Category: Personal

I would like to pull your attention away from the volcanic candidate fiasco, global warming and Brittney, if just for a moment, and bring to you the plight of a little girl who needs a home. She didn’t have much luck at her first home and is now looking for some new parents that will give her the love and care that she needs.

Her name is Ellie, and I hope that by meeting her one of you kind folks would find it in your heart to make her dream a reality.

Let’s get the terms straight.

THEY::: those who want to exploit the masses expressly and exclusively for their own self-interests.

YOU::: the one they have believing this is about somebody else: the foreclosures. the job loss. the fascism.  

Nope this isn’t some cleverly worded title about the latest situation in Iraq, just another update from the farm:

I am pretending I have 30 spare minutes but in reality I do not.  Reality can wait.  It is still snowing…hasn’t stopped in 36 hours. The weatherman just said there is a total of 12 1/2 inches.  The tractor got a real good workout yesterday but it really isn’t meant to be a snow plow.  I’ll be getting a larger truck soon and putting a plow on it.

I found 3 possible spots for the new house, they all have southern exposure and are pretty high up on the property.  I found out that this property is the watershed for two small brooks, one leading West and one leading South.  Another cat has shown up in the barn and the bravest of the barn cats is now upstairs in the house munching out and hanging out with Dancer.

In a Country with Strange Taboos

by dharmasyd

For rusty1776 in gratitude for his

“Writing in the Raw: Valentine Confessions”

I remember when you brought me hyacinths

We walked the path under pepper trees

Laughed our way to the beach

To play in the surf like yearling seals

And when you kissed me, your salt wet curls

Dripped ocean on my face

I was a virgin then, and you a married man

In a country with strange taboos

^{Camille Claudel}

The “they” refers to the Human Service Center in Peoria, Illinois–but I’m getting ahead of myself. Last Friday night, I decided that I really couldn’t wait for my Feb. 29th appointment at the neighborhood clinic to start being treated for my depression/possible bipolar.

So, having found out that my friend who’d gotten the Cymbalta had gotten it after she’d called a crisis hotline and been directed to a free clinic, I called such a hotline.

The line was busy for about an hour. I started wondering if I was calling the right number, then took a break. Then started trying again and the phone rang on the second try.

  For rusty1776 in gratitude for his “Writing in the Raw: Valentine Confessions”

I remember when you brought me hyacinths

We walked the path under pepper trees

Laughed our way to the beach

To play in the surf like yearling seals

And when you kissed me, your salt wet curls

Dripped ocean on my face

I was a virgin then, and you a married man

In a country with strange taboos

I remember when you came again

We were older then, and you had tasted

The bite of war on your golden flesh

You brought me only your body then

And took me, coldly unwilling

On the stone cold floor

Eyes wild, body strawberry ripe

Your virgin rape bride

In a country with strange taboos

When you took me over my protests

I heard the voice inside me say

Yes to the Universe

Yes to God

Yes to you

Yes in concentric circles swirling out

Thought forms in an expanding universe

Orgasm of matter in an ocean of space

Meeting each other face to face

 forgetting your wife

Waves from a meteor plunged in the sea

 at her desk a mile away

Rippling into the universe like a psalm

I remember when you brought me your wound

Placing it in the palm of my hand

The night you, dreaming of the war

Took the remington you kept by the bed

And shot your reflection in the mirror

Thinking it a jap

Killing on instinct

In a country with strange taboos

I remember when you said you could not love me

Although you loved me

We played like Hindu deities

Entwined like spiral galaxies

You brought me so many images then

Mother and Priestess

Virgin and Whore

I had ruined your life you said

Because I wasn’t a virgin when we met, you said

In this country with strange taboos

And I remember when you brought me spider mums

Naming me Circe

She of the beautiful hair

Naming me an illusion and your fear

Saying we had to live celibately

That only in god was there ecstacy

You the torero, killer of bulls

You the marine, killer of men

You the man, killer of me

The killer in Circe’s lair

In this country with stange taboos

You brought your wound and your war and your fear

Home to me here in our bed

Taught me the thorn in the flesh wound of sex

Gradually I learned to live

According to these strange taboos

I learned to go on living and

Sometimes only fucked and judged and fucked and judged

But wanted always only to love

Even with galactic distances between our souls

In recreational sex till the messiah comes

I sought love on the beach and love in the bar

I sought love in the eyes of a stranger

Who looked for all the world like a friend

To help the wound to mend

The gap in the heart of the soul

Till the wound heals and we are whole

Meanwhile

I write confessional poetry

  shadows of

  what should I blame

  a catholic girlhood

  a father’s vice

Some strain across a fault zone in the planet’s heart

Some original sin in my soul

Meanwhile

I write recreational poetry

Kill the messiah every time he comes

  from what

  from fear, from habit

  ego, lack of trust

Some geo-centric allergy to dust

While in my heart I know we must

Love one another body heart and mind and soul

Till the wounds heal and we are whole

And kill these strange tabboos.

Last night Mr. 9 year old requested “Underworld: Evolution” as the family movie.  What can I say, boys his age, Werewolves and Vampires? I glanced at the R rating, as he popped in with “Mom, its like a Van Helsing movie, I know all about the Dracula legends.”

What 9 year old boy wouldn’t totally dig this monster?

We rolled eyes and agreed to it, knowing full well the B status flick for which we were in store… a Flying Laura Croft with fangs.

I’m not a big fan of him seeing people kill people, in both video games or movies, but hell, mythical creatures? Orcs, aliens, etc?

Not really a big deal.  He sees it unflinchingly, yet gets teary eyed that in every Western “Why do they always have to kill the horses?”

Crossposted from GentillyGirl

 and the Wild, Wild Left.

WHOO HOO! does cartwheels

We are moving back into our home at the end of this month. It will have been 30 months since Betts and I slept in our house. Things won’t be finished there when this happens, but we’ll have enough ready for us to be able to use the place. One bathroom will be finished, same goes for the kitchen, our offices and the bedroom.

I can’t wait to see how our construction crew deals with us being around 24/7, much less having to deal with the katz bouncing off the walls. (Thank goodness that they are painting this week: I don’t want the walls “textured” with cat fur.) And we also have to remember not to walk around in bras and panties. giggles Hell, we need curtains! I don’t wish to be seen in the office windows as a Hollywood Hustler second story display ad.

The first thing I’m cooking in the new kitchen will be two huge vats of seafood gumbo, followed by a vat of clam chowder. Betts will want some escargot, I just know it. Being back in that kitchen will be a salve to the last 30 months of Hell.

When the gameroom is finally finished I order the billiards table. This is becoming so much fun: getting to decorate the house our way, not the way the boys did before we bought the place. It’s a bright and airy space. And this time, it is all us and no one else’s. We get to make the changes that we wanted to do in the 8 short months we owned the place before the Flood hit. (Sadly, the yards are going to take a long time to fix up… they look like Godzilla and King Kong held a wrestling match there.)

Finally, we are going home.