I have decided I would like to live in a haunted house. It should be creaky & eerie & inhabited by benevolent ghosts. I would hold old-fashioned seances for tourists & the tables would levitate & there would be rattling chains & knockings in the walls. I would have a crystal ball. I would serve tea & biscuits. Life would be relatively peaceful. I suspect I have a stronger affinity for the dead than for the living.
Last night I dreamt my house was very, very dirty. The sofa cushions were stained & the bathroom tiles were crusty. Neighbors were wandering through the house commenting on the general filthiness & I felt terribly embarrassed. This is a lame dream. Apparently I am not as cool as I think I am & I actually care what people think of me. How dreadful.
If I lived in a haunted house, a little filth would be expected. And the ghosts wouldn't care anyway.
Poetry Brothel was awesome this weekend. I find it uplifting to spend time in the presence of poets & dancers & musicians. It reminds me that people are generally pretty cool & that humanity does have some redeeming qualities. I read my poem about Elizabeth Bathory. I think people liked it. All of the brothel poets are super-cool & the dancers are amazing & I am now fascinated with the burlesque, with dancing as a means for storytelling. It's such a compelling art form. I love it.
I am very lazy about uploading pictures from my camera. I will post some soon. Probably.
Later, in the real world, where people are not dressed in beautiful costumes:
Lately I am very aware of being snubbed, rebuffed, given the stink-eye & other forms of passive-aggressive behavior. I dislike this. I try not to do this to anyone, even if I am not particularly fond of them. I am a big believer in civility. I don't expect to like everyone, but I do think it's important to be polite.
I am very tired of worrying about inadvertently offending people. I don't mean to be weird. Honest.
Scary Vending Machine Item of the Week: Plastic tray of pre-cooked bacon & eggs. Horrifying.
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