is Rice-A-Roni!’

And I was not offended, because he was not wrong.

Several years later, I am still learning to cook. I have figured out what one does with gourd, and how to keep eggplant from turning out bitter, but I still cannot slice or chop anything very well, and every time I make eggs or pancakes they turn out unfortunate somehow; a different type of unfortunate each time, too.

I am trying, but the bottom line is that I am not very comfortable cooking, and a lot of the time the stuff I make does not turn out very well.

Because I enjoy curtailing my activities to those things I exhibit a natural skill for, (not), next week I am leading a team of volunteers in cooking and serving dinner to ninety Portland people experiencing homelessness.

Every time I think about it I break out in a cold sweat on my eyebrow and upper lip hairs and I have an urge nearly as involuntary as vomiting to smoke a pack of cigarettes.

If any of you are praying people, I would appreciate a word on behalf of my efforts in the ear of your deity; the rest of you please cross your damn fingers.

Do it for the homeless. The fate of their dinner rests in my incapable hands.

I say hey now now

February 17, 2017

Old age: finding a super cute tank top and being outraged at its price tag; realizing after closer scrutiny that apparently people consider this garment a dress.

I am taking a public health class right now, and this shit is blowing my mind. The quantity of disparities in healthcare between people of different racial/ethnic backgrounds, genders, and socioeconomic statuses that already exist in this country is staggering. The only way I can even deal with this information is to remind myself that knowledge is power and I am planning on using my stupid university paper to battle this crap as hard as I can for the rest of my life.
But you know what…ignorance is bliss. If I didn’t believe in the power of epigenetics to drive our personal and communal evolution, I would give up and eat pig and buy shitty cute slave labor clothing and close my mind to the pain of others all around me for all I am worth. With my eyes screwed tight, with all of my might.
i-think-i-should-speak-now
Goddamn knowledge. It hurts.

ragged wood

September 7, 2016

Apparently when I sand things it makes my subconscious feel like it hurts my teeth, and so I tuck them up carefully between my lips.

squnch

This creates a beautiful impression of my front teeth on my upper lip.

impression

Because of my fairly significant gap, I now have a weird little pucker of lip on the upper inside.

The upshot of all of it is that when I swig beer out of the bottle, the pucker gets sucked back in between my front teeth. It’s a strange problem to have, I’ll grant you; but I have it, and it is enough of a bother to warrant a yowl.

I am

a man on the moon

July 28, 2016

No one who wanted Bernie is happy that our party stuck us with Hillary. But we can tantrum about it and blame everything on it that happens (horrifically) after a republican is elected, or we can take what we get, roll up our sleeves, and get to work creating change at the state and local levels.

We can still push things forward with a democratic president, whether our little hearts and our just minds want her personally or not. It’s not like we’re going to forget what Bernie makes us feel, or stop holding that as our intention. Is it?

If one setback can break it out of us then we were only playing around with it in the first place. Don’t boo, vote. Don’t just vote president, vote city.

~Curtsey, end rant.

That is just how I feel.

I am

There is this certain type of person, who when we want to nutshell them up not on the strength of their appearance but of their behaviors, both accurately and concisely, we refer to as dogs. Not surprisingly considering our feelings about other animals we call dogs, there is something simply beguiling about a dog. In a world where everyone else is wandering around trying to surf their own life wave, drive their own evolution, dogs are laid back and splashing. Regardless of how we really view them, they’re refreshing to see every now and again because we spend so much of our goddamn time trying to figure out what makes other people (and ourselves) tick, and there’s no need for that with dogs. They all’ve been doing the same story for as long as humanity remembers, good natured and obstinately stationary throughout humanity’s history. They’re fun, they’re probably necessary, and they should absolutely be encouraged and given no more than a little over the average life liberty and pursuit of the dream ration of personal power. They should absolutely not run for president, and we should absolutely not have to pretend that their views on shit are valid. They have spent their entire collective lifespan dragging down the dirigible of growth for the whole species, like a swamp dog who’s got hold of the towline and finds himself unready to let it not be all about his dinner and the stick that gets thrown. Their mindset is old, we already know them backward and forward without thinking about it from the age of like six. We don’t need to spend more time on the landing with our boots off, biting our fingernails and spitting them down the stairs to pass the time while everyone gets their turn. Some people are stupid, and they should get to enjoy a life of toy companies and barbie ladyfriends. They should get fast cars and really ridiculously expensive ugly fashion endeavors. They should get to pay philosophy majors to stand in line at ice cream shops for them, and they should get to die in any clandestine sexual scenario that they see fit. But they should not get to tell anyone else what to do, anywhere beyond or maybe a little below the standard allotment as per life liberty and the pursuit, etc, and nobody is going to let them. We have had a George W Bush puppet before, and before him we probably had others that I’m too young to remember. That whole scenario got us howlers like ‘fish are people too,’ and treasured forever memories of confusing doors and flying shoes. During it all, life went on and decisions were made and some things went forward and lots of things went back. So has it been, so it ever shall be. I am still voting for the person who deserves my vote, regardless of the current puppet in the corner. Who gives a shit. Do it for yourself. Be impeccable with your word.

Curtsey, end rant~

I am