Wednesday, December 23, 2015

to the Dogs

To return to the sensitive 
letting the numbness of cold thaw away

The pain and pangs of feeling
a sloughing of callousness

Settle a warm kindle
place your hands where light can see them

those mittens on the kittens
large eyes and the dancing orange about the crucible

alive but its mouth silently opens
cat calls and rolling tender

tinder, like the beginning 
brought forth by day

the amnesia of sleeping birth
held in mysteries of photographic memories

not of your owning, never of your taking
an inheritance, a heredity we share

sympathies to mysteries
fantasies to realities

the games of creation
the order of chaos

I watched as she receded in the period known vulgarly as death. She went retrograde, descalating in complexity down to child, infant, stasis, then essence. The images flashed as memories, hauntings, pleasures, gifts, and sorrows. All transitions blurring. To hang on to pain and suffering for the dying inner child to deal with, is cruelty. May I be forgiven for what I have done, and given strength to tend all that is left to do. Preparing not for death, but blessing the essence as it transforms back into the gift.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Hand of glory

my son just said my nipples look like old chicken.

Now he says that was not the correct phrasing. He apparently said, "fried chicken nipples"

He says these look more like it:

minus the swelling.

dick beaters.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015


Visions of a bleak future world.
What are we left? Can't we see
Unholy pylons stretch across black deserts,
Mankind's reward for his greed.
We'll find the meaning and the goodness in this life.
Through all atrocities and wickedness and strife, Love is stronger than death.
For eternity.
Down to my first breath. Strange aeons. Even death will die. For eternity. For eternity.
Universe 'B' can be seen.
A pre-upheaval migration came. Dreamers that dream the same dream. Underpopulated regions where we live
While the last battle raged.
And paper money means nothing here. Far from the worker bee stage The colony partied all through the night
Down to my first breath.
Through all atrocities and wickedness and strife, We'll find the meaning and the goodness in this life. Love is stronger than death. Strange aeons.
Even death will die.

Universe B:KG. Man has evoked certain energies, and therefore certain entities, the nature of which he is ignorant, and for confrontation with which he is almost totally unprepared...

Pan's Spermia:
Panspermia is a hypothesis proposing that microscopic life forms that can survive the effects of space, such asextremophiles, become trapped in debris that is ejected into space after collisions between planets and small Solar System bodies that harbor life...

As “First Contact” describes, humans have imagined and longed for the existence of life in the skies and space beyond Earth for untold centuries. Some of the best scientific minds in the world, using some of the most advanced technology around, are now engaged in an unprecedented effort to find signs of that extraterrestrial biology. If they succeed (or is it when?), our own world will change forever...

Got Rhys' lomographic camera. Haven't given it to him yet. He got his cruiser though:

He loves this board. Success. :)
We also got him a dog. Here is some back story with Rhys and dogs...When he was three and we lived in Hawaii, I convinced his mom to get a pup. We went to the pound and got some little pit mix pup. It was chewing shit up and piddling on the floor. Then it got annoyed at the three year old over food and frightened rhys' mom. She made us take the puppy back the next day. Rhys wept. crying for his pup. It broke my heart and I was so angry at his mom. 

So leaving the guilt on her hahaha....

Rhys and I went to a local shelter and he picked this cute pup out. A terrier mix that was brought to Spokane from LA as a last chance attempt. We got him (Fitzhugh) and brought him home. My weiner dog, Austin, loved him. They played and then I told Rhys to take Fitz out. He ditched and we never caught him. Gone. Another dog for a day. Rhys may or may not have cried. 

This was Friday. We have not seen him and worried for days. Until:

I checked the dog jails:

Little shit. Rhys hates the nickname I have given him:
Fitzhugh= Fuckhugh. 

We are relieved. Don't get locked up on Fridays or holiday weekends.