yo
i mean
i want to stay home
gnashing on percy pigs on my bed
and getting sticky fingers
because i'm not really eating
but sucking on em like somebody's watching me
and maybe shoving my sugar digits
down into my incomprehensibly neon underoos
twisting the thought of pretty boys who call me daddy all up in a tight knot in my tum

yo
i mean
caaaaaalllll meeeeeee
let's dress up in Lisa Frank and silk and listen to Robitussin dreams aired on the radio from Atlanta
we'll challenge ourselves to not touching intoxicants til the sun goes down
because
as you know
days feel loveliest when you are up early
and nap in the mid afternoon to smoke your first cigarette around 4
let's play "everybody's watching" and act accordingly
HEELS, DIP-DYE, INSTAGRAM, FOOD FIGHTS, WHATEVER, DUCK LIPS
and then around 9
i'll take something
you'll take something
so we can see the whole night
when morning rolls around
let's pretend we get paid to eat breakfast
"any kind of work is drudgery"

i'm not going down with the rest of the downtrodden
so put on your candy-colored socialite suit
act accordingly

things are not always as they seem

baaaah! [chirp chirrrup] [cluclucluCLLAAA] [phhhhhhhhhhh] [druh druhh druh] [flapflapflap] [breathe--in. breathe--out]
i find myself (over and over though some parts run faster than others crawl)
on a ranch out in fiddletown--
some things same old,
semi-retired corporate giant
turtlenecks and all food names in french or italian and
every story is a one-upper and he knows the best about everything
starts farm on some land with his womanfriend
then she leaves
and he invites wwoofers in to let the goats in and out to graze
to count the sheep
to feed the dogs
to wonder what the garden used to look like
to imagine artists standing on each others' shoulders to make these huge graffiti murals
at times beautiful and at times absurd among blood-vessel-manzanita trees and live oaks.

same old
community of a kind over cardune gratin and oxtail stew
some kind-of-friends over for dinner and
he's hopped up on vicodin
[he pulls me in to dance (/cuddle)]
and asks why such a beautiful girl is trying so hard not to look like a girl
and why i'm hiding my boobs
and why i cut all my hair
when i'm such a beautiful girl,
[he squeezes my knee]
halfway through dinner
he just wants to know, just one question,
do i like cock?
susan drops her fork and
shannon pours her vicodinified lover another glass of wine
trying to restore the thin veil that was pulled away from her lover's mind
and steve apologizes afterward
and swears he'll never have him over again
and i'm bored already

same old
wine-tasting in amador county and
maggie (the other wwoofer, who's a little depressed)
puts on makeup and i my suspenders and we put on our british accents
hailing all the way from sedgewick hop from red wine to red wine
all brewed in our honor
and i say in the car "you know, i find all these people quite boring"
and we're both tipsy with names of thick-skinned grapes floating in our ears

same old
i wake in the middle of the night, pry open my eyes to see if it's light
go back to sleep
start a fire in the morning that gets rained out by noon
surprise steve by trying the oxtail stew
an ox i never met raised and killed by steve's doctor who lives right up the road

same old, i start to think of moving
living on the land i start to think in seasons, years, generations, centuries,
the time it takes a tree to grow, an inch of topsoil to lie down in the forest,
my mind thinking in moments, tiny dramas, eurekas
my travelling body feeling in two- and three-day stints (it's been three here and i'm starting to itch for another life), months at the most

even after so little time here (in the scheme of a tree)
i'm leaning elsewhere, towards laughter and love and spirited vision, a new book of poetry, communities that celebrate and cook together, nourishing our foundations and not just living day-to-day,
wondering too what path i'm on, what the story is of where i'm going with bits of grass and mushroom slime on the back of my hands and a bag of zines and tinctures
when i'll meet up with my kindred (which are to be found in every tree but also today feel rather far away)--

on boredom and what ensues

the rains are here and
soft animal bodies slow down, idle hands pick up books, and
this weekend i found myself bored to be idle bored to be breathing,
losing passion and excitement for small things--
what does a body used to being busy do with all this time,
when plants are going quiet and becca-goat's milk is drying up
and the animals are thinking of fucking and sleeping quiet
and the food is getting stored away for snowed-in days.
i forgot about this!
i forgot that when things get cold bodies get quiet too,
more thinking and planning and appreciating.
i meditated on boredom for an hour. then i looked at the leaves for a while.
this time of year they are beautiful here...green and red and yellow on the white oaks.
dancing in and out of oakmoss sculptured empires.

today i made fresh ravioli with squash & collard green filling and white sauce and navy bean soup and rice pilaf! we burned a big pile of wood, railroad bits and pieces of stuff and brush--a huge bonfire that went all day and we took turns tending. the first frosts have already come and much in the garden died with it though kale and chard are still goin strong. and the rains came! bringing some cold cold misery and some delight--the ground softening and wriggling a little in its descent toward sleep. no longer having to water baby trees and strawberries and the little ginseng plants that are struggling to make it in this strange unfamiliar climate. i had a slumber party with steve and ethan and we read some lewis carroll...other relationships are flourishing too, conversations with walt about patriarchy (always) and i led/mediated a convo about the gender roles/expectations folks were raised with (became mostly a convo about family structures, but definitely breaking ground-setting stage for future conversations).

i have also been thinking of
autonomy and independence, developing and having
chest surgery, talking to my parents about
clothes in urban/rural places, wearing and having feelings about
desiring and loving, differentiating between and embracing
families, creating chosen
fear, finding and routing out
friendships, nurturing sexual and divided-by-space-or-time and intimate
gender, initiating conversations about
hate and enmity, the value or lack of value of
"natural" "law," what is, if anything
quiet, allowing myself to be
shakers, gardening practices of the
sluthood, everything about
traveling, doing-being-becoming-planning

that is something,
i am feeling glad to be in the world today
glad you are too

for the good life is out there somewhere, so stay on my arm you little charmer

from my journal at 7:30am today, or 8pm on monday 4 u, 

dunno if it will be interesting at all

what IS interesting, is that it is RAINING

not as hard as it did i'm sure during winknight's stay in summer 05, but wow i was soaked earlier walking to and from dance. i haven't seen a rain like this in... who knows. certainly not in washington nor in pune so far. so june or july in chicago. it's wonderful except that the water on the street is full of ambiguous matter.

ok ok.

i'm at home [in hyde park] talking to justin on gmail, skype, phone or something. he is at the baohaus, i have to go soon [to india? somewhere permanent, so there is an urgency] but i want to see justin before i leave but i project that he is reluctant or doesn't think it is important [or like seeing me when i'm about to leave would just open up new wounds or something so it's better not to see each other at all... a familiar train of thought for me]. i go there and find my vest/package, sand, no rock, cigarette wrapper from cigs i bought in bombay. justin is kinda sorta in the other room[i originally typed 'kinda aorta'!].. i don't think i actually physically see him. [second or third dream where this happens! i havent seen justin in weeks]. i go through give away boxes of clothes and take a striped shirt from ali. 

SWITCH

i'm wrapping electrical chords around irons, playing "like a virgin" by madonna, britney, and christina [remember that vma performance where they kissed and it was scandalous?]. then scene change to wearing wobbly high heels (like from the kingfisher swimsuit calendar model reality tv show) at a dilapidated opera house. amulya mandava is claiming something about rewriting/organizing some great music masterpiece of orchestral music by a composer i don't like but i can't remember who, now. the stairs are difficult. i hear someone say "it won 2 tonys". when we get to the lobby i'm with granny, granddad, and mom. the opera-food-place is baking $3 cookies and granny remarks that they're finally baking their own, and needs to throw something out. 

SWITCH

in a mildly dilapidated grand building [the opera house after being abandoned in 50 years? which reminds me of the train station in bombay... marble floors and nice stairs, but dirt and funny smells everywhere]. i'm finding anastasia and ali, they're in class or something. i'm doing something with blue ink. it's raining and coming through the roof. i pee while walking down the grand-ish stairs [same scene as walking down stairs in opera house, only no high heels and i'm with a&a] . i'm not wearing pants. there might be more. a&a are nonchalant, not interested in me.

then? the interview with the nice couple, how they met. through craigslist. a cute ad. they have fun! they do such n such! then i see he has a computer. on the side of the building. it is big, about 3 feet tall-- looks like "tsunami dream" comp of my dad's. outside, still colonial bombay architecture, 

THEN do i go to the part where i am part of a murder scheme? i waylay someone (the target?) by reading something to them, and then a guy down the street shoots them. i move on and question the ethics of what i just did. maybe that person was hannah because i also dreamt that i read a long sentence from a yellow paper that was my high school transcript with multiple clauses, conflicting imagery, weird vocab, also claiming that india was in africa. hannah said "what does that even mean?" ad we're like yeah wtf i dunno. 

also at some point i'm stretching in some kind of gym class and my legs look more like granny's and a little diamond-like shaped (like harlequin babies) and some dude shares that he used to know a kid who had it who could never poop. but that when he was a kid his poops were too watery. maybe the kid with weird skin died? or had some other strange ending. 

============

that's the end of my journal entry. wow it was boring, but i was so excited writing it this morning. i can pretty much clearly identify where all of these images situations and feelings come from in my conscious life, so in a way, i thought that sharing this with you all lets you know how my unconscious is processing the stuff i'm seeing thinking feeling and talking about. instead of writing those things down directly. home, love, place, bodily discomfort, language, death, buildings, art, where the fuck i am/am i.

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.

i think the gay rodeo is this weekend

on saturday justin and i took the 8:10 ferry from port angeles across the strait of juan de fuca to victoria, the capitol of british columbia. 
where we didn't get any stamps in our passports, so we might have not gone at all.
we intended it to be a day trip-- most of the time we walked around looking for food. we found a vegan buffet called "green cuisine" which charges you by the kilogram! i ate 5 kilograms of food once. we bought yummy beer and wine and drank it, and then stole magnetic hematite from the royal museum of britsh columbia (which wanted to charge us $18.50  piece to get in). we have this new code of ethics where if you want something and it costs too much then you take it... i think i've only paid for chocolate once or twice on this trip. there was this AMAZING chocolate company called organicfair which we got a TON of different flavors. also got a baseball cap and beauty and the beast. basically the day was spent feeling bored and illegitimate beausewe didn't want to spend money and yet we spent a lot of it. 
we went to catch the 6:15 ferry but it was full! we decided not to take the 7:30 (and have to get picked up begrudgingly at 9pm) and just stay the night. immediately we began approaching moderately hip young people to ask what was going on that night. we got varied responses and decided to hit up the vegan buffet again before it closed at 8. we asked the cashier with platinum blond hair shabed on one side and 8 inches long on the other...she told us some new places and then we asked her the real question "sorry to ruin this pure exchange, but where can we get drugs?" "look, this is not a pure exchange, this is victoria." and she ran out to get a buddy of hers who had just left. after dinner we hung out with this buddy and 2 others behind a dumpster, drinking beer, smoking spliffs, and talking about rocks and breakups until it was time to buy acid from the bouncer of a nearby metal club. i have never so obviously bought drugs in my life... amazing. about 7 US$ for a hit, pas mal. then we followed colin and john (i'll call him john, i never learned his name the whole night!) to colin's house where a party was growing. colin lives in a magical relic from the 19th century-- used to be the mayor's house. wood paneled with a cozy kitchen, a co-op full of seemingly interesting hip indie mid to late 20s types. colin was growing kombucha in his room which was delicious. and then the DJ started. i danced and took breaks all night, learning so many names (mine was elliot- which i've used before i knew ali used it too. after all, our real names are similar), eating fresh mulberry cheesecake, talking about permaculture, dancing, not getting high (bogus acid grr), feeling not at home and out of place, being worried, turning down an offer to dance with megan who had just complimented my dancing because i dont think i actually know how to dance with someone. and realizing that no one there was actually that interesting to me...  that was strange. it was like everyone had died sort of. i would never want to live in victoria...
so at about 2:30 j and i approached colin and asked to sleep on his balcony. he made a nest of blankets and it was cold outside but we were very warm, burritoed in by our sweaters and comforters. we pretended we were on a ship, sleeping under the stars with sheets as sails and the badly played clarinet (somewhere in the distance) as seagulls.
woke up 5 hours later to creep out and catch the ferry, and uneventful and nappy ride. we weren't looking forward to hitching the 10 mile ride back to the farm (buses dont run on sundays), but we met a guy in country aire (the health food store) who drove us all the way home! he lives right in town and he drove us out to the farm... wow. people like him are great to find when you are tired of being errant and just want to sleep. his name is bill, he used to work for 20 years for the rock division of warner brothers records, in artist relations. he says john fogerty is a jerk and the barenaked ladies are nice guys. we gave him one of our many stolen chocolates.
it's nearly noon here and i haven't done any work yet. bean picking? uprooting canadian thistle? i hate working here. i just want to eat and play and hike. and find psychedelic mushrooms.
so that was my 26 hours in canada. a little alienating and a lot of chocolate.