she was right-side up half the time
2007-11-16 1:46 a.m.

we have a siamese cat named pat morita that won't stop shitting. of course i'm the only witness to this, because i chose not to go out to the top tonight. instead i wear my favorite black coat and my fingerless gloves and my pink hat and

quite a bit of eyeliner. for who?

lately i've been sad. no abstractness there. all right. i've been sad, but last night i wrote in my paper diary (funny to say that), and i wrote a list of all the things that make me sad.

not things like abused dogs or homeless veterans, though those are sad, too. i mean i listed very specific situations that push a button and open a garage full of dead bats in me.

then i felt one step further away from the edge.

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actually i loathe being this un-abstract. sorry if you're one of those people--my students are these people--who loathe reading things that don't make sense.

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he will lick and suck at your chest. the cat.
do what you can.

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daniel and felice watch macguyver. here now i will tell a story.

i got my hands in fists as i coast by the burrito joints. (i love flashbacks containing native americans.) i counted them. one, two, three, four. look at this silliness. (i think that guy was in animal house.)

the constellations are showing off again. orion waves but cassiopeia must be behind a tree, because ("Well, Two Eagles isn't the kind of guy that would string you along") because i can't see her, and i know she shows her fat ass in the winter.

i know this because i once made out with someone. while he sucked my neck (much like this stray cat, weaned too soon, trying to get milk from my heart) i looked up and saw the deposed queen. "look at that," i said, and he moaned and tested my hip for ripeness.

(everyone has a mullet or a mustache, except this native american gentleman.) later he shivered for real and i shivered for fake. he did not know it was fake. only cassiopeia and i knew. i was bucking around, my head upside down, like a movie star and she winked at me: "a secret between just us upside-down girls."

("you think that's a fake mustache?" "oh it has to be.")

oh what did i mind, anyway? the time to tell the truth is when he'll be around in the morning, not when you have to clean up and go home. then it's just a performance, and you can fake anything you want. pretend you've come, pretend you don't care.

at this point i've passed the fourth burrito joint. (THAT GUY has a crew cut)

cassiopeia is no more in view than she was before. crazy thoughts come on walks alone: maybe she got a boyfriend, doesn't need to lounge around anymore. or maybe she came so hard she spun herself right-side up--and i don't recognize her happier pose.

("he thought if he worked a hard, clean life, the wolf spirit would rescue him.")

i thought so, too.