Vladdy's Revenge

Where's Vladimir?
today i threw out my car. it was heavy and it didn't fit in te dumpster but i gave the garbageman one hundred dollars that i was just gonna snort things with anyway and he helped me fit it in. it only crunched a little. then we threw out the kitchen sink, and after that we were done!
the house was empty
only, then lokchi came over with the vet in her pocket and said, "ok, guys, where are the cats?"
well, i remembered that my last load of laundry had been more lumpy, also more meowey, so i ran downstairs to rescue gabe from the wash.
only, i had to stop and eat a cheese sandwich.
then i rescued gabe from the wash and said to lokchi: "here they are!"
but lokchi shook her head from side to side, mournfully almost, and i remembered the other one.
HE WAS KNOW WHERE TO BE FOUND...

so we went up stairs and got out the risk board. i was green tmo was yellow. lokchi was blue (!!). nobody won, because we got bored first, but first we played for six hours. Then we were bored. then we heard the soft pitter patter of the soft pitter patter of the soft pitter patter of vladdick's little paws on the dirty, dirty floor.
the end.

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

Poopsicle.

"On these warm days, I feel a strange sense of foreboding, as if something is about to go terribly, terribly wrong," quoth I to Ricky Dicky Micky Sticky Licky Douchebag. "I love marijuana cigarettes," quoth he to me. I think, "I should be a wall, not a person."

Today, this week, this month I find myself incapable of abstraction but capable of abstract psychology. I whirl around naming hang-ups and neuroses. "Seek counseling" quoth the counselor. "You would," quoth I. But I am far too busy analyzing to be analyzed. I refuse the flocked chaise but I'm putting baby there all the time. Brecht and Artaud gather snot in their noses to smear on me at a later date. "Look at yourself, concerned with persons not people!" Then they mime masturbation. I feel sassed.

Inevitably, I come back to the fact that there is often a cat in our bathtub chasing his tail or cats hissing at each other in the hall. These are points of contention for me above all others. I cannot name this feeling, because it is not so much a feeling as a symbol that has no signifiers but feels like a symbol for my life anyway. When I see them I think, "Am I waiting for grown-upness to happen to me? I wait for a lot to happen to me. I am in the waiting-room all the time. In the waiting-room reading the boring-ass, crappy fucking magazines about things I don't care to know." Cats make me think. Maybe it's the smell.

What I am saying is, I fold. Count me out.


I am too childish to play this game. My dad beats me at Monopoly, he's been doing it for nearly twenty-two years and I still tear up a little. "Look at yourself," quoteth Brecht and Artaud, "sell back our books to the bookstore and give back that one you 'borrowed' because your fingers are stinging our pages." "You would," quoteth I. Then I snot on them before they can snot on me. "Ha" I say. "You would" quoth they.

So much for being a sophisticate. For being urbane or academic. So much for being abstract. I guess I won't be the caftan wearing type.

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

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!