Saturday, January 29, 2011


So I am checking in after a long hiatus to say that the aliens were quite gentle with me, although I do hope I don't get abducted again for at least a couple of years.

I've just finished reading My Year of Meats by Ruth Ozeki and think it was wonderful and absurd and disturbing and all those good things a novel should be. I am also reading In A Time of Violence by Eavan Boland. I am reading to remind myself that we still have souls, that the world is not so bereft as it might seem. Everyday life can really crush one's chi, you know.

I made big fat buttermilk waffles this morning and it was not unlike eating cake for breakfast.

Friday, January 14, 2011

purple dresses and cat's head biscuits

So, I love the steampunk jacket but it just doesn't suit my dress for the brothel. Alas. I will make something work for tomorrow. I will! I plan to wear a glamorous headpiece and something purple so it's all going to be okay. I have to leave for work shortly but I would rather read books and take a hot bath and wear pajamas and maybe drink some red wine and have a fire going in the fireplace but this is all too decadent so instead I will do other things and then I will come home and fold laundry and crap like that. I found a recipe for something called Cat's Head Biscuits and I want to make them because they look big and fluffy and slightly craggy and no cats will be harmed in the making of said biscuits, just buttermilk. They would be awesome baked in a cast iron skillet, yes? Oh yes.

I am nitpicking my way through the last handful of poems for the winter issue of blossombones and then we're on hiatus until August. HIATUS! I like the sound of that word. I need to de-stress. I am a tangle of knots and weirdness. Also: I am still an aquarius, no matter which zodiac calendar you follow. This makes sense to me.

Watching: Eurkeka, Farscape, Season 1

Reading: Too much freaking email

Feeling: Wiggy

Scary Vending Machine Item of the Week: A microwaveable burger, aptly named "Big Az" and topped with a cheeselike substance.

for real.

Monday, January 10, 2011

notes from the land of bread and honey

I just baked a loaf of bread--not a baguette or a boule, but a plain old loaf of sandwich bread that goes in a rectangular pan--and I'd forgotten how delicious that can be slathered with honey butter still warm from the oven. I ate two pieces, which I kind of regret because I feel over carb-o-fied but that's okay. The house smells like yeast and it's just so nice and homey but still, the anxiety lingers. I hate this anxiety. Also: I DID NOT get the correct item shipped for my super-awesome steampunk outfit that I want to wear to Saturday's Poetry Brothel but the mail order joint is shipping me the right one (I hope) tomorrow so all may not be lost. Or I might not look particularly Victorian. We'll see. I have work to do but I don't want to do it.

The last few held-over-for-consideration poems are calling me but I feel unfocused. If you haven't heard back from me yet, it's because I like your stuff. Expect to hear from me soon, soon, soon.

I would like to accomplish something fabulous, but I have no idea what that would be. I have all kinds of mad-awesome skills that nobody cares about and that will never lead to a sophisticated job where I might wear really good shoes and everyone is required to be polite, like, all the freaking time. Still, I can bake bread and write poems about mass murder and craft a bitchin' metaphor. That's useful.

I am feeling impatient. I need to learn to tolerate humans better. I'm trying.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

A tree of heads, or some such thing...

Last night I dreamt that I plucked out a long, gray hair the diameter of a small sapling with little threadlike branches of hair growing out from the shaft and wondered if I might plant it in the yard and grow a brand-new head or some such thing. Blogger's spellcheck does not like the word "dreamt" nor does it like the word "spellcheck" but I really don't care.

I am hell bent on finishing final selections for the winter issue of bb and for finally getting back to writing some of my own damn stuff too. Poetry Brothel is ONE WEEK AWAY. I have ordered brand-spanking-new steampunk gear and I hope it freaking fits because I am feeling very outsize these days, as if my body has no boundaries and just flows around me like milk. This is probably an illusion, but a disturbing one nonetheless.

I wish I could just wear costumes every day instead of regular clothes.

I am drinking coffee again and this is probably bad. My stomach is going to rot away. I just know it.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


:: A 2011 post ::

1.) I will not talk about how freaking busy I am. It's kind of annoying when people list all the tedious crap they do and say "Look at me! I'm SO busy." I'm totally guilty of this, by the way. Totally, totally guilty. The guiltiest.

2.) I want to be the girl with the most cake.

I Would Like Some Cake.

That is all.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Phobos & Demos

I woke up today feeling like I might just start freaking out and never stop. I cannot do everything. Something, somewhere must give but I don't know what that will be.

Last night I dreamt that my son was a bag of salt I'd been hauling around all this time and that I had been imagining him for the last twenty years and only NOW just realized that he wasn't real. I took him out for ice cream and suddenly I was sitting on a park bench, holding two dripping ice cream cones, trying to feed one of them to a 50 lb bag of salt.

Later on, I dreamt I was trying to eradicate a plague of head lice roughly the size of dimes--not on my own head, but rather, the heads of strangers.

It is time to deconstruct Christmas (in the literal, rather than the literary sense) and this always makes me sad.

I need to carve out more time for writing & editing. I need to stop drinking sweetened beverages. I need to stop talking so damn much. I feel like I am made of vanilla pudding, that I am soft & bland & utterly without structure.

My January horoscope recommends that I prepare to be wildly successful.

At making pudding, probably.

Watching: LOST, Season 6 (again)

Reading: Men, Women and Chainsaws by Carol Clover

Feeling: distinctly pudding-like with a touch of the vanilla moon.