big changes

holy shit, lots has happened in my life.

adele dumped me for someone else. ouch.

i'm over it. yay!

i'm moving up to the northside - hot damn! high time! should i come out to the west coast? should i tour the us/world with my erstwhile, prodigal baobuddies? yes but no. i still have a life here in chicago (booooo).

az where are you?

anyways, the new andersonville place is going to be beautiful. and life is going to be beautiful. and a LOT less stressful. fondest to all, and if you're in the mood for a housewarming, still live in chicago, or wanna reconnect, well it'll happen soon, i wanna see you, and also i'm going to come out west some time in the next coupla months.

ps post #400 woot!

love

leli

Goings on at the bao!

Hallo,

yes it's been a whhililileileiellele since forever, but here we is, still baoing. I have three experiences to share.

1) Iron & Wine played a free mill park show for all of the lovely people of chicago. Yes, all of them - there were so many, the city stopped letting people into the show. So I climbed up a girder and sat on top, behind the park ampitheater thing, to listen to Sam what'shisfaceBeanorsomething croon. Here's some pictures:

2) The garden continues to grow. I can hardly believe it. I find myself very attentive to the weather each day - has it rained recently? Is it going to be way too sunny all day? Sometimes we water twice in a day, sometimes we water twice in a week. that's chicago, anyway. but soon, yes soon, there will even be some veggies to eat. We've been talking about preparing the veggies of our labor and taking them for a picnic to that weird abandoned park building just southeast of the bao, next to the 57th street tunnel under lakeshow.

Anyway, here's some pictures of greenery:

aaaand #3) last night Mark the neighbor came by and juggled balls of fire on the roof. He pulled back his hair so it wouldn't light on fire, and it made him look like a sailor.

till next time!

lelz

a day in the life

welcome to squareville hills forest park place, chicago.
your humble hero mr monster had an epic day down in the hills here which he'd like to share.

item: he finished his project at work. it looks like this:

item: he stole something and got away with it. for the last time...
item: he successfully navigated hell and came away with a fitted, rented, white fucking bowtie tuxedo. speculations as to why may now commence.
item: he did the laundry. oh my gawd is there no end to the madness?
item (yes it keeps going): he paid two, not one but two bills.
item: he met with a prospective personal knife fighting trainer and secured a lesson for the morrow at a very reasonable price.
item: he finally spoke telemetrically with a dear old friend with whom a conversation was long overdue.
item: he beat starfox for the nintendo 64 in record time, he kids you not.
item: he took multiple walks.
item: he took a valium.
item: he watched an entire movie and half an episode of the daily show, all at 1.2x speed.
item: he wrote a poem. holy shit it's been a while. here it is:

twinkle toes & the life of the mind
went for a walk
swung their legs
and peacock tailbones,
winging along.
in focus! they yelled at the offal shoremen.

said twinkle toes to her
gerrymandered friend:
whatever you say, their curves are much too flat.

but i just had them done,
said the life of the mind,
what-all do you mean by that?
twinkle toes crinkled rows
cufflinks all in line
teach me how you kick your heels
toenails oh so fine.

but nicely nicely,
the life of the mind had missed the point
while twinkle toes could only laugh
and never age.

item: he posted in the damn blog! baooooooooooooooooo!

feeling awake vs. being awake

silence so loud: so this is the life of the infinite? i is alive, i is awake?
why so much wondering pursuing my life if i am indeed alive.
am i to go through it
ever propping up the illusion that i am awake? it´s a fine thing so far. after all, the illusion has given me dancing, good food, gardens, forests, bikes, funny haircuts, costumes, great sex, electric ideas so much! is this the climax? maybe illusion is not the right word: it suggests regret, disingenuity, failure. not what i am going for! never!
but no matter how many ideas i go through i am not safe; i am safe when i do, when i act, when i am .

i notice when i want to feel alive i reach for the typical things: hiking, traveling, newness, hitching, gardening, camping, la-la, fucking, beautiful company etc
all greats things, especially when shared
but there still is a lingering something that suggests more
for a wild grove of youth.
knowing what we may know
what we feel,
are times urgent?
is there something going on?
something going down?
haven´t we been talking like something is?
is there something we should be doing together?
we this beautiful pile of imagination, youth, will, creativity, bodies, wonder kids
are we waiting for something?
have we waited too long?
not taken our connections and experiences together as faith in something promising and important?
are we just going to float on?
is there something to be realized before georgraphy and memory have their way with us?
is place our fate? what about something nomadic?

fear love stability home loneliness will have something to say about this, i bet they will.

these are all real questions and not just round about ways of stating stuff

lately i do not fall asleep at night
i put myself down on things to try
but what happens is something like
my self opening up like a strange flower.
crumbling away into dream, trust, excitement
i am brimming with something terrible and wonderful
i see your faces, and your light.
our voices, talking
we´re moving somewhere
the world is watching
because it is interested in love, courage, possibilities of the young.

i dont write this to be romantic. i cannot sleep. i dont know what
to do. that´s probably the important part.
at least, i have it down somewhere accessible to all of you.
not locked in my notebook.

at the madison infoshop

so geez i guess ive been in madison for three-and-a-half weeks now and haven't written anything on this here blog.
in the begnning i collected little sentences/snippets in my mind to share with you all: "i live in a home without keys" "both of the toilet flushers are sticky" "i have a carpet in my bedroom" "i don't want to assume that i can just absorb clint's friendships by association" "i have a door i have a door i have a door what do i do with this thing"

anyway but now that sort of amazement of the difference of mundanities is fading. except for every time clint says "bag" i still can't believe the wisconsin accent exists. (you should have heard my reaction to "snaggletooth"! he seriously said "snaeggle tooth" wow so cool!). my muscles have grown accustomed to the 3-block long hill i climb every day to get to school. I'm used to how still and beautiful my house looks with the white day light streaming through the red curtains and the hundreds of hankies hanging from the ceiling. the garden keeps on growing. flowers turn to squash turn to dinner. this house is so beautiful you guys. i can't wait for some of you to see it. (whoever comes, that is)

so my madison legs are growing you see. i dont feel as rootless, as vulnerable. the people i meet/have met are interesting/ed, friendly, supportive.

z:"guys, i really don't know about this kichadi, i think i fucked up. i think it's gonna be boring."
c:"you're doin it, you're doin it. at least you fucked up authoritatively and with confidence."
clint's comment made me realize i would never have done that until recently (past 2 months or so..."since india" i guess.) I am appreciated for what I bring to the home... no-knead bread, sweet oatmeal, banana bread, silly cartoons, the butt game (& "up your butt"), an appreciation of sphincters in general, dancing and singing, and a desire to live in the public communal space.
the roost enriches and supports the faux op, and i know when i return to chicago the faux op will nourish me there. i've introduced many roostisms: certain faces (maybe you know the one in particular to which i refer-- teeth out, nom nom), certain reports (fake chastising and self-deprecation). oh and BAO!
baos here at the faux op sound slightly different-- a little more like a dog's song. more at the front of the mouth. i find myself baoing much more here than in hyde park, though it's been less and less this past week. my first weeks here i couldn't stop. it was a home-noise. it made me feel comfortable & expressive when riding my bike, walking into and around the house...
===================
hours later, at home, i'm trying to finish up this post. i had so much more to write about, where did it all go? i am rolling and smoking cigarettes here, so that's a newish thing.

oh yes yes, the rain is coming, i hear it coming down. i live on a busy street, i hear the cars rolling by. i hear the folky acousticy music noah is playing downstairs in the lab where he grows mushrooms. oh rain.
i have been sleeping in the front room here. I don't like walking into my room at night and lying on my big empty mattress and closing the door (well, the door stays open). i dont like the sanctioning of space as mine. most of the time. it makes masturbating a lot easier than in the roost (wow. that was complicated, or at least obnoxious.)
though i have decorated the walls with little pieces of nice paper, reminding me of people and places. it all seems too quaint, too discreet.

so i sleep in the front room on a futon, usually after staying up too late talking and reading watership down with clint. a detrimental habit for both of us, as we wake up around 7:30 and make oatmeal and coffee and talk some more.
and then i go to hindi class. hours of sitting down in a grey room in a grey building with tiny 1-foot wide windows, talking about india. weird. but i have made some buddies there and like the social atmosphere very much.
it's time for me to write 10 sentences using the past-participle-adjectival construction ("the came-from-school boys"), and then drink some tea/tinctures and fall asleep.
I look forward to welcoming those of you who are in chicago into my home soon. july 16th to be exact. if you are hesitant to take a break from chicago, or feel busy... just give madison a chance. we can go biking to an old-growth campsite and look at STARS (so many stars) and stencil, garden, make food, bike around, go swimming, go to a local microbrew's beer tasting (every friday 4 to 7 at star liquors), etc etc. lots of fun lovely people await just 150 miles north!
love
-zee

WHAT

whattttt. i ACTUALLY just walked in on gabe and vlad fucking.
(amid considerations of deterritorialization and newagery and deep beats and bodyrhythms)
i saw--gabe was on top and vlad looking quietly thrilled and when i supportively shrieked "what!"
gabe ran away
leaving vlad's asshole a little lonely (sorry vlad)
and the room smelling of farts, cigarettes, and furry lovemaking

2:18a.m. moments at the bäo. priceless.
oh, gabe's here to talk about it. can cat tails wag? cause i think he's interested

you can lick my face anytime

here's my soupy soup
i thought about sending this in an email but for now i'm putting it here until i decide that it's okay to press the send button (these things can mean a lot and for some it might be toooooo much)

wow wow wow
i have warm burbles of love for all of you
i'm on the edge of tears - IN A NICE WAY, i must say
such that my eyes are always a little warm
and the edges of my vision blurred and soft so our world is a little dreamy
and my skin a little prickly
i feel fizzles between us
and though i am ZONKED, i like it and i like you
yes YOU, i'm looking at you
pretty mess-maker, joy-dancer, toe-wiggler, happy glowworm
at YOU life-good-maker, family-friend-lover
to whom i am grafted

i would briefly like to thank the universe
and its chaos
for coalescing to bring us-me-you here
THANKS ENTROPY (or rather let's measure ourselves on the spectrum thereof)!
you are a treat
you smell goodbad
you are nastytasty-tastynasty

aw shucks
i wanna hide in my hair
but i totally want you to get underneath it too
and we can live in a little tent
of my SAMSONITE hair
because i am so proud of you, to be with you and near you
because you are strong and beautiful and enticing and so so smart
so there you go

soupy-sappy-lovelove
you can lick my face anytime

fuck europe

for eating all of my money. fucking a.

this is an unimaginative post, it's just me sharing links. then i'll get off the screen and go to the barn.

Saturday evening in Pune someone bombed the German Bakery. Now the count is 9 dead, 60 injured. I wonder if the U of C will do a program there next year.. it's a funny city. I don't know why anyone would target the Pune German Bakery over any of the other ones in the country. Maybe proximity to the Osho Ashram? (AKA the Sex Ashram, it's an expensive place to go and very popular with western tourists. and they hang out at the german bakery a lot. it's a good place to meet creeps and drink kombucha and watermelon juice (mmmm), eat green hummus and really really good coffee-chocolate cake). I guess Headley (one of the main guys involved in planning the 26/11 attacks in Bombay last year) visited the Osho last year, scoped it out. so maybe... well anyway. this happened. feels weird.

completely unrelated to that
I've been listening to the radio because the CD player in my parents car is still broken from when justin, alonso and I went to Maine last december. 1) it's all gaga 2) if it's not gaga, it's me trying to figure out what magic is contained in the refrains of these three songs
Replay by Iyaz

Whatcha Say by Jason Derulo

Let's Hear it for New York by Jay Z and Alicia Keys

there's something in these refrains that makes me feel something. it comes from outside of me and i feel good or strong, or like driving faster, or like singing loudly and bouncing up and down. also present in the Kaskade Remix of Break the Ice by Britney (~50 seconds in). this sort of feeling I think is unique to pop. it feels contrived, dirty, manufactured. it's like the assholes who made that song "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night" knew they were gonna make it big.

i think it's that aaj kal (these days) I'm supersensitive to media. I feel like I'm overloading, I'm hyperstimulated. my mind's been whirling a mile a minute, even now when I'm alone with my dog in the house. I can't be quiet except when I went to the Quaker meeting house on sunday. i'm so excited and confused to be back and but i haven't yet given myself any responsibilities that come with home. whirr whirr whirring with activity and a low balance on my bank account. waahfladjklfa ca

but while we're on the topic of youtube,
check out Julia's Bad Romance video (julia is mine and justin's friend. she lives in Mass and made this video for something at her school. &she won!)

oh also wayyyyy to much gaga. i'm taking a break for a while. probably until j comes back. (a week)

repurposing my pen, my nosehairs, my skin

picture this: an eliot pokes its head out of a hole in the ground. the earth shakes a little (remniscent of a faraway quake in chicagoland near eliot's fellow creatures). at once, the eliot leaps out of the hole bearing a huge machete (all-purpose tool) and dirt flies everywhere, spattering blisters and waterfalls and guavas as it races into the bamboo trees. "i live in your dreams!" it screams with delight.

got through rio de janeiro safely, albeit a slight delay because we missed our bus...
now we're in rio pomba!
picked up from the bus station at 2a.m. by a man with a beau-ti-ful head of dreadlocks (you know wwoofing has turned out well when-) and a smaller man, both of them thin and tightly muscled. when you drive the 12km out to the farm, there are lots of monoculture fields of sugarcane, corn, coffee. and then once we arrived (the '86 volkswagen fixed with a pebble, the sky held up with a twig, the mountains eroding because there are no trees anymore to hold up the ground), we were met with something remniscent of a baohaus, rural-ized, in progress, partially roofed, made of cement blocks with ambitions of bioconstruction...the bath is a waterfall and the water, for once, is infinite.

cycles cycles which fit together as cleanly as wet adobe on a wall:
- humans eat fruit and vegetables, goats eat peels and compost, remains are perfect for plants; everyone is nourished.
- tree is cut for building, small pieces used for fire, dust and chips are used for compost toilet; forest thrives with increased light.
- cows eat grass, cow manure is sifted for soil to germinate delicate seeds, remains are used for plants; perhaps the cows are glad.
and in this light, everything begins to fit together: reverse or ignore the crumbling institutions which struggle to salvage ethical ways of living in this world and instead, instead, take a word from the permaculturists and anarchoprimitivists (ritual fits in to, comes easily in a place where the ground, i, and all inbetween are connected somehow).

the first day we were here, we mixed adobe and sand and dirt and grass and some sugar and made adobe, covered a wall of the house. since, az and i have continued to do work on the land (digging huge holes for banana circles, cutting bamboo forest and cleaning long stalks, sifting manure, cleaning found roof tiles) as well as having time-space to draw, paint, designar. my fingers are blistering and callusing but also rememememembering agility and i've been drawing yogic poses, psychedlic plants (oohhh! apparently mushies grow on cow pats here! pray for rain for me plzzz), designs, some rolling hills. artur asked if we could paint the side of the house, not sure i'm ready for that but working up to it.

saving saving saving my sexual energy, the one functionality of my body that, it seems, isn't in use these days.

this morning, i woke up and made a fire to make oatmeal
tonight, we go by bus back to the city
the cars, the smoke, the cops, the corruption and the favelas falling falling like shoeboxes from the top of your closet (or my glasses from my chicagobed)
i've harvested a few choice things from the forest for a carnaval costume...we'll see
i asked az if i should wear my strapon and she said "better not attract undue attention"
unlikely to become a guiding principle in my life, though it is something i am learning and navigating amidst my slowly slowly improving portuguese. (sometimes these moments of invisibility, along with the moments of sprawling distinct euphoria, make me long for the bao.)

oh also! i am sublimating my desire to pick scabs/bugbites into a habit of picking my nose (more). i think it's working!

love to all,
remember your dreams.

i leave india in 8 days

i cant believe it; that is wild to me
i am on ze frenchmans computer and i am typing so slowww all the keys are trés trés different but i also have my pick of transliteration into one of five indic scripts.
also SHABASH tamara-ji shabash on an amazing post i will be thinking about for a while. (also your name on this keyboard is "tq,qrq" if i dont pay attention.)

anyway i thought to write because a few nights ago i baoed to the multitude late at night and it had been, oh, so many months, at least five! i explored the range of possible baos for mmaybe ten minutes and petered out and went to sleep inside. that morning i had met a british woman going into retreat for four years. that means no leaving the monestary or talking or communication with loved ones for four years. no baoing for four years... bao is a social thing for me; privately i know that i prefer LA and often BLAH is perfect. it surprises me that hinduism and buddhism have this om as the sound that is everything, for everyone, but maybe thats what the belief in an absolute truth is.
that same day i was reading the teachings of don juan out in the yard and an old family friend walked in for lunch. he asked me what i was reading and i began to explain to him vaguely with difficulty what it was about. apparently he had read all four in the series when they first came out.

----

this post has been a draft (btw I love reading other people's drafts) for 2 days, when it was 10 days until i leave the country. it's still a little half-baked but i'm going to put it out here anyway. see some of you relatively soon.
-zed out

Saber T. wrote this last night.

all:
can we all channel the same thoughts at the same time IN THE SAME WAY? are we thinking the same actual thoughts or just the same words.
tamara is sleeping
eliot's was a physical contribution. let me translate in words: I LOVE YOU and i am so just at peace with everything and have an opinion in the form of vics vapo rub on your lip

oh no! i'm gonna post later! leaving to get the book, back ltr. love ethan toast doobs mcgee

jake is gonna think of somethin really really good. he's here that's enough

sara goes by SABER

tamawa's symbol like prince is blowing rivulets of air, it's beautiful, also the texture of brad's hair is beautiful!

todd's brain is made of cookie dough ice cream
todd turned a whopping good age on the second of this month!

guinea piggggs

summupance

an update:
welcome to meghan/m.t.raptor to this box of bundling and bed of buddiness.

tonight i sprouted
and flew.
biking [in the rain] is so good (, even if it's down 55th street.)

my buddy sav is moving to washington d.c. it is strange to see a buddy diasporating. maybehopefully she will join the blog.

tonight is full of swirls
the baohaus is dark and full of cats.
and me.

love to all who are here and elsewhere.
a

Puddle brains: a fairytale

I want to post because it's been a whole whopping two days since someone wrote something and this blog should writhe like the tentacles its named after. But, I'm sleepy and it's very cold outside so my brains have denatured (oh you say but heat makes things denature not cold - that's why this is fairytale obvi) and I can't think of much to say. Other than:

I saw Toast's doppleganger today near Millenium Park.

I want to be in Edinburgh so badly right now.

I wish my hair were a duvet so I could fall asleep in it at work.

And with the sandwich of thoughts, I have a question! Are there any signifiers, archetypes, characters, totems, or historical figures you heavily identify with? This inquiring puddle mind wants to know.

the rolling ball and being behind, in front of, and on top of it

it is quite possible
that this couch,
in the halflight of our living room,
has powers to suck people in.
i have experienced this.

onto other squidling topics...i feel my tentacles tingling a little.
the past few days have been somewhat immemorable. a few moments:
watching some kids at weiser concoct vegannaise out of olive oil and tofu and stuff.
smearing menstrualblood-ish dye into my hair and scalp, blood everywhere.
scavenging and cooking (of epic proportions) with hausmates...a cacophony of smells and delightz.

tuesday night i bedecked myself for rocky horror at the roots collective. sporting a new(old) leather vest and black-and-white striped tights and a full head of black curls, i reexperienced how fucking hot tim curry is and raised my voice in praise of cultfilm genderbending. wow. we played combat kissing in the yard and i weaved home on my bike, clicking away and hoping no cars got in my way.

then i dreamt that i went to a music festival somewhere in indiana! there were lots of groups of students and their teachers. food for students was free but they only had banana muffins and teacher food (cheese) cost 2-5 cents. i didn't have any money. then there were some anarchists, all scruffy men, organizing some kind of action.

i have been sprouting collard greens and catnip in the house and it is so so ready to be planted in the garden so that's what i'm off to do now.

sorry this is boring. sometimes (but only occasionally, if you live in the baohaus), life is boring.

Just a thought...

Gabe's Ballad: Balmy Summer Nights

Frankenstein appeared on the river and he leapt into a pile of smoldering leaves. He turned and saw the herd of oxen bearing down on him. "I'm really not that artistic, but like BAOOOOAHHHAOOOHAHHHHH," and scarred for life in the best way ever, the boy leapt down the rocks and pummeled to his death. But an old woman found his shoe sticking out of the junkyard of life. She unwrapped her shawl and filled the shoe with her spit. Pass, she threw it to the leapard that had appeared in drag on the rocks. The leapord adjusted his polka dotted tophat and smiled with a devious grin. "My my, what have we here." I'm just listening to this, but I'm bored BAOOHHHHAAOOWWOWWW. I think I see the development of a crazy cat woman. The woman drenched herself with the loafer-spit and laughed manically. My head is empty! said the leapard. No, that's what they said. Fake fishing. I'm leaving this room, BAAAAHHAWWOWWW. Now stop a moment, fuckwad, let's backtrack.
Frankenstein, looking for meaning in his life, decided to teach the leapard to dance. The leapard stretched out his elegantly painted claws to flip the switch on his stereo which began to blast songs of the old ages. She stood on one paw, her whiskers quivering in the moonlight. They meet a dolphin that can walk on land. It teaches them techno. They entered into a romance, all three of them, that will go down in the annals of polyamory. But their love affair did not last long. It shone brilliantly like a star, and then burnt out. That is all. Shortly thereafter, and only briefly before the apocalypse, there was a festival of mammoth proportions. Hamsters on a wheel, a human ferris wheel. They were celebrating the coming apocalypse and engaging in orgiastic raving. Religious leaders commanded them to eat 300 clementines each and glues the skins to their skin. Unfortunately, the jubilant people could not find enough women named Clementine. Many many miles away a woman named Clementine rode through the ocean in a small boat filled with marshmallows. Clemetine was omnilingual, she spoke all languages, including the language of the ocean and the trees and the wind. But when deprived of marhsmallows, alas, she was deaf and dumb. BAAAOOOAAAOWWWOWW. She ate all her marshamallows, called the apocalypse, but didn't hear it, so she survived. Vegan marshmallows will not save you on a boat. Don't eat marshallows because the apocalypse will get you.

and when i come it will be on your face (book)

fellows, friends, fish,

my first post has been long in coming.

some of us are -- the point is that coming is not the point.

so here i am. long and unstructured.

i will begin with a few disasters, since that seems an appropriately low starting point from which to soar, tentacles flying and jelly shivering:

a few days ago the noble 5491 residents (five bodies with about 1818 tentacles apiece, give or take) awoke from greener pastures to realize that gabriel had been MIA for several days. our distress was manyfold, as gabriel was not well-equipped for his adventures. rolly and i mournfully inquired at open produce and steven, sleepless by mysterious mewing, referred us to his apartment complex where a lone cat mewed for nights. gabriel has now been located in a holding chamber full of cats at someone's mom's house. his re-arrival is greatly anticipated.

earlier this week i went to homewood to breathe the suburban air but my reverie was interrupted by the firecrackered burning of four cars in the vicinity of z's house. what oddities do not make it to the news! a family van, a much-loved corvette, a garaged car...haphazard destruction that did not have the trappings of heartfelt ecoterrorism. many people were sad and confused.

a few other miscellaneous small tragedies include the crippling of innocent bicycles (a streak of unluck that has plagued both rolly and i, winknight) and several small dead animals on the road. also, many bug bites.

but bug bites are the marks of more pleasing things and as i itch the clusters of angry bugkisses behind my ears, i am reminded of rolly & nautilus & my epic venture into the indiana dunes national park, a headlong tripping into a very boggy middle earth. we snuck easily into the park and refused to submit to a confusing system of marked paths until we found ourselves deep in an orc-ridden area and subject to millions of unwanted advances by amorous insects. then with unexpected significance nautilus said, and i quoth, "i wish we had a flying car" and within moments, a small cart zoomed down the path toward us. we begged and pleaded and plunked in the bed of the cart-car and accompanied the confused (and stoned?) park garbage-collectors on their adventurous route. we found ourselves at the opposite end of the park with dusk (the fateful hour of car-towing) fast approaching. hitching was mostly unsuccessful and saddening but then our cart-driving friend picked us up laughing at our absurdity (hikers who've hiked too adventurously! strange maps! middle earth is not for humans!) and the homeward trek was most satisfying.

i decided to spend this summer in chicago, hoping my grumbling disaffection for the city would flower and transform itself. i have had many adventures thusfar, most of them not of my own making--that is, i grew into the impression that i had to create projects and adventures and objects for my passion. but this summer has been explorations of new scenes (burning man, anarchist, wicker park, kinky) and tentacular beings, experiences had and wormholes into greater adventures. i have not fallen in love with chicago, but that is not for lack of potential adventures. and i am tired tired of wicker park, though the person at quimby's winks at me sometimes.

a few other brief notes that are determining (though not overdetermining) my current existence.

yesterday i created the prototype for my new, d.i.y., multi-step, gorgeous dildofriend. it has a star on it. as i stroked the clay to remove my fingerprints, i wondered what to put in the core of my wand. any ideas? what would you put in the core of your wand?

on tuesday z & justin are heading westward to shock their lives into living and in pursuit of the enigmatic spiritual answers available only (in limited quantity) in india and mexico (and peru). they will be missed.

i went to the next generation "kink munch" at ambrosia cafe in lincoln park. apparently the kink scene is a) entirely in lincoln park b) full of tentative and math-loving uchicagoans c) bougie/expensive/overpriced/capitalism-entrenched as can be. i learned about fireplay and fire floggers and fire cupping and was intrigued.

last night from the front porch i yelled a revolutionary cry seeping with passion and loneliness, love and despair, confusion and straightforward insistence:

BAO

BAOBAO

BAO?

BAO BAO BAO BAO BAO.

BAoooooooooooo!