Good Friends and Real Enemies

Are equally challenging to find. I do my best to be one or the other most of the time.

This week I help a friend with their barn building; only they're a wine maker and the building is picking second harvest fruit in the wee hours of the night. My feet, legs, spine throb from standing and moving and not enough time sitting. As they say, Girl, you aint got no rest on my ass

So I work and sometimes I count the hours in the morning while I am still in bed until I get off of work. I go through the day and know that I can manage my energy stores just long enough to get through the day, into the evening, out into the night.

Fall is upon us. The leaves change and the rotting oak leaves are pungent. I notice the days dip into shadow and the fierce angle of the sun lends a richness to the light. I am enchanted, lonely, in love every five minutes for five minutes.

Everything I need is in this Jar

And I sit down here at my desk to write and I wonder what it has all been about all of these years. The writing. This historical saga of my histories. I am uncertain if it has ever morphed beyond the belief that life is everything on record and as our hearts and minds wander wonderingly over the elliptical horizon to dip into the unknowable abyss I come back less certain of my physicality and more aware of crickets.

I suppose all of this is relative, normal. I seem to have lost focus in the slipstream consciousness: a fickle trainless trainstation

chunkachunk pulling vibrating my spine and all through my central nervous system feeling sound. I don't know if it qualifies as synesthesia but it sure as shit qualifies me for the dance floor.

*.Secret Talents.*

*.Shameless Self-Promotion.*

*.Focused Pursuit.*

Sleep Well

Hot to the Touch

I don't like pressure. It builds under the skin, causing blisters.

I am also grumpy.

And don't want the assumption of inevitabe intimacy.

Not joking: I love my friends and like to fuck strangers.

Hotsprings Holiday

I want one. A few whole days all to my lonesome dove and I will sit and my muscles will stretch and I will sleep and sleep and soak until I am rubber and then fall for a massage therapist for a few hours before more sleeping and soaking.

Other than that, well, if there is one thing I know about me it's that I am a fickly and flighty little bird. I am moving my creative adult self into a studio. I promise to make it worth the effort of extra work.

I am chilled. I just ate figs; they taste vaguely of *spice*

I hope that I am not too disappointingly dull these days. By now the social energy of summer ought to have abated. It has not. The upswing continues to tick. It is full harvest here. If my ears hear the word grape or sugar count one more time...well it will be normal and this evening.

The shortened days lilt between painting, writing, riding, finding out how much Chaya I can pack into one day. Sometimes it is too much, or not enough, or none.

Tell me a secret.

Rabbit Rabbit, Fox Fox Fox

Sleepless procrastination settles over me
Boarders dissolve questions

Not everyone has a ghost shadow
I know. I see them

Against the highway shadows
Lurking, skulking, shimmying the moon

Leaves tangle around the roots
and wait for rain