Pure, clean and new

There are some new links and such over there.--->
I took down Operation Eden with some sadness as he seems to have given up on the idea of connecting us personally to Katrina and it’s aftermath. But if you want ongoing Katrina commentary, Suspect Device is still a good source. And if in future I find that Operation Eden becomes active again, I will re-link it.

In the meantime I’ve added some Nitro Von Borax and some Coccomotion Picture Studios. They fit one of my new criteria, being people I know and admire personally.
And really, I do have this trepidation about links that I’ve mentioned before. Which is that I don’t want it to feel like a 7th grade party where someone feels left out. So apologies ahead of time to anyone who feels so. It’s possibly that I admire you, but don’t know you personally.Or in the case of my sister's new blog, it would divulge a smitch too much info. Or several other reasons I have secreted in my head. Who knows why I make the decisions I make? Frequently, not even me.

There is also a link to our brand new Quatro Veda myspace site where you may listen to, and download our music. As well as the usual link to The Bottom 99 where we have made some changes and uploaded some new material.

Book chat

A lot of people are writing right now about their life experience with, or feelings about books. So even though it’s not very original for me to do so at this time I’ll take up the banner.

In my family books were balm, escape, education, comfort food and everywhere you looked. The rule was pretty much if you CAN read it, you can read it. This worked OK until the sibs became old enough to bring smut into the house then I had to steal it. Before that my biggest challenge was trying to read Ellison’s Invisible Man when I was 8. I read it but I did not at all understand it.

Then I got exposed to a bunch of really weird stuff, National Lampoon, Hunter Thompson, Xavier Hollander, FPS Magazine, pictorial journals of Viet Nam, Castenada, Kilgore Trout, The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers and all kinds of assorted hippie/sex/drug culture literature.
A huge dose of everything of that nature mixed with classical mythology, tons of classical art books and with a surfeit of Louisa May Alcott, Elizabeth Enright, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Twain and a million other childhood favourites made for one confused puppy. And that is not even scratching into the impact of film, of which I watched almost every Fellini and Russ Meyers movie made between the ages of 11 and 13. Then throw in a little John Waters and every horror book or movie I could get my hands on (especially old B/W’s and Roger Corman's). The end result is I am pretty much a sick and twisted puppy.

Luckily I’ve finally found a way to integrate all of this into a workable lifestyle, playing in bands and working on my degree in order to use art, music and writing as a therapeutic tool to teach people to become conscious co-creators of their personal mythologies, particularly people who have been involved in domestic violence and/or drugs.

A world full of Bobby Hill’s

So after the post about the strange smell of medicines someone came here by searching “Why does Metformin smell like fish?” Apparently I’m not the only one smelling medicines or thinking that Metformin smells like fish.
Which incidentally, the big guns antibiotic Augmentin reminds me of the smell of the tiny saccharin tablets the next door neighbors Mom, Mrs. Gaylor, used to keep in a little box. I was fascinated by those things and remember sneaking smells and a taste.

OK that’s a long day when one’s sick

Spent 8 hours today hosting various peoples at the lake. One group was the (formerly) WASHH group. I did as much signing/interpreting as I could, but was frustrated by my lack of ability.

I had one point where I started to get the swing pretty well but then I stumbled over a phrase I couldn’t interpret, the conversation continued and I just lost the whole thing. I imagine that is really frustrating for the people on the other side as well, following along ok, then the stupid chit drops the ball and they never get to hear the end.

Mr Heron was hanging out frog fishing on the other side of the lake. That was quite lovely. I swam quite a bit. Well, if hanging around on a float chair and/or noodle smoking counts as swimming. I kayaked around the lake but I could feel the infection start to rise, so I cut it short.

Then Lizardbreath and Mr. Bones came so we swam and ate again.
Now I’m home with my meds, TV and shower so I’m doing my dailies and going to bed.

Sweet

I just got confirmation of our show at The Blind Pig Friday July 7th.
Now if I can just stay the hell out of the hospital.
Edit: That should have read "stay". Thats what happens when you write and proof with a fever....

Real Quick

Before I head out to Detroit. Todays earworms: (notice the plural), She’s leaving Home -The Beatles, Texan Love Song - Elton John And Bernie Taupin theres another but it’s slipped away at the moment.

Roly poly fishheads

I’ve had occasion lately to notice how extremely weird many medicines smell.
The Glipizide smells sweet, dank and woody. The Metformin smells of fish and paint thinner. The antibiotic Keflex smells like frosting and beer.

I’m back at that sick of being sick place. But I think the fever helped my performance/recording tonight. Since we have a rule of sober practices it was like a bonus buzz which was really fun to play around with on the more psychedelic material. I was all woozy and spaced out. I could be wrong about how cool I sounded but I’m listening to the playback and still liking it. Of course I’m still in the same altered state.

Whoa

Now that’s just weird. I dreamed last night that I met the author of Suspect Device, Greg Peters. We were at a club or a party or similar occasion. I looked at him and said “you know, you don’t look like a singing pot roast” I was also confused, because while I recognized him, he was not who I had thought he was.

See, it’s confusing because I think I must have met him back in the day as we know all the same people, must have been at the same parties and shows etc. But I cannot for the life of me put a face to the name.

And the guy who showed up in my dream claiming to be him most certainly was not.

And it’s just weird that I have bloggers showing up in my dreams now, taking other peoples faces and putting them on.

Mama don't let your babies grow up to eat fructose (corn syrup)

I am not convinced that Chalupa is a real word. And anyway I have a rule about Taco Bell which is, that if you’ve spent more than 2 dollars including a drink you’re eating too much Taco Bell.
I’ve already bitched about chipotle, I’m so very F’ing sick of hearing about which things have chipotle in them.

I have added a new food rule to my regimen. This is a big deal as I have had essentially the same food rules since about 19. Which are basically- avoid chemicals, and if it’s going inside my body try to make it top of the line.
(As opposed to say, clothing, which I get at the thrift store.) Thats not just food, it’s cigarettes, alcohol, anything that goes in.

The new food rule is try to avoid High Fructose Corn Syrup. This is REALLY hard. Fricking everything has it now. I had to give away my ketchup, my favourite BBQ sauce, and all kinds of other products and go back to making my own bread.

If you read ingredients in the US, you’ll find it everywhere. And I’m convinced that it is absolute devil/evil. The body can’t process it properly and it’s the cheapest, nastiest sweetener ever (yet). I always prefer the known toxins like nice cane or beet sugar, nicotine etc.

The cool thing is, every now and then if I really, really want a soda I can get a Mexican made soda with pure cane sugar at Big Ten Market. Cuz three or four times a year I just really want a Cola over a ton of ice with a half a lemon squeezed into it. Thank god that for the chocolate fixation I can fairly easily find high quality chocolate with out the devil in it.

But the BBQ sauce conundrum is really bad, I LOVE my BBQ sauce and I’m very picky about it. I really don’t know what will ever replace my Sweet Baby Ray’s. I’m sad. There’s got to be something decent out there, but I hate it when I try something, it doesn’t measure up and I’m left with a bunch of bottles of dissatisfaction rolling around the fridge. I’m so sad I haven’t even BBQ’d yet this year.

More nutritious Ovaltine please

Man am I lame or what? I just have no energy for anything but work, school, gardening and bands, except TV. I’m watching The Family Guy special thingie as we speak.
I am having another stupid health crises and it feels like the marrow is not so much being sucked out of my bones, like I used to feel like when I’d tripped too much, but more like it has no juicy vitality in it.
I did at least get to go eat Indian food today. But I think I’ll go get stupid now.

Backing a Winner

I’m very proud to refer you yet again, to Suspect Device ----->
Who recently won several awards for his cartooning.
I contend that people like he are the reason I don’t go political here, as others are doing it far more effectively. Having more concrete knowledge, and managing to read a ton of stuff that would have me drinking bleach and sticking a thousand forks in my forehead.

ABASEMENT

Accosted by
matted eye
accusing tangle hair
heave blood soaked sigh
force rigid bone
itself to chilly bare
grind against resistance flesh
on night sweat cement floor

Confession forming
close caught throat
Snap, squirm,
gnash teeth in rage
Bite hand of hope
which salacious strokes
unconscious smutted
swollen face

St. Mary sees me
retch and bleed
deep in
a basement church

Lethargy and me

I have been extremely lethargic. My back- screwy, my internals- screwy and all I’ve really been doing is either sitting, or mucking about with rebuilding my front yard. Or trying to get way far ahead on homework which is actually more complex than I had hoped.
Also intense stress, too much annoying crap between people and things. Just bone tired.

Again

"I laugh
for sorrow and peace
radiance and disease
are just in my mind"

Excerpted from "Clocks and Mirrors"
by yers trooly

Winter, Busses, & Babushkas

Dirty bus windows
sunlight and tree shadows are
ricepaper paintings

The grayed ladies wear
sensible shoes and headscarves
against ceaseless wind

Her waving hand
a mittened futility
the bus passed her by

Todays earworm

Woke up to "Another Nail Through My Heart" or whatever cute title Squeeze gave it

FULL STILL

LAY BACK WATCH NIGHT
GATHER AT MY WINDOW
ASH BLACK BURNT STARS
TETHERED FROM BELOW

JET NOISE MOONLIGHT
SONIC SPACE RUMBLE
THIN AIR CLOUDS LUMP
DIMENSIONAL BUBBLES

SLOW CREEP QUICK CHILL
SKY REVOLVES AROUND ME
YOU SLEEP FULL STILL
I GAZE AT NOTHING

I SHINE ALONE
IN MY OWN SIGHT BUT
I FEEL WHEN YOU SHIFT
YOUR POINT OF LIGHT

Entropy is a bitch

Make that, I’m it’s bitch. My frickin’ house is just falling apart. Why? I’m a good person, I try really, really hard. But the amount of paperwork, personal and shelter maintenance, and cooking and cleaning and paperwork and (did I mention paperwork?) In the modern world is unreasonable to be expected to be kept up with.

Maybe this is where I did miss out on having kids. I remember my old boyfriend (the leprechaun) had a stepmother Mary. When we would go to visit she'd be sitting up at the dining room table playing Bid Whist, scratching her wig and drinking bootleg vodka with Kool - Aid. Meanwhile 5 or 6 kids would be scurrying around doing the chores. Then she would just sail around inspecting. She’d say “you didn’t scrub in the corners of the floor” and *CLOP* she’d whomp whomever upside the head with one of her giant Mary hands. I swear to god she was like 6’4 and about 350 pounds.
I could do that, without the wig though.

Applets

Sleepy

Cripes man, I awoke at 5:30 for no apparent reason, while playing computer games trying to go back to sleep I had a strange series of earworms that began with this song I’ve never known the title of, I think it’s by the Cowsills and it’s likely called something like “Lonely Days, Lonely Nights” which morphed into “Goody Two Shoes” by Adam and the Ants, which morphed into “Chelsea Morning” by Joni Mitchell. I guess I put myself to sleep as I re-awoke at 7:15.

I remember dreaming that I stupidly smashed a shit load of milk bottles and had to pull a huge hunk of lavender glass out of my foot. So I sat in a sandbox next to a TV and a lightbox bleeding like crazy in the pouring rain.

I also dreamed I had to admit to my pregnant mother that she indeed looked terrible in curlers and that she should pull her dress down.

I dreamt that Hartley Coombs (remember that name, he’ll be the next drummer for the Chili Peppers or something) had my skateboard which he said he got at a flea market. I knocked his eyes out by jumping on barefoot and skating like a pro in the parking lot of Little Caesars.

Edit: Now that Oliver's awake he says he thinks that "Lonely Days" song thing is the Bee Gees. I could see that as reality.

I can’t believe

Someone got to my blog by way of searching “Funklips”. I thought I had made that up out of whole cloth.

An ordinary day with peanuts

Hmm.

• I remain headachy, (about 3 weeks now) which makes me wonder if it’s the insulin or my inability to process stress effectively.

• I got to watch about 40 minutes of Coronation Street for the first time in weeks. Now, again, I am completely out of the loop.

• Yesterday my face started to hurt from smiling. I am not sure why I bothered. It was mostly an exercise in telling little old ladies that, yes indeed that ugly little McCoy planter in their basement was worth 65 dollars.

• I couldn’t help but subject all the people going by to my critical eye and I am not going to publish the results here. Suffice it to say that I remain extremely anthrophobic but fortunately as long as I don’t have to live with and hang round with them I can probably bring myself to live and let live.

• Virginia Woolf said something to the effect of “ I have lost many friends, some to death, some to the inability to cross the street”.

• I really need a shower, and a good meal, served to me, with a cloth napkin wouldn’t be sneezed at either.

• When I am rich and famous, I am definitely going to pay someone to clean.

• Each form of Psoriasis has it’s own peculiarities and frustrations. Lately I’m really over the pustular form.

• There is so something to be said for being able to sit on one’s porch and the whole, entire, air smells of flowers.

• No wonder I flunk math, I can’t count. I’m in the 2900s still, and don’t expect to hit 3000 for a couple days.

Incidentally

All A’s except the devil math incomplete, which when completed will drag my GPA wayyy down from it’s current, super fresh, 3.78

Sometime today

I should hit 3000 hits, whoohoo and alla dat

Here dawg, come on dawg,

Me an’ dawg
Want you to come to the Saline Council Fairgrounds, (5055 Ann Arbor Saline Rd.)
Right now,
get good deal.

I’ll be there till eight tonight and till 3 tomorrow selling wierd McCoy and Floraline pottery and 1950’s furniture/housewares and 8 track tapes and costume jewelry and 1960’s SBS paperbacks.

I'm beginning to doubt

your commitment to Sparklemotion

Wink

Funklips