1. Dead mom - it’s dead. Totally dead, mom. See. Dead.

    Tagged #he killed it

  2. transport

    In addition to being the most uncomfortable means of transportation ever invented as well as the most likely to induce motion sickness, there was a good chance it was also the loudest, human propelled vehicle to ever clamber along the face of the earth. So varied and numerous were the sources of the sound of metal clanging, scraping, sliding and banging against other metal surfaces, a blind person might have imagined an ark full of animals all simultaneously running their claws along a slate chalkboard when it approached. 

    It was a specially rigged railroad handcar the size of a standard box freight car. It ran on six steel wheelsets on two trucks placed at either end. The floor was a deck that was mounted on top of a sub-deck directly over the axles and rigging. The sub-deck held a swivel hinge plate on which the main floor of the car was mounted. This swivel-hinge allowed the whole upper deck to spin around the gear apparatus in the center, giving the platform above free range to turn like a carousel. 

    Instead of the a standard pump handle at the center, a full size teeter totter was mounted there in its place. 

    The “drivers” of the car sat at either end of the teeter totter where bucket seats were perched. The fulcrum across which the drivers tottered was also mounted on a swivel. So the drivers could spin around and change positions without dismounting. The deck itself swiveled independently and it could be turned and locked into place perpendicular to the tracks and the totter, in order to better accommodate both the tottering and the passengers and cargo. Indeed, this arrangement allowed the drivers to push the car even faster as they dropped all the way to the lower deck for momentum before pushing off again with each pump. 

    She hated traveling this way, she thought. But it was so much faster than hiking and that was the only other way. She sighed and closed her eyes. Tried to give in to the trance like state that waited fro her somewhere in the tottering. She was in her least favorite position, back to the forward motion, deck sticking out sideways accentuating the tall grass swaying back under it. Her hair was blowing forward around her face as she moved backward and the noise was deafening. 

    She went over the message again in her head, imagining its telling. The sounds, the expressions, the touches, the smell of it. She tried to listen only to this rehearsal and the rhythm of her own feet pushing up as she came down again and again and again. Each pump of her body closer to where she was going. 

  3. when i took away all his rocks he killed the vic’s secret catalog
    which was mostly a good thing, just murderous and messy


  4. bdgarp:

    I can’t always hear myself when I’m around other people.

    my mother spent years training me to be a high functioning metaphorical “deaf-mute” person in precisely this way. i call it approval junkiness. i am forever a recovering approval junkie.

    it makes intimacy tricky. it makes mindfulness practice and a commitment to the moment must do-s. 

    and of course. stated in what i always imagine is such a flat comical tone by bdgarp, it is also funny. 


  5. through the wall

    not bravery
    not vigilance
    not diligence
    just pure stubborn
    tenacious will

    to endure
    the clutter
    of change

    loud & unruly

    making constant

  6. adjusting well to college? Um? yes thank you very much


  7. lordofthecubs replied to your post: “on the difficult social mandate to “choose a life partner” and do it well, too”:
    I can tell you that you are correct. I have consciously made that choice over and over for 18 years. If you don’t do it consciously, how to you continue to ensure that you are both fulfilling that part of life that you share.

    witness. thanks for saying so! you (and yours, i’m sure) both kickass.


  8. The dangling plastic coated wires that hung down under her chin from up around her neck and ears, that dropped from the ear buds she was wearing there, just under the sharp neat line of her crisp shiny black bobbed hair, gave the impression of a stethoscope. Especially when combined with the floppy way the neck of her pale cardigan flapped open, not unlike a lab coat, the way her hand hovered along the wire, slightly lifting it, drawing the microphone away from the fabric to reduce the sounds of friction. 

    She was speaking on the phone, again, as she approached the bus stop. this time in the sun. It was early and rays still slanted drastically to shine under the shelter wall. Clear plexiglass, that wall, and yet it diluted the sun, nonetheless, just above where our feet were shuffling next to each other. 

    So, yes. She was saying.

    It is very much like the teeth and the pedestal thing. I understand this, too.

    Her words were articulated, precise, again giving the impression of a medical professional. Carefully spoken jargon lurked there, unspoken in words but clear in tone.

    I can see the dynamics of a dance that shifts the weight between self-conscious, self-defense, back and forth, toward and away, alternating with the tenderest trust, too. I, too, feel them both. Whenever I draw back from you, it is one part self-defensive and ten parts cautious respect for whatever your desires might be in that minute.

    It is a show of respect intended as a way to love you. To actively love you in restraint.

    The self-defense part, which incidentally pervades every single action I take toward you in some small way, is the part where, feeling less than worthy of your attention, I wouldn’t dare to ask or demand for it when you, obviously, have so many better options.  

    It seems the best way to love you is to stay out of your way. It seems wise, in this regard to err on the side of caution. Especially since I know that I am so committed to you. So committed that, should you ever decide I am your best option for the moment, I will be here and available. I count on you to… I don’t know, make an obvious summons or invitation.

    Therefore, I am always cautious. I figure, you’ll let me know whenever your other options are not preferable. I always try to wait for a sign from you. 

    And I came to the realization recently…

    Here she paused, but because she was listening to his end of the conversation through her earbuds, there was no chance I could overhear. The pause was short. 

    Exactly! She exclaimed.

    I realized just exactly that. That maybe you were having the same kind of reserved conservative response. I realized how ironic this would be if our respect - our super careful intense perhaps even over the top conservative respect was actually double-crossing us. If it was depriving us of each other when we didn’t really have better options. 

    But I was still afraid to tell you except…

    At that moment a medium-sized blue four door late model Plymouth collided half-way through a left turn into the intersection with an oncoming brand new lime green sparkle Hummer and the deafening sound of the two vehicles making contact drowned out whatever she said next. 

    She was animated, though, despite the disruption. Her eyes wide open and huge, as she pressed the earbud further into her head, as the sound of sirens began in the near distance. She kept talking and listening, alternating. 

    I got up to walk to the bus stop further down and over two blocks, where I would take a different bus, the long way around, to where I was going. 


  9. trixclibrarian:

    Her right forefinger stretched to extend up across of the back of the cell phone pressed into her ear. It made an L-shape with her right thumb as it hooked around the silver edge of the iphone. Her forefinger pressed into the plastic, but it was not yet cramped and aching.

    Her whole hand would be screaming before the conversation was over. The phone hot, the finger, the thumb, all the knuckles cramped all the way back up to her shoulder, through her wrist and elbow and reaching even into her neck. 

    But for now she pressed the phone to her ear and spoke. For now, she was relaxed. 

    Do you remember when the subject of your “perfect teeth” came up last? She asked.

    Yeah. I was trying to say, that you couldn’t see it, though. That was just it. That is just it. They aren’t. My teeth aren’t perfect.

    He was slightly adamant at his end of the line. His voice, not plaintive, but definitley a note or two past laid back.  

    I know. She said. I know that was what you were trying to say, then. And I know that is what you are saying now. And I understand.

    You look at your teeth. You see they are not perfect. You hear me say they are, and you feel uncomfortable, fearful, afraid.

    You think to yourself, God, if i relax and let down my guard and just trust that she really likes me and my teeth the way we really are, that is sure to be exactly when she notices that my teeth really aren’t perfect. She’ll finally see and discover the truth and then, she’ll see she was wrong all along and she’ll stop loving me.

    You think: She’ll stop loving me and it will happen just when I’ve come to count on her loving me. That’s why you are fearful. That’s why you don’t want me to be so admiring. Not of your teeth. Not of you. At least not specifically. I’m not allowed to admire you in any exact way.

    I get it. You’re afraid to hear the specifics about why I love you because when someone loves your specifics that love seems so easy to refute. Nobody’s teeth really are perfect, after all. 

    Yeah. He said. Yeah. That is it. 

    His tone, at the other end of the line, now suggested that she was right and her comprehension of his state of mind was validating, yet his tone was not celebratory. It was another new odd mixture. His voice both defeated and awed at this sudden expression of her comprehension.

    Oh. I get it. She reassured hiim with some small exaggeration. 

    I feel the same way when you sayI am sexy. You’ve only said it a couple times but I kind of cringe. I think, like, now I’m fucked. Why’d he have to go and think that, he’ll be so bummed when he finds out what I’m really like. 

    It is completely relatable for me. I hate to be put on a pedestal. I hate people with their big expectations for me.

    But it’s also so so gross and stupid and insulting kind of really. Like you are really saying that my taste is so poor - that I’m stupid for finding your exact teeth meet my definition of perfect. It’s almost like you are criticizing my judgment. It is exactly like you are criticizing my judgment.

    It also means anyone who likes you is doomed to be an idiot. 

    But what you miss is that I was trying to say, that it is the exact, slightly crooked, way your teeth fit in your mouth, that seems like the shiniest most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. And I really mean it. And you could give me credit and the universe credit for matching up your slightly off choppers and my perfect definition of perfect. 

    At that point, the rain started. It came on fast and hard and in wave after wave of loud downpour on the bus stop shelter roof. It splashed up under the walls onto our boots. It whooshed and wailed and howled and carried on for more than twenty-five more minutes. 

    I couldn’t overhear any more of the conversation. Not her words and certainly not his replies through the cell phone. But she grimaced. All throughout the storm she kept talking and grimacing. And she grimaced at the end, when she hung up and shook out her aching hand and arm.

    After that, I gave up waiting for the bus and started walking by myself in the rain. 

  10. what? this is my newest rock. for my collection. i dug it up. 


  11. a person should not have to live with something so cute


  13. on the difficult social mandate to “choose a life partner” and do it well, too

    I stumble over this cultural mandate like it is a knee deep crag of jagged rocks on fire and I am barefoot. I cringe, scream, grimace - teeter, race, and grapple surviving only barely to pull myself, exhausted into a puddle just past it panting in great exhales of relief and sorrow at the prospect of how soon I’ll have to do it again. 

    There are so many reasons to object to the notion of “picking a life partner”. It’s such a stupid mandate to put on humans.

    It’s like my parents leading me into thinking that every single grown up person I met as a child had gone to college. The unspoken inference that the people who had not gone to college lived somewhere else where things were awful, that they were all homeless and living in horror somewhere. It is a lie of exactly those pervasive proportions. Even bigger. Monstrous. Monstrously huge.

    In truth. Not everyone goes to college. Not everyone gets married. Not everyone works with a partner. Some folks have more than one partner. Some folks change partners. Some change more often than others. Some people work with a partner for awhile and then work alone again, or vice versa, or both.  

    And even the ones who work with the same partner exclusively every day for most of their lives? The truth is, it’s not like they make the choice once and forget about it. For them, I would bet anything, it is way more a process of making the same choice daily, again and again and again for as long as they work together. Being aware and mindful that they are choosing it and that they want it and understanding why it works. And that they are still learning and being curious about how it does so. 

    People who stay together but don’t do it in this conscious way? I’d lay odds that deep down they are not at all very “happy together”. 

    Taking up the act of “choosing a life partner” is not something that lends itself to shortcuts. It is not a process that you can take on in one giant time release dose. It is actually really kind of impossible to “make the choice of a life partner” and then forget about it. There’s no checking it off the list and considering it finished. It’s kind of one of those things you have to do daily in small doses. Sure the doses accumulate but… the need to pick who you will align yourself with arises anew in literally every single moment. Unless you are entirely isolated with only one other person. The dilemma is going to rise, in reality, again and again and again every day.

    There will always be a choice. And the choice to move through the world solo will always be a looming option, also. These are the facts. These are the inescapable facts. These are the undeniable irrefutable facts that we spend almost all our energy denying to ourselves everyday. I’m not saying that’s horrible. I’m just saying. That’s what it is. 

    We deny the truth because choosing a partner consciously anew every single day is hard work and we are loathe to do it.

    We also deny it because we hate the idea that the people we pick might not pick us back every day. That the people we choose could up and leave us at any moment. We don’t want to think about or believe that. But it’s true. Even if they feel compelled by material conditions to stay? They can divorce our ass right out of their thought stream. They can abandon us in their hearts and in their guts. They can operate as solo agent in mind and sentiment even if they are stuck with us bodily. We hate the thought of that. And we also hate the effort of having to be aware of it and we hate having to consciously choose everyday. It’s exhausting. So we deny it. 

    But ultimately. We pick our partner anew every sunrise. There is no once and for all picking a life partner. That option just doesn’t exist. 

    I would argue this is a good thing. Our relationship needs change. They grow, they expand, they shrink they go off temporarily and sometimes permanently in different directions. We ourselves grow and change. I think we should be able and allowed to embrace the good parts of what it means to choose everyday. It means we do not have to stagnate. It means we are flexible. It means like all open living systems, like all organisms we have changing needs for inputs and outputs. It means our boundaries are permeable. Sometimes more sometimes less so. It means we change along with our surrounding context. It means we pay attention to our (various) partner’s growth and it means we are aware of our own change and patterns in growth. 

    Keeping in the practice of choosing, paying attention to and being aware of the fact that we choose and how we choose everyday - I think that is also an advantage in other ways. I mean… even the best life partners do die sometimes. Or like kids? - they grow away, in the most healthy way. If we realize that we know how to choose our life partner because we practice it every day - then, when we find ourself in need of a new life partner? Then we will know how to do it. We will be able to console ourselves and trust ourselves and say to oursevles: Okay - this is hard but I like working with a partner, I need to start the process of finding and choosing one again. I have done it before - every day of my life - surely I can do it successfully again. 

    And that’s really it - isn’t it? To realize that whenever we partner with someone, for a day or a year or a whole life or a portion of it - we are successful. Things don’t have to last forever to be considered successful.Things don’t even have to feel good or turn out good to be successful. Every thing we do can be a successful lesson about ourselves.

    Things aren’t meant to last forever. It’s a good thing. Nothing does. 


  14. whoartgos:

    amputated dreams/the milk of human shyness

  15. thenearsightedmonkey:

    Little comics everywhere

    how about a revolution that leans away
    from ownership entirely
    tending instead toward conversation

    this is terrifying and beautiful ~ veggies are scary

    (Source: arcaneimages)