Ball and Chain

Frustrated that all his friends were hitched and he wasn't, 18 year old Rajesh of Jharkhand sat in a watery hole and threatened to off himself unless his parents arranged a marriage immediately.


After 48 hours, a family from the neighboring village offered their daughter's hand to Rajesh, who gratefully accepted the opportunity to spend the rest of his life in a potentially loveless relationship predicated on archaic social traditions.

yum

One fantastic Saturday morning blow job with a side of blueberry pancakes, bacon and eggs.


A beautiful start to our busy weekend.

0 weight gain in 3 months

I barely look pregnant and I'm due in two months. True I have a mound for a belly, but it borders on a college co-ed's beer gut. I look like I drink too much, not like I'm about to give birth.

The beauty that radiates from me is astounding. I don't often feel beautiful, and yet my feelings play no part in this. Eyes follow me as I glide by...or limp by...or as I'm being carried by...depending on my condition at any given moment. Right, now that I think about it, perhaps I'm being stared at because I'm a fucking freak.

"Gladys, look at that alcoholic being carted off. Sakes alive!"

"Oh yes, Enus, for shame, but ain't she a pretty lil' thing."

eYe wonder

bubble rap

It's finally raining here. J sightings = 2. Close encounters with another moving vehicle as a result = 1. Feeling like an Utter moron moments = 2,000,000. Number of fetal hiccups = 10K n' counting. How much I love K = bunches, "to the moon, Alice!", and then some.


I'm currently at home when I have a job that requires my physical presence elsewhere. I've half avoided looking at the computer screen to further avoid guilt. One Sour Apple gum piece sizzles on my tongue.


Tripping upon trips to innumerable doctors that garner more questions and less real information. Two educated people make a list and check it twice to get down to the nitty-gritty. Constellations of freckles tell the tale of which of my limbs the sun has kissed.


An erotic scene gives birth to twists and turns of lust. A thought, another, brings on six daydreams of our eminent close encounter. Eight o'clock and a tired boy comes home to come and come and come.


Her pictures and insight leave me laughing with pleasure, an integral system of countermeasure, ever blinding before sharply shining out. His movements rise into the organs of life awaiting a lineal creation. K's eyes on me, reflecting his. A baby swims.


Stack of bills and more concerns. What path shall we take? The upward one, the downward spiral, over hill and dale. My family comforts me and then yanks the cord. A sore belly button encircles your tender heart. "You're so tiny for being 8 months!"


Shhhh. Stubbs whines in time with the thunder. 1...2...3 lovers, do you long for her? No longer. Grass blades grow beneath our window sill.

C, oh C what I mean?

Christine called at 2:30AM. She's still in Japan propagating her rubbers, and I never sleep so we chewed the fat for a spell.


I was wide-eyed with dark circles marching under my eyes. She was high on MJ, JD and some guy hereto in known as TC. K was twisted naked in dreamland on the futon, whilst Stubbs laid his heavy head on the bunny he'd been slobbering on all night. Set, scene and action.

C: Girl! Are you up?
S: (loud banging noise, grunt, various curse words) Um, define up. I'm conscious, yes, upright, no. We have about a gazillion power/tech cords to take a nice trip on here in Crazyland and I just took flight.

C: Baby okay?
S: Thank the stars, yes. (Shallow breathing) I landed on my fucking knee. What...do...you...want...bee-atch?

C: Off work. If you call what I'm doing work. (Weird noises in the background, many voices, laughter, etc.)
S: ---

C: Heeeeeello! Get up, I need to gab.
S: R U drunk? U R drunk, aren't you? What time is it there anyway?

C: 4:30.
S: Interesting. Poison?

C: Jack, crack. Jack's crack. (giggling, a slapping sound, and a horrific cackle like a thunder clap)
S: Ugh. Gab away, drunkard. I don't have anything interesting to report.

C: Fuck all that. Gimme the baby news. Are you still with that fucknut?
S: What fucknut?!
C: J, K...L M N O P. Why the fuck do bloggers abbreviate everyone's name?
S: Honey, you obviously do not read my blog or you would know the answer to that question.

C: Ha! Your writing sucks ass lately.
S: Und K ist wunderbar, das Mädchen.

S: (undistinguishable masculine voice in the background, sound of cigarette lighter flicking) It sounds like you have company, so how about you call me tonight when the sun is actually doin' the neutron dance.
C: Please, it's The Cock of the evening, and I'll be beyond shitfaced if I wait to call you later. Look, I'm worried about you. Seriously, are you okay?

S: Again, define okay. I was walking aimlessly through Target this afternoon, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. The sheer mass of commercialism overwhelmed me. I am lost, Christine, truly. I can't write, I can't think, I can't shit, I can barely eat. It's by God's good grace that this baby is taking care of himself. See, I am already a bad mom. I don't have a name, a crib, any clothes, a high-chair, etc, et. al. and ad. nauseum. I feel guilty all the time. I need to relax, but my muscles are tense and my mind keeps racing. How can I be this happy and at the same time completely unprepared? I....
C: Stop! SHHhhh! (hushed tones and kissing noises) Sorry. Um...right. Hormones. Horny, horrible, hellacious hormones, honeybear child. Look, I've never squeezed a puppy out, but I am the master of knowledge when it comes to all things uretal.

S: That isn't even a word. Is that a word?
C: Shut up, you get the gist. I had it all in my thirties. Your brain leaks out your ears and you begin speaking gibberish when your uterus explodes with baby fever. Nature takes over and doesn't give two shits if you are prepared. Like some victim of dengue fever, you drool over nauseating pink bows and mushy stuff animals. You toss and turn at night with visions of birthday parties and brownie meetings.
S: No I don't.
C: Oh, yes you do.

S: Trust me...no, I don't. That's the problem. I flee the nipple n' stroller aisle.
S: And how girly are you making my son already? He isn't out of the womb yet!
C: Hey, I'm not the one who bought him a rainbow unicorn.
S: I love you. How's The Cock, btw? Is he into your rubbers? *drum drum cymbal snap*

C: Girl, no sooner than I get off. The phone. Yeah! Call me later....

had

She used to be pretty. Daring. Outspoken.
That girl died at the age of nine.

What took her place was nothing short of a wounded, walking corpse. A tenative, sensitive creature that no longer resembled a real person. People talked over her, stepped on her, forgot she was in the room. And yet there lingered in her presence the scent of forgiveness, the aura of understanding. An invisible band-aid, she touched those in pain and took in their suffering.

If only, one thought, I could see her face.

timex

A rapping at the door grows ever violent. Our house shakes with its intent, growing darker by the minute until the windows show my figure to the outside world.

a slight case of wrongful ADvertising

You see, boss...we reel 'em in with the nuts.

beating

Finally met with Dr. A 'bout my heart test today. I was suppose to see him last week and ended up in the hospital instead. Long story....


Anyhoo, as I was being wheeled out the door last week he yelled out that the results were normal. Come to find out today that he hadn't yet read the details.

My history suggests no pathology. I did however have several long runs of multiple skipped beats and my heart stopped once as I slept (a pot. risk for V-Fib aka sudden cardiac arrest). This was not news to me. I knew this. I've felt this for over a year. So, I didn't look at Dr. A with a gaping stare of oh, shit, it was more like, yeah, uh-huh.

Welly, well, well. What's a girl to do, cry in her soup? Nope. Doc says, these can be normal, and so I will take that with a grain of salt and do my best to take it easy until other tests can be safely performed. Being pregnant has brought a halt to the more invasive procedures, as well as clouding the arena - a pregnant woman's heart is under more strain due to extra blood volume and limited cavity space.

A positive attitude is worth a million pills in my prescription book. I barely made it home today, as my heart rate skyrocketed into the stratosphere and my head spun, to collapse on the living room sofa. One look at my dog's amber eyes calmed the savage beast within.

Hang in there, junior. We have three months to go, and there's never existed a woman who's wanted to hold a baby more.

God Bless Freedom of Speech...for some

I was listening to talk KLBJ on the way to get a chocolate fudgesicle when I had the great pleasure of listening to one of the stupidest men allow to speak on the radio. Need I be more explicit? Rush, you are so misguided. Luckily, those with a modicum of intelligence (this includes hamsters and roaches) are beyond the generalities you dish out.

Click on the pic to see a bunch of other misguided souls.


There is funny, and there is sad. This is just sad, mostly because it isn't actually done in humor. One sergeant called the show to laugh about how great is it is fuck with the enemy and screw those who don't agree. Dude, some of the prisoners at "Gitmo" are ordinary people like yourself, lost in a screwed system that has shown how little it cares for their liberties.

plainly speaking

Finding time to write can be difficult. Not only do I have very little free time, but when I do I am generally exhausted and any writing is filtered through it. I figure I'd better just write when it occurrs to me that I have something to say else I will remain silent. So, this isn't Tennyson. Tough Shit.

I have grown to hate coming to work. I don't hate my job, although it is stressful, and I love the people I work with. No, it just happens that my office is quite far from home and I am often tired. If I worked closer my attitude would be greatly improved. I want a fucking nap! Is that too much to ask? :) Yes, most of us don't get a fucking nap at work, do we? Oh well.

I am only productive for about 5 out of 8 hours anyhow. Unless I push myself and then I am completely worthless when I get home. I hate how my energy level has limited my personal life, and by that I mean: washing dishes, cleaning the bathroom, making dinner, getting the baby's room ready. Fuck actually going out! I haven't enjoyed a night out in ages. I haven't painted anything for almost a year. Poetry has left me. Lovies, at this point taking a shit is a party.

There, now that I've bitched some I can blush. I have a growing baby inside me! How fucking amazing is that? Even when his squirming keeps me up at night I rub my tummy and wish I could touch him, smell him. Being a mother both scares and enthralls me. I am of course scared that I will feel bad physically and not measure up, but then again I worry too much. I look ahead too much.

Here's to being in the moment. To a new life. To a great man about to be introduced to the world.

I love K so much for being here with me to figure all this out. It isn't always easy, but the good stuff never is. We are like two kids playing house, two friends learning our ticks, two lovers sneaking time. He is a blessing, someone to learn from.

Yes, this has been a really fucking hard year, but somehow still one of the best.

Well, my stomach is requesting food. I can't wait to enjoy eating again. ;) And running! Everytime I see someone pounding the streets, I smell the hot pavement and wish I could lace up my tennies and hit it. Soon, soon, soon.

dumpster ART

K and I stubbled across this and other sketches on various dumpsters along South Congress and St. Elmo this morning. I'm preparing the lot for a photo essay on Bumperactive this week, and will post a link once it is fini.



Artist = "C"

diametric concord

What makes a man a leader of men, whether in the eyes of the world his actions are good or bad? There is so much we are spoon fed when it comes to the circumstances leading up to the formation of this Islamic faction, so much more we are led to believe after the fact. What do any of us really know?



This could be my father, brother, cousin. If I knew him would I immediately find him to be full of hate, violence, and extreme idealism? Or would I instead sense the charm that most leaders possess, that diplomacy, an unmistakable air of dignity and intelligence?

And what is our responsibility this campaign of terror? It is ignorant to imagine we do not play a role. Have we blindly walked into their very purpose as some say, with every attack strengthening martyrdom, becoming the totalitarian force to their righteous plight? Or have certain goals been laid out to play this very hand, this way, with the risks involved to innocent lives and divergent cultures.

It is a catch-22. See, the world cannot stand by and do nothing as those who find this the only means to bring about change attack it. It is nothing to some to tear the fabric of life in order to reconstruct their ideologies; it is in fact their duty. In the same token, our fight against terrorism builds the beast of religious fervor with every drop of blood. One need only examine history to see the silk thread of steel that lies within deep belief.

I cry inside for the destruction that has occurred, and yet still remain calm in the face of the destruction that will occur. For within even I lies that seed. We all possess it. The ability to break and rebuild. To understand and to close our mind. To have a belief that transcends another. To act in our own best interest. To not be mindful of the harm we inflict. It goes so much deeper than the obvious trauma, an intertwining of action and reaction: it's the gas we use, the food we eat, the trash we accumulate, the mood we display and the words we say. The law of nature has always breeched the wall of civilization.

Tony Blair said a curious thing: "This is not an attack on one nation but on all nations and on civilized people everywhere..." Civilized? Who is truly this? We are all animals pretending not to be. We all have hate and love, good and bad, rough and refined. This isn't a matter of civility; as I'm sure countless repressed nations and people might agree. Ask a Native American about civility. Ask a my next door neighbor, who grew up in what was formerly called "Black Town", about civility. These words, thrown around with a flat meaning, are then inflated with patriotism and anger. Now my own co-worker, who is by all accounts a civilized man, views all "ragheads" as a threat since that horrible day in September. Anger upon anger constructing a belief that given the right situation may lead to an action.

Among differing voices the heart may still wrap itself around the jagged edges of a puzzle.

the grind

Had the world's best pizza last night.



I've been farting hot garlic all damn day. Life is good.

Working on my bathroom this weekend, boring as all that sounds. Decided to go with the raw meat motif. It looks kick ass...I'll post a pic as soon as it's done, lovies.



Later! I'm off like a dirty shirt to eat the world's best Hungarian food with my sweet loverboy.

Tomorrow...paprikaville.

pecking order

There lies a jungle to explore in every backyard. A moveable feast. Crawling carpets that find the sly lamppost-cast shadow of bats on the prowl. Invisible hoot owl. A spider cautiously spins its tale.



What wild creatures are afoot! Strange cries in the dark like a banshee rising over Zunipu's moon. Moth delights and electric flies hold a quieter vigil.



And a calmness before the storm.



Like I, this explosive sky gives way to drama. Trust me, the red spectrum ignites and leaves the observer much altered.



Closer. Come and sit a spell. Our webs entice. The night fragrances catch a ride on the soft whispers that follow. Drop your guard and await the inevitable bite.

a 108° heat index n' all the snow cones you can EAT

...in 30 seconds, that is. Man, all this picture needs is a fuckin' tumbleweed.

lulla·byes

The dreams of childhood are pungently reminiscent of sugar n' spice, snips n' snails. But we cannot yet envision what we do not already see. Perhaps a new branch or virgin spring; the new mind is an extension, albeit a separate living thing.



Youth gravitates toward extremes. "I love green beans! They're long and cripsy and sweet. Mama, it looks like a worm!" Triumphantly.

- juxtaposition -

"Daddy, I hate green beans! I had them yesterday. Yuk! They taste like worms." Indignantly.

A battery of stimulation arms itself at a gelatinous psyche. Everything is felt on a grand scale, etched into a timeless gage of highs and lows, rights and wrongs. In this gleaming we encounter unadulterated possiblity: a Pandora's jar.



And oh! how do we survive such calamity? Conformity activated upon the instant of conception: to whom we are borne. Their dysfunction and idealism. Good luck! To our advantage, with this comes an innate ability to break away.

Awaken. Discover. Find that which doesn't exist in the scope of what is seen. This is the gift of impermanency.



For those dreams were as much who we are as they are what still remains unseen.

Delicate Red Heart

I awoke with a stabbing sensation in my right rib. It was my heart monitor trying to become one with me again.



I sat straight up in bed. Yes, it was finally time to release my body from the bounds of technology. A sweet freedom of which toasters only dream.



Oh, how I cherished the sublimeness of Barbarella n' Marcan as fate documented the tragic waves of a flippant provenience, but now...get this fucking thing off of me!



I prepared for the inevitable sting of release. Bring it, bitch.



A quick rip!



And as Kool-Aid say, OH yeah!

ghosts