“This one is Cuddly, we call her that because she is so cuddly… This one is Diana… she is a bitch.” Cuddly gets special treatment because she gets beat up by the other chickens,” the guy who I am house sitting for picks her up and kisses her.
“Alexa, play Enigma.” Alexa is a bluetooth speaker that plays from Amazon purchases, and Amazon prime. Later she is asked to play Enya and U2.
The 8 chickens, 2 cats, and 2 giant dogs all seem happy and well fed. The people are kind and end all correspondence with “blessings.” Juice pulp and carrots function as dog treats, along with hemp leafs, which ramp up their already high level of vibration.
Finding Om stickers on various housewares becomes a new game as I learn about cat-feeding. Raja is smelling my backpack, the woman I’m housesitting for touches her heart and says: “What an honor.” Later: “We don’t practice any religion… but we worship cats.”
I am informed of how the dogs used to play when they were in their former bodies, having been reincarnated to their current forms. A cup of nettle tea and a demonstration on “picking up the poops” within the Magic Circle, giving leftover eggs to ravens, and vegan dog kibble further round out my understanding of the ~temple sit~ I am embarking on for the next month.
Meow Wolf has an inside joke about shrimps and I don’t know where it came from or why it’s funny. So there was a “Shrimps Party” to celebrate a new work space and hard work – Mallplex painted arcade cabinets, black lights, DJs, snacks, chairs, a keg, plenty of people.
The same night SCUBA debuted a show at James Kelley Contemporary. SCUBA’s after party was dubbed “Ex Cactus”. Everyone (Benji) planned on getting loaded and walking back and forth between parties.
The Shrimps Party was really fun and ended up winning, partially because the DJs for the other party were making out upstairs.
Noah says he will fund my first vegan restaurant, but under the condition that it is themed, and that it is called: “Spencer’s”:
– Really good food but with sad Midwestern diner styling.
– Buy everything new but pay to have black butt-grime faux finished onto red vinyl booths
– Half the lights are low-key purple for some reason and you feel like you’re going blind
– Vaguely vegan/clown themed decor
– Local artist commissioned sad clown with kale picture
– Really bad mural of cornucopia above kitchen – that is lazily clown themed somehow
– One poster kind of by the kitchen or maybe the bathrooms that says: “End Obama’s war on religion.”
Pretty much another version of “Our Haunted Fruit Stand.”
Tina asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday a while ago and I said I wanted a bird-themed rave. I made a set comprised entirely of songs called “Bird” or “Birds” or songs that mentioned birds or included bird sounds. I also made pineapple, basil & lemon cocktails and “spiritual pizza.”
There was a poetry night the same night/place with corresponding performance (devil make up, ritualistic shots) and a painting to go with each poem in the series “Eat the Devil.”
Cool Connor made me an excellent track entitled “Bird Man”, and both River and Bea got me artisanal vegan cheeses! A scent I associate with this time of year is star-gazer lillies, which Bea combined into a stunning bouquet. Standing around the fire Benji asked: “ARE YOU READY?” and jumped around yelling “BIN BIN NIB NIB!” until handing me a bag of tabs.
My cool and smart friends are deluxe-kind to me and can really throw down on the dance floor.
By 3 much of the party had dissipated and we had an iphone poetry reading. The task of cleaning and gathering my possessions was daunting, as was the prospect of driving home to share my small futon with Jessie. Instead, Jessie, Angelo and I shared Angelo’s slightly larger futon and single pillow.
In the morning we got vegan brunch before heading to the beach. Ha ha, just kidding! We went to work!
Benji’s mod party was a great success in Warhol-style tinfoil and dance moves.
Bridget and the Worms played their hit record collection and the Sex Headaches did a Kinks set. There was a rocker party next door.
As the party dissolved into lying on the floor Kristen, John, and I dissolved into hysterical laughter about “Our Haunted Fruit Stand” with its ruby-eyed jaw-clacking skull and $100 pear in a glass case.
I named Angel Pie when I was 3 and we have been dear friends ever since. Angel Pie won every battle with a coyote (such as the time she stared one down through the glass door, or the time she was in a coyote’s mouth and escaped).
When I was a little kid, whenever we drove someplace, Angel Pie would follow the car down the street and meow for us to come back. Growing up, I worried about Angel Pie and our other beloved cat Hobbs being hit by a car. When I thought in their direction they would come and find me. Angel Pie and I would have sleepovers beneath covers, which she was always fascinated with. Some years ago, when we got a modern couch and there was no arm to sit on, Angel pie leaped and awkwardly sat on Will’s shoulder.
Angel Pie outlived several other friends and last Thanksgiving, in the cadence of a little kid from a 30’s movie I said: “Mama, Angel Pie is immortal right?” She was around 22 when she died.
For the last few days of her life, Angel Pie followed my mom and me around the house, lying down wherever we were. There’s a sublime sort of communication kitties can have with people, Angel Pie had that with us.
February was hard, as always.
My mom had a nervous breakdown. She and Dion then talked about philosophy and sang along with Johnny Cash while I made 64 kimchi/shiitake dumplings in my usual Saturday sleep-deprived state.
I awoke some nights to loud crashes and Dion sobbing. Eventually he became immobilized by depression so Noah got in touch with his parents and took him to the emergency room.
I worked with a pointy head toward a deadline, editing for 18 hours straight, going to White Sands twice, and then missed the deadline by 16 minutes, because I am the type of idiot who does cannot read the words “eastern standard time.”
Angel Pie went from killing mice to near-death. Then she died.
I want to plunge so deep
that I see dead friends,
punch a waterfall
through my stomach
“I love you”
with every thoughtful cell
(Photo by David Louridge)
This emptiness could be peaceful if it wasn’t built from lack.
Depression happens as sudden illness. I am lucky I don’t have it often.
I have kept a consistent diary since I was 16. In the morning sun and my dad’s dining room Hoku showed me a list of events in a day. I liked how boring yet personal it was. I liked the idea of a log. I have kept a diary in list-form ever since. A calming and obsessive habit. The last five to seven years are on Google Drive.
It doesn’t so much matter to keep the journals, though I would have liked to. Reading back on my first logs before our family laptop was stolen, I noticed life changes corresponding to dreams. When I don’t write a journal I feel confused. I feel disorganized in myself.
Months have elapsed without my writing (outside of my job as a writer). In some cases my blog replaces my journal, but I’m still driven to make lists of my personal mundane. I am ready to be boring again.