130am, making a mix tape, smiling in bewilderment, replaying the day. blackberries. sunlight filtering through comically tall trees. blue eyes catching the reflection. Shiraz from the bottle. the smooth warm wood and fine sand running through my fingers. and the other stuff.
if I don't think about it, I won't worry that it's absolutely the wrong idea.
*
we did various complicated steps in Lindy tonight. I'm going to miss that class- the onus of my new schedule. my second massage shift is tomorrow. camper van Beethoven and cracker after- my 4th time seeing them.
I spent the gift certificate I won at work: I bought another bukowski and a coloring book of Victorian homes.
that pretty much says everything. I'm easy like that.
*
I was walking down the exorcist stairs by my lair tonight- so dark I had to feel for each step. and I remembered how the novelty of freedom, of being able to do whatever the fuck I want, is something I comfortably take for granted now. and I grinned into the blackness. John lee hooker was singing "boom boom" in my headphones, the skyline twinkled below me, and I was, AM, very fucking grateful and in love with my silly little life.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
when my boy walks down the street
i inexplicably have internettiness at the lair, for an unknown but frenetically finite amount of time! time to download photographs!
a couple of weeks ago the fires in BC spread their smoke to washington. when the aforementioned coworker was shrieking about not wanting to face the apocalypse in renton, i was taking this picture of the sun from the parking lot. it's bright fucking orange, the sun, but it obviously didn't translate to film.
painful cuteness at work. the black one was awesome. the lighter one was a bit slow. both smeared shit on me whilst purring.
the annual brynn-sweating-like-a-whore-in-her-car picture! this was in burien on sunday, temperature 96F.
tombs this morning. she's doing fine since she started antibiotics.
i came downstairs today and heard entropy meowing frantically. i couldn't figure out where she was... which was on the deck, where she'd been locked out all night. i'm a shitty mom. thank christ i never bred- i'd be the one to forget my kids at school for an entire weekend.
instead, i live the sort of life that enables me to prance around vapidly, taking photos of my shadow.
i'm publishing this before the connection fucks up.
a couple of weeks ago the fires in BC spread their smoke to washington. when the aforementioned coworker was shrieking about not wanting to face the apocalypse in renton, i was taking this picture of the sun from the parking lot. it's bright fucking orange, the sun, but it obviously didn't translate to film.
painful cuteness at work. the black one was awesome. the lighter one was a bit slow. both smeared shit on me whilst purring.
the annual brynn-sweating-like-a-whore-in-her-car picture! this was in burien on sunday, temperature 96F.
tombs this morning. she's doing fine since she started antibiotics.
i came downstairs today and heard entropy meowing frantically. i couldn't figure out where she was... which was on the deck, where she'd been locked out all night. i'm a shitty mom. thank christ i never bred- i'd be the one to forget my kids at school for an entire weekend.
instead, i live the sort of life that enables me to prance around vapidly, taking photos of my shadow.
i'm publishing this before the connection fucks up.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
the last Sunday
tomorrow is my first shift at the new job. I'm supposed to wear tasteful garb, which will probably involve black pants and a black shirt. it'll be in the 90s and the place has no air conditioning. I probably won't have a client- who wants a massage when they're inescapably sweaty? well, I wouldn't mind... I'm still enduring the ennui of my last Renton shift, so shan't stress too much yet.
*
the tombs is at the Seattle er with a uti. I figured she wouldn't appreciate the 20 mile sweatfest drive here. her BUN is slightly elevated but fuck, she's nearly 14 years old. she doesn't seem too compromised overall. I'll pick her up tonight. today was a scary reminder of how fucking horrible it'll be when she's gone. she's the sole witness to my adult life...
*
tomatoes and ranch dressing and blueberries! not all at once.
soundtrack: beck "guero", sticking to the seat, sticking to myself, licking my salty bare arm, buying ridiculous chandelier earrings from a Mexican street mercado, temperature 95 degrees.
*
the tombs is at the Seattle er with a uti. I figured she wouldn't appreciate the 20 mile sweatfest drive here. her BUN is slightly elevated but fuck, she's nearly 14 years old. she doesn't seem too compromised overall. I'll pick her up tonight. today was a scary reminder of how fucking horrible it'll be when she's gone. she's the sole witness to my adult life...
*
tomatoes and ranch dressing and blueberries! not all at once.
soundtrack: beck "guero", sticking to the seat, sticking to myself, licking my salty bare arm, buying ridiculous chandelier earrings from a Mexican street mercado, temperature 95 degrees.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
supervision
...is the term bandied about the massage industry to describe your peers and mentors with whom you can ask questions, get advice, or merely vent about the (usually) ethical and emotional aspects of the profession. it was prattled about relentlessly during school- massage is a lonely, draining, physically and mentally exhausting job. during school we, the students, nodded our heads. but now, without my classmates and teachers and other "support system" immediately nearby- NOW I get it.
bbh kicks my ass. every fucking week. I love it. I do. but every day I leave there feeling utterly wrung. staring out the window. listening to my headphones and feeling dulled. the first guy was so filthy his back-dirt turned into little pills under my hands. the second guy had one of those kyphotic backs that comes from aids medication- it was like his ribs expanded dorsally, and floating on top randomly were his completely adhesed scapulae. they were both very nice- everyone I've worked with there has been lovely- but I had that fucking awful thought with guy #2: I'm massaging someone who has aids. and I got really fucking sad. somehow I imagined my touch to be more loaded- I get far more emotionally involved than I would with, say, a strapping 30 year old who overdid it at the gym.
*
after being so fucking jaded in veterinary medicine, I am grateful to still be affect-able. I'm relieved that the world can still get to me.
*
I start my new job, officially, on Sunday. holy FUCK! I am so excited. terrified. I hope I have a client. I go in for more reception training tomorrow. it will be nice to work at a place where I don't leave covered in beast-hair and reeking of beast-ass. I suspect the clientele won't try to bite or scratch, either.
like last night: adorable stray dog. fed it food. ate with frantic enthusiasm. five minutes later the doctor walks by. "what did you feed that dog?did you put water in with canned food?" the dog had ejected SOMETHING from it's body and into the empty food dish: near as I could discern, it involved diarrhea and urine. he hit the bowl perfectly. or maybe it was vomit? who fucking knows? it was VILE. so I'm carrying this brimming bowl of FUCK-ALL to the back sink, praying it doesn't slosh, thinking of that fucking video of the ritualistic vomiting-shit-eating (thanks j!). "this is the worst moment of the night" I announced to the doctor, who was covering her mouth and nose with the collar of her shirt.
see, I probably won't have to deal with shit like THAT.
*
everything else is interesting. interesting.
*
didja know? giraffes clean their ears with their tongue! I mean, of course- I just never thought about it. unlucky tongue.
"unlucky tongue" would be a great band name. it flows. similar dipthongs.
*
I am sitting in bright sunshine at the beloved Canterbury before meeting someone for a show. I needed some introversion. riding around on the bus listening to van der graaf, while awesome, wasn't quite therapeutic enough. god, I listened to vdgg obsessively when I was in nice. I would ride the train to villefranche-sur-Mille and Cannes and ventmiglia and stare at the midieval villages on crags and the weirdly placid water... listening to "cats eye/yellow fever" on full volume, expressionless.
I regret never visiting the parfumeries. what a fucking obnoxious sentence! gross! I rephrase: north of the cote d'azur is the region where the essenses for ~85% of the perfumes worldwide are produced. grasse is one such town. anyway, the professional 'smellers' -the sommeliers of the scent world!- are forbidden to do or eat pretty much anything, so valued and delicate are their palettes. so: French folk forbidden to eat garlic and onions; to drink any form of alcohol; to smoke; I am sure there are sundry other stipulations. knowing that, doesn't it seem like a big self-loathing "fuck you" to the French and French culture? I would xenophobically snicker about it whilst there anyway.
in nice there was a huge farmers market- and every day I would stroll through, all surreptitious with my Afro and sloppy American garb, to procure free samples.
i had my left nostril pierced in nice. there might be a photo somewhere. I took it out within a week.
an Aussie I met at the hostel sang "kalifornication" at some horrible Irish pub in the vieux carre. if you had a vagina you could pay a 1€ cover and drink free wine all night.
I saw the original LOVE painting in nice.
I ate a lot of bottled pesto.
I smoked Montclair Blancs everywhere.
ordered a pastis at 11am once because I read in a fucking guidebook that it was how the locals rolled. harsh booze at 11am- not a fan. I just felt stupid and squinty after.
shriveled breasts on bronzed old women. I went topless on the beach there... AND WROTE ABOUT IT IN A POSTCARD TO MY COWORKERS. nearly a decade later, I'm still mortified by that. humans get weird when there's no one right there to share their every moment- with me, at least, I become stupidly non-discriminatory.
*
I am, as is customary of late, writing this on the fucking iPhone, so shall uneditedly cease now.
the sun just hid behind the clouds, again.
and someone just put "run to the hills" on the jukebox! how's YOUR evening?
bbh kicks my ass. every fucking week. I love it. I do. but every day I leave there feeling utterly wrung. staring out the window. listening to my headphones and feeling dulled. the first guy was so filthy his back-dirt turned into little pills under my hands. the second guy had one of those kyphotic backs that comes from aids medication- it was like his ribs expanded dorsally, and floating on top randomly were his completely adhesed scapulae. they were both very nice- everyone I've worked with there has been lovely- but I had that fucking awful thought with guy #2: I'm massaging someone who has aids. and I got really fucking sad. somehow I imagined my touch to be more loaded- I get far more emotionally involved than I would with, say, a strapping 30 year old who overdid it at the gym.
*
after being so fucking jaded in veterinary medicine, I am grateful to still be affect-able. I'm relieved that the world can still get to me.
*
I start my new job, officially, on Sunday. holy FUCK! I am so excited. terrified. I hope I have a client. I go in for more reception training tomorrow. it will be nice to work at a place where I don't leave covered in beast-hair and reeking of beast-ass. I suspect the clientele won't try to bite or scratch, either.
like last night: adorable stray dog. fed it food. ate with frantic enthusiasm. five minutes later the doctor walks by. "what did you feed that dog?did you put water in with canned food?" the dog had ejected SOMETHING from it's body and into the empty food dish: near as I could discern, it involved diarrhea and urine. he hit the bowl perfectly. or maybe it was vomit? who fucking knows? it was VILE. so I'm carrying this brimming bowl of FUCK-ALL to the back sink, praying it doesn't slosh, thinking of that fucking video of the ritualistic vomiting-shit-eating (thanks j!). "this is the worst moment of the night" I announced to the doctor, who was covering her mouth and nose with the collar of her shirt.
see, I probably won't have to deal with shit like THAT.
*
everything else is interesting. interesting.
*
didja know? giraffes clean their ears with their tongue! I mean, of course- I just never thought about it. unlucky tongue.
"unlucky tongue" would be a great band name. it flows. similar dipthongs.
*
I am sitting in bright sunshine at the beloved Canterbury before meeting someone for a show. I needed some introversion. riding around on the bus listening to van der graaf, while awesome, wasn't quite therapeutic enough. god, I listened to vdgg obsessively when I was in nice. I would ride the train to villefranche-sur-Mille and Cannes and ventmiglia and stare at the midieval villages on crags and the weirdly placid water... listening to "cats eye/yellow fever" on full volume, expressionless.
I regret never visiting the parfumeries. what a fucking obnoxious sentence! gross! I rephrase: north of the cote d'azur is the region where the essenses for ~85% of the perfumes worldwide are produced. grasse is one such town. anyway, the professional 'smellers' -the sommeliers of the scent world!- are forbidden to do or eat pretty much anything, so valued and delicate are their palettes. so: French folk forbidden to eat garlic and onions; to drink any form of alcohol; to smoke; I am sure there are sundry other stipulations. knowing that, doesn't it seem like a big self-loathing "fuck you" to the French and French culture? I would xenophobically snicker about it whilst there anyway.
in nice there was a huge farmers market- and every day I would stroll through, all surreptitious with my Afro and sloppy American garb, to procure free samples.
i had my left nostril pierced in nice. there might be a photo somewhere. I took it out within a week.
an Aussie I met at the hostel sang "kalifornication" at some horrible Irish pub in the vieux carre. if you had a vagina you could pay a 1€ cover and drink free wine all night.
I saw the original LOVE painting in nice.
I ate a lot of bottled pesto.
I smoked Montclair Blancs everywhere.
ordered a pastis at 11am once because I read in a fucking guidebook that it was how the locals rolled. harsh booze at 11am- not a fan. I just felt stupid and squinty after.
shriveled breasts on bronzed old women. I went topless on the beach there... AND WROTE ABOUT IT IN A POSTCARD TO MY COWORKERS. nearly a decade later, I'm still mortified by that. humans get weird when there's no one right there to share their every moment- with me, at least, I become stupidly non-discriminatory.
*
I am, as is customary of late, writing this on the fucking iPhone, so shall uneditedly cease now.
the sun just hid behind the clouds, again.
and someone just put "run to the hills" on the jukebox! how's YOUR evening?
Thursday, August 05, 2010
the calm before the potentially less-calm
82 degrees, in the grassy shade at green lake, skirt hiked up, getting clover all up in my business. every year I love summer more. I love finally being HAPPY in the summertime- life is nicely interesting lately.
I find myself reading a lot of books about the seamy '70s-'80s new York city lifestyle lately. started another one today whilst sweating on my deck- it's surreal to read a book about gay culture that was written after stonewall and before aids. freedom and fearlessness. I am nostagic for an era I didn't exist for.
when I think of NYC, the fantasy, I think of spraying hydrants and orange sunshine slanting across brick walls. I think of stifling subways and the smell of a hundred different meals. I think of car doors slamming and wilted petals in the gutter outside the flower shop. that's the picturesque scene I've derived- someplace in Brooklyn or Queens...
real NYC memories: smoking a clove outside grand central. standing between subway cars and yelling in the tunnel. square slices of pizza from filthy establishments. being fucking cold. the Guggenheim. laughing at the obscenely expensive foods at dean and deluca. getting up to the statue of liberty's ankle before they closed for the day and turned everyone away. the allman brothers and the seedy diner after. little kids selling cigarettes. newspapers blowing. squirrels fucking. t insisting on mcdonalds fries. rasta garb for sale on blankets on the sidewalk. buying a hawkwind album and listening to "time we left this world today" over and over.
*
I haven't been to NYC since 2005. now I'm sitting in warm grass. it all works out.
*
and I'm drinking a sunkist.
*
I find myself reading a lot of books about the seamy '70s-'80s new York city lifestyle lately. started another one today whilst sweating on my deck- it's surreal to read a book about gay culture that was written after stonewall and before aids. freedom and fearlessness. I am nostagic for an era I didn't exist for.
when I think of NYC, the fantasy, I think of spraying hydrants and orange sunshine slanting across brick walls. I think of stifling subways and the smell of a hundred different meals. I think of car doors slamming and wilted petals in the gutter outside the flower shop. that's the picturesque scene I've derived- someplace in Brooklyn or Queens...
real NYC memories: smoking a clove outside grand central. standing between subway cars and yelling in the tunnel. square slices of pizza from filthy establishments. being fucking cold. the Guggenheim. laughing at the obscenely expensive foods at dean and deluca. getting up to the statue of liberty's ankle before they closed for the day and turned everyone away. the allman brothers and the seedy diner after. little kids selling cigarettes. newspapers blowing. squirrels fucking. t insisting on mcdonalds fries. rasta garb for sale on blankets on the sidewalk. buying a hawkwind album and listening to "time we left this world today" over and over.
*
I haven't been to NYC since 2005. now I'm sitting in warm grass. it all works out.
*
and I'm drinking a sunkist.
*
Monday, August 02, 2010
try me
"always assuming I lay on my back, not daring to direct my viler side toward the nebulous haunch of my bed-mate..." -Nabokov
*
I could reread 'lolita' a hundred times. wonder what that says about me...
*
I am JANGLY AS FUCK. distracted, unable to concentrate, both restless and apathetic- I want to do everything, and so do nothing. slept for 7 hours- an oddity- with intricate, not unpleasant, unremembered dreams- woke in the same position I fell asleep in. rainbow sails on lake union. yesterday the sun was bright orange. we took pictures from the parking lot at work. "I don't want to be in RENTON when the end of the world comes!" f yelled. I feel so discombobulated- the last two weeks has been very fucking surreal. so much change. I hope I can adapt. my face felt weird yesterday- sleep resolved that.
I give everything second, third, tenth chances. it's not because I'm a naive idealist- though I assuredly, detrimentally am- it's because I would appreciate the same flexibility. and... while I trust, I don't HEED my instincts. this is whimsical when 15, slightly bemusing when older.
*
salted cashews, strawberries, "sweet & rough" mustard. not all together. now I think of "nice... and ROUGH..." and Ike & Tina. this is how flittery my thoughts are. it's time to jump on the trampoline.
*
tis yet another iPhone entry of staccato phrasings and unedited ballyhoo.
*
I could reread 'lolita' a hundred times. wonder what that says about me...
*
I am JANGLY AS FUCK. distracted, unable to concentrate, both restless and apathetic- I want to do everything, and so do nothing. slept for 7 hours- an oddity- with intricate, not unpleasant, unremembered dreams- woke in the same position I fell asleep in. rainbow sails on lake union. yesterday the sun was bright orange. we took pictures from the parking lot at work. "I don't want to be in RENTON when the end of the world comes!" f yelled. I feel so discombobulated- the last two weeks has been very fucking surreal. so much change. I hope I can adapt. my face felt weird yesterday- sleep resolved that.
I give everything second, third, tenth chances. it's not because I'm a naive idealist- though I assuredly, detrimentally am- it's because I would appreciate the same flexibility. and... while I trust, I don't HEED my instincts. this is whimsical when 15, slightly bemusing when older.
*
salted cashews, strawberries, "sweet & rough" mustard. not all together. now I think of "nice... and ROUGH..." and Ike & Tina. this is how flittery my thoughts are. it's time to jump on the trampoline.
*
tis yet another iPhone entry of staccato phrasings and unedited ballyhoo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
