"I'm not here, I'm somewhere else"

This week, my mother told me that I'm cryptic.


...


Pineapple.

The gibbous moon and my singed moustache

I've got no middle gears. Conversationally, I mean. I feel as though.

Like, I can patter and banter just fine-years of customer service work, I think.

Well, when choosing a melon, ma'am, you want to look at it's blush, of course. But it's got to have weight, that's the most important thing (actually, any of your spherical fruits and vegetables, good rule of thumb is weight. If it feels heavy, that's your good first sign.) And a lot of folks like the smell method-I have a right terrible sense of smell, so I've never had much truck with the smell method. But lots of folks swear by it, so...And certainly, ma'am, if you ever have any trouble with anything you acquire here in the produce department, please let us know and bring it back. We don't want you walking out of here with substandard produce. No ma'am, thank you. And have a good day.

I can do that all day.

And if you want to talk about politics and science and history and gender and race and communication...if you want to have it out with me or share yourself with me or cry on my shoulder or ask me for help-I can do that too. I have all kinds of time and energy and deft sunk into communicating in an honest, articulate, accountable respectful way. Those are my favorite conversations.

But when it comes down to small talk, that medium-depth introductory social niceties that make up a good portion of "normal" conversation...I'm at a loss. Sometimes I feel like I don't have anything to add, sometimes I'm just not sure what the other person(s) wants to hear. But mostly, I just don't fucking care. And that's a problem, since my not caring doesn't trump their need to talk about sports or the weather or some other passing bullshit. My conundrum for the night. It's not as cute as some of my others.

We all have bloody thoughts

Too long, I think, since I've written. But right now, blood surging in my veins, my skin slippery and hot from racing through the streets of Eugene-right now seems oddly appropriate.

Rough day, fierce day. Striding purposefully and dire through the corridors of my place of employment, wrangling people and produce alike. I think my yen is making me bleed, but it's hard to tell with all the other blood on the walls. One way or another, I left today wanting to either kill something or fuck something. Neither of those options presenting itself, my lusts remain unsatisfied, but for the brief release of my ride.

Maybe I just have low blood sugar.

This was supposed to be a post about my name, artifact and artifice that it is. But my identity and the labels that are to it attached don't seem as relevant as they did last night, when I hatched this plan. So I'll tell you about my day, ramble on like I do. And then, once my blood's cooled and I've put some Nixon shoemaker down my piehole. Then, I'll help a boy make a woman who's an owl with silver tattoos.

Fuck, I'm tired and stressed and lonely and angry and fierce. My right eyelid's been fluttering all day. I think it's trying to escape.

White Bread

I'd like to think of days in Salem as wasted, but today was actually quite well spent. Trip to the capitol city on the amtrak train-listened to a book, got to watch the birds and the valley stream by. Lots of birds-I've spoken of my affinity for birds previously on this blog, but I can't help but come back to them. Hawks and owls and falcons and herons seem to pop up a lot in my life, and every weird little bird moment adds something...maybe that's why people take up birdwatching, but I feel like trying to make them happen loses the best part, the fateful part.

So Salem's still a pit, but it's like a pit trying to break free-walking along the mall today, with its manicured gardens and turrible statuary, there was still that lush, verdant smell in the air. And the trees were breeding-little puffs of seeds all over, like a snowstorm. It's hard to hate a place that ugly when it decides it's going to be beautiful, even for just a day. Also, I saw boxwood bushes, immaculately trimmed, with stones set on top of them. Rebellion flowers in the most unlikely places.

And I've got to hand it to my dentist, and to dentists the world over. Most doctors, you smoke, you drink, you're overweight, they give you a half-hearted lecture and that's it. Dentists man, dentists are hardcore. They must pull out all the true-believers in medical school and tell them "Look, you're too...intense...to be a doctor. How do you feel about teeth?"

And lastly, for my dear mother who I got to see today-those of you reading this who haven't had the pleasure of my mother's company, you're missing out. Next time she's in capella, say hello. She's friendly, just like her son.

Oh, I just remembered.

Along w/ the rest of my play-by-play, please accept these recommendations.

So anyway

Things I learned this week.

Blame is the DNA of the front end.
Bruce likes Cherry soda.
I'm worth more than I thought.
Everyone enjoys a "stool" pun.
Pizza...way easier than I thought.
Some people eat artichokes plain. I know, right?
There's a wikispecies.
It's wrong to blackmail anybody, not just the people who are wonderful.
A beetnik is beet juice and drambuie.

There's more, it just don't come to mind immediate. More later, perhaps on Cinco de Mayo.

To my own personal axis mundi

Joshua you bastard.