#uncoffeed...

Abbey the Cockatiel* eyeballs me from her cage - a weird game of hide-and-seek because she wants to be afraid, label me the Debbil, but can't stand to be ignored. We know this game, yeah? Funny that non-humans play it too, or maybe no surprise. While I watch TV she navigates through the open door of her cage onto the floor, but when I acknowledge her she retreats into her safe space. I get it, Abbey; do your bird thing. Abbey's momma, Chantelle, asked how much I charged to birb-visit and whether I was willing to barter. I love barter, but I can use cash. I said I wanted a Cuban; I should have known she'd have one already. It was on the counter with the cash and a box of matches next to a list of Abbey-care instructions. I call Abbey's name and whistle as instructed; she whistles back in response. I take a risk and put my hand in the cage, knowing she might bite me. I'm surprised when she steps calmly onto my wrist like it was what she wanted all along. ...

I'm not sure how I got here - yes, I am. I'm searching Facebook posts for a reference to entangled photon pairs or Lewis Pairs from a conversation I know happened - but I got distracted. I love this picture. It is so very me. Even if you haven't met me in person, well you did now.  On my middle finger is the 5-year Anniversary ring I bought for myself - a battle trophy. One of the necklaces was a gift from a friend in 1988. The shirt was a thrift-store find I wore in Istanbul. I did my own hair - cut and color. And here it is, sort of inception-style, because the Facebook post was written four years after the photo was taken. At the time of the writing, I was studying The Art of War by Sun Tzu and applying it to the divorce process. It worked marvelously. I remember this day well. I was angry; I wanted to leave my husband and this life even then. I didn't want to go to a fucking birthday party of three people in this [ redacted ] town, but I did, and I made s...

A few days ago, I came home to find a weird convention of ants circling my kitchen light. It was weird because there are no food crumbs in my kitchen, especially in the light sticking out of the wall three inches from the ceiling. They seemed very intent, as ants usually do. I wiped down the entire area with bleach and soapy water, and those who weren't sopped up began to disperse. *Psychepedantic Rob Coafman told me he has the foolproof method for ant killing: You need water, sugar, and Borax.  It must be Borax.  Great success.   Boil a couple cups of water and keep adding sugar until the water is supersaturated with sugar.  It should begin to appear more viscous even when boiling.  Once you can't get any more sugar between the water molecules add Borax.  I add a fair bit, maybe 2-4Tbsp per cup of water.   Once that dissolves, take it off the heat.   Put that shit out near where the ants are.  Once they fi...

I don't think John knows anything about Neal Cassady, but I could be wrong. Neal Cassady was a major player in the Beatnik Generation and driver of the psychedelic counter-culture. In the pages of The Electric Koolaid Acid Test , author Tom Wolfe talked about Cassady and his Radio I-Ching. If I am remembering correctly, Cassady would carry a nonstop monologue whilst driving. As he drove and while he talked, he would occasionally reach over and turn the radio dial. Tom Wolfe said Cassady would magically stop the dial on a song that played off his commentary. Every time.  Radio I-Ching.  Neal Cassady died in 1968. In 1968, John wasn't even thought of yet. '80's kid - I bet John isn't as old as my last husband; maybe older than my daughter. John feeds money into the jukebox at his bar , and it seems like he knows the words to every song in the machine. I'm sitting at the bar with iced tea and water, working on a series of illustrations which repre...

Humans are social animals, and we want to connect . We learn our patterns through our parents first. Then, through a series of trial and error, we collect people we like who also like us. Or we learn to like that which we attract, and we let our collection define us. We learn to follow as a default. Empaths feel what others feel literally, physically, not just have an understanding.  If I prick you, I will bleed. The word empathy is used (perhaps incorrectly) to describe recognising unmet needs in others.  Do not assume that, in fulfilling what you perceive to be someone's need, the person will reciprocate by taking care of  yours.  Easy to define intellectually; not so easy to recognise in one's self.  Sometimes what we recognise is a pattern that should be retired. If I don't meet the parameters in certain relationship models -  business, friend, family - I may take lack of acceptance as rejection, which is a model I learned: don't be a let-do...

Boundaries as a term is bordering on being the new catchprase, clickbait even.  You read it here first, kids.  However, the concept is crucial for healthy living. Let's get ahead of the curve and set some now, before hipsterdom catches the wave. Realise that you have them.  You always have had them; your first set was probably handed to you by adults you trusted as a child.  This may or may not be problematic: the boundaries you were given may be inappropriate for you or you may have outgrown them. I'll give a personal example: I was taught that I should sit down, and if somebody wants me to have something they will give it to me. At some point, somebody who'd been handed different boundaries laughed at me and said, "If you want something, you have to ask for it," and was amazed that I didn't know this.  Now we arrive at the next rule.  Do not weigh or judge the boundaries of others . It may be best to start thinking of boundaries as an invisib...

So I've been spending a lot of time talking about myself lately, which is probably not a surprise. It's my blog, and I've been avoiding Facebook and its inherent drama, so that leaves me as my #1 topic.  Today, though, I got sucked into a good one, and I'm going to talk peripherally about Sean Carter , because he's awesome. Thank you, Sir, for keeping the faith. All Packages Matter, people. Add this to your list of causes. I lived in DC (That's short for Our Nation's Capital, #2 Black majority city after Philly) for 13.5 years. I watched my neighborhood gentrify, and as a person who started out as the minority, I can tell you I had mixed feelings. I appreciated the restaurants that popped up down the street - Red Rocks, El Chucho , and Room 11 - but I was sad to see houses emptied one by one, as the original occupants passed away and their relatives sold the houses to flippers.  Do other cities have Luxury Condos with Used Tire Mart views?  Dunno. I d...

Speaking in symbols can lend something more than words, boundaries eclipsed. Let's not fill your head with my palabras today.

I miss knowing every inch of his face, its bone structure, the thinness of his skin.  I miss his funny walk and the surprising strength of his core. I miss the smell of leather and Head-and-Shoulders in his long, thick hair which he somehow could tuck up into a baseball cap.  I miss the way his eyes darted to each side before that inevitable barb rolled off his tongue. He was a master of subtle timing; even he didn't understand that.  His nature erupted into everything he did, from playing guitar to tenderly nursing plant cuttings. Housewives and band groupies called him for his meatloaf recipe, but he took real pride in chocolate eclairs. My kids refused to eat them so he retired, devastated, into the neighbor room.   Some things aren't meant to be gotten over.  Everything still exists, somewhere; nothing is linear, not really. So, you see, it's okay to say no. Nobody should ever say yes until they are comfortable knowing there is no competiti...

Last night I worked out some business card designs, because I realise I need them. I've come to that point in the conversation a few times recently, and I had no business card to hand over. So. My waking thought this morning was that business cards are actually a huge deal. HUGE. They signify that I'm willing to BE IDENTIFIED, not just in the moment, but also later. That I am willing to let select individuals be able to locate me and ask me to do things for them, that I will consider their proposals. I am not only admitting but committing to the Universe and to myself that I will do things. Envoys take what is offered, Takashi.   I have to brand myself, like a tattoo. Unlike a tattoo, I can change my brand later (well, sort of like a tattoo - even there, we have options.)  And that's always been one of my pet neuroses:  avoiding a label.  I can't stand it when someone asks me, "Are you a ________________?" Writer, artist, poet, chef, dancer was...

Behold thee, Redbud: Blooms erupting from thy skin Break my heart for joy. These droplets don't come from me But Spring cries for both of us. 

...so I've been crying, quietly or not, for at least 20 minutes now, which is no big deal because it's what girls do, right? Why is that, exactly? Why do guys not do it? Does crying make me girly? Go ahead and cry, guys. I give you permission. It makes me human. It makes me hurt and unresolved. I seriously dislike lack of resolution - this is why I watch detective stories. There's a neat wrap-up at the end. Also, it is a big deal. It's a big deal when anybody hurts enough, for whatever reason, to sit and cry alone in a room. When you do it, give yourself a hug and also a pat on the back for allowing yourself to feel. You don't need to suck it up. You need to listen to your body , and do what you need to do. In all things. I feel like I have a hole and it's the source of the crying - a void with raw edges that I manage to patch up on most days, so that nothing falls into it and nothing leaks out. It has a voice and it wants something I can't identify...

...so you may remember my banyan tree. I grew it from seed, killed it three times, and vowed to never kill it again. I have a simple gauge of a person's nature: name something you've maintained for at least ten years. My answer is a pile of unfinished projects, furniture I've shucked from state to state, and I had this tree since my second year of marriage. In a way it represented the marriage: it kept reviving itself after near-death experiences. I moved it with pride to Annandale from DC. I was excited about moving forward. And then I got distracted and left it outside to freeze. I developed an interesting bundle of emotions this weekend and decided to burn the stump in a sort of cleansing ceremony. I even folded the pages of a book - Urdu for Beginners - to use as firestarter . The landlords are away and I wouldn't have to explain the blaze in the driveway. And then I realised I don't care. I don't require a ceremony to absolve myself of this failure...

Man, what a day for etymology. I really liked this one - thanks, Linda  and Paul. If you have read more than two of my posts, you know that #equality is a huge topic for me. I was raised by my momma to know that all people are equal in value. We have a baseline of not-despicable and our worth is what we make it from there. Let me go off on a tangent before addressing the connotations of words. It's likely that I feel strongly about #equality because I was taught to accept each person as a person, and then I went to kindergarten. Kindergartners can be horrible people. I was mocked for my clothes, for not being able to read, for speaking my mind. I quickly learned how to read, because I could control that. I couldn't choose my own clothes and I couldn't shut up. Still can't. My bestie in Kindergarten came from a Baptist family, and my parents were Catholic. This meant that on any weekend I could go to church up to 5 times, depending how we chose to arrange our...

I like real things, organic things. Sculpting in porcelain, digging in dirt, touching the smooth surface of a marble wall erected centuries ago. Real things break more easily than synthetics - stoneware vs. plastic - but they feel more genuine in your hands and they sound more valid when they bump up against each other. That which is contrived by human machinations feels insufficient. Sometimes you need superficiality, though, like a Band-Aid. Sometimes a bit of fake stuff is useful to hold everything together, like a trash bag. Plasticity is a term that doesn't always apply to synthetics, and it's something you would be wise to grok .  Thank you, Robert A. Heinlein . Don't be mad at yourself - it is good to be flexible. Plastic is better than stone for floating. Try not to get comfortable in it. Try to remember that you're working toward actual brick-and-mortar. Have goals. Float while you must, but aim for the shore and start collecting rocks. 

I have half an art degree. This means that about the time someone tried to teach me how to come up with a logo even if I wasn't in the mood, I switched my major to Communications. There isn't a degree for Oracle at any reputable institution I can find.  You do what you gotta do. I like to wait for inspiration to create art.  I may be coming to the end of a dry season, thanks to a pile of awesome and creative people I know, people who know how to tap the Universe and dispense it to the rest of us in seemingly innocuous ways.  Mari Sloan is one. Mari takes pictures of her world and shares it - her world - with us. I want some Mari Glasses, because I swear everything is joy for her. I don't need Mari Glasses as long as she keeps sharing.  She took a great portrait of turnips . This turned into one of those moments where I say something, and somebody says Make It Happen, and my muse says, "Yeah. This is how you're gonna do that." So last weekend I star...

There are catchphrases out there in webland, circling the lamp like tattered moths:  Dumbing-down of America, Alt-Left, Alt-Right, others I largely ignore, but also this one: Scientists Prove Something You Wanted to Believe. Clickbait .  The popular profile of science is twisting like a plastic pinwheel from the fair. Actual science seems to be dying...or is it? There's good work being done. How do we filter it down to the America that watches Reality TV?   “But the results are the results,” I exclaimed. “Shouldn’t we just let the data tell the story?” He shook his head. “That’s not how science works, Chris. Data don’t tell stories, scientists tell stories.” - Chris Chambers, The 7 Deadly Sins of Psychology  The British Psychological Society published Chris Chambers' own version of the story:   A Vaccine Against Bias - The Psychologist... The article will show you the foundation under the dumbing-down of sensationalist scientific articles so t...