Dreams, actions, corpses and eyes: This morning, after I dreamt about spooning a hairy Madonna, I thumped downstairs and found a dismembered rat in the kitchen. The culprit, a cat called Rocky (who resembles Elvis in his younger days), sat on the couch licking his chops and purring. One fully in tact pink lung, which appeared to still have life inside of it, sat a foot away from the rat corpse. I picked up all parts and tossed them behind the compost.
In the theme of death, the bitter cold has taken out a flax plant and my knees could easily be mistaken for fleshy popsicles.
For an early present celebrating the birth of Jesus Christo (and the winter solstice), I received an Olympia typewriter from my mister. Oh how I have missed the sound of typewriter keys punching text onto crisp white paper. Let the letter and propaganda writing begin!
I am about to head to the gymnasium where narcism, groaning, spandex, and hand sanitizer still somehow motivate me to tighten my ass cheeks.
My friend Esteban and I have started a little book club. This week and next we are reading The Clown by Heinrich Böll and Who Will Run the Frog Hospital by Lorrie Moore.
An SRS release will be taking place later - in a bathtub with candles and rose pedals - involving a tiny jar of belly button lint.
Tonight Evelove Glimorous will be partaking in a fundraiser for big brother big sisters of America at the South Waterfront in Portland.