Dirt floors. Wooden decor. They’ve even added moss between the planking: The spiritual considerations taken in the building of this masterpiece are truly overwhelming!
I feel a prick in my left eye.
And I might cry. But no. I can’t cry. Crying destabilizes the qi. Don’t fall to pieces, Pisces!
I close it.
I repeat my Anti-Cry Mantra:
It works. I don’t cry.
“I love the walls,” Scorpio says, running her hands along the bare, wooden planking — how wonderful!
“Tsk, tsk, honey. Don’t get splinters now,” Cancer says.
Scorpio stops and sucks her…
I’ve been such a silly stupid good girl.
I can’t remember why I chose to be so silly stupid good today.
I woke up. I made sure the trash threw itself out. I made coffee. I stretched. I smoked. I turned on the radio. I turned it on with my big toe and I sang.
Then I burned
just to have something to
white porcelain cups
No. No. No. No. No, Scorpy.
Scorpy be good tonight. Stay silly stupid good tonight. Being bad is bad.
I imagine them as children.
I bring them back to doughy flesh and small-toothed smiles. I give them big eyes and laugh-away curls. I de-spike vodka with juice and devolve mature speech patterns into gurgles.
A gurgled phrase,
Signals a child to raise,
as Mom-Mammy was wont to say.
Indeed, it does.
Lo, in order that I may care for the chickens as Cancer is wont to do, I must put them through a rigorous process of dimplification.
Verily, I must dimplify the chickens so that I may comfort them more exceptionally, as Cancer is wont to do…
My thoughts as they be ‘The Thoughts of Aquarius,’ are a conversation between Light and Sound, with Light being the voluptuous introvert while Sound yells; Sound yells but is never seen.
Light whinnies as it wanes,
Marionette of golden reins,
But never says a thing.
Sound wants to join with Light.
Light leaves the sky and people mourn. Sound leaves the sky and people cheer. It isn’t fair. Sound wants to be cherished like Light is cherished. Sound wants that adoration too.
Sound says, “Light! Look how your leaving grieves the world! Look how they love you! I’ve…
Gemini sits cross-legged in her stockings, her shoes flung elsewhere, de-segmenting an orange. Aquarius trails a finger in the Pond. I circle the Pond and ask myself one question: fountain or memorial?
The Statue in the middle of this Pond is either one or the other.
“It can’t be a fountain if it isn’t shooting water,” I say, “However, it can’t be a memorial if no one remembers what it’s for.”
Neither Gemini nor Aquarius responds.
In all, it’s an overlarge Statue, in the middle of an overlarge Pond, in the middle of an overlarge…
ZOD. ALMIGHTY. AQUARIUS.
I don’t want to be judgmental or anything but I’m pretty sure Aquarius defaults on her inner Buddhuzzah more often than a vegetarian tanner vacationing amid the gores of Pamplona. I mean look at her. She doesn’t speak. It’s like her linguistic currency is tied up in some hoity toity metaphysical quaff bonnet that won’t depreciate into language until the largest meltdown this side of ’08 forces her to swim head first against the resulting tide — which I’m not against. I’m totally an advocate of swimming against tides. Embracing contradiction is exactly what prevents me…
I keep LEGOS in my purse.
When life overwhelms, I take them out and I build a tower: Blues on blues. Followed by reds on reds. Finishing with greens on greens. I don’t use yellows because yellows show smear lines and I haven’t yet learned to cope with smear lines.
I build them into a tower. I make the tower’s edges straight as a razor. I trace the edges with my finger until the skin slits. Then, I look at my blood and I suck my blood and I visualize precision.
It’s a coping process that never fails me…
Two thousand and six was the year the Bride and I graduated high school. That is why, as my wedding gift to her, I chose to donate two thousand and six bricks to the estate’s botanical fund.
I wanted to
*Runner Up Bridesmaid and Brick Bequeathal Ceremony henceforth referenced as RUB and BBC respectively.
I had all two thousand and six bricks laid right…
Being a contented materialist is good.
If I were more creative, I’d say being a contented materialist was like being a garden because it means accepting the bounty of one’s boundaries with a sunny heart. We can’t all be Amazons, and a garden doesn’t attempt to expand into an Amazon because it’s already full of itself and peace thereby.
This Garden is nice. I like being a contented materialist within it.
If I were an artist, I’d paint the scene.
However, I’m not an artist.
I’m a contented materialist.
So instead, I simply view it.
Once more, thank you for your patience and understanding during this challenging time. I hope everyone is staying healthy.
Attached is the NEW schedule I’m proposing for Mondays, Sundays, Wednesdays after 1:45pm, and every third Friday of the Chinese lunar calendar. The schedule for the remaining times will be posted via Snapchat and will disappear in ten seconds. If, for whatever reason, you are unable to view these updates, shoot me an email and we’ll see what we can do.
Teacher | Except on Halloween