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My cat is sick. A couple of days ago we took him to vet ER and dropped $700 for x-rays and an ultrasound which turned out normal. They said it was probably a viral infection, like the flu and to keep him inside til he gets better. Some how he keeps getting out and laying in the street, two days in a row when I've been out a lady has picked him up out of the busy intersection near my house and brought him to our door. He's walking in circles and having trouble eating. Today I was able to feed him turkey by hand, but he couldn't do it without turning his head completely backwards. I've started to squeeze water into his mouth. I wish I had thought of doing these things sooner because the poor guy must be hungry. Another vet visit soon, good thing I'm not broke. :(
 
 
 
 
 
 
Deep questions. First, a warm up. Where and when am I? Monday night in panties bedroom mode. Small glass of whiskey. The mysterious bottle that has sat on the sun porch untouched for at least a year. Bit up from Pisgah Reservoir where we watched the beautiful ribbon-like leech try and come onto the Rock to eat us. Maybe just as amazingly(but actually more so) there was a sundew growing in a crevice of our chosen rock spot. A real live wild carnivorous plant, heart be still! Next week the blueberries will be ripe. Anyway, I'm itchy. On the exterior, I'm shiny from sunscreen and ripped up by roses. new do too, I'm talking hair. Shortened the sides so the top and back can catch up with the front under the cap I wear at work. My style icons lately are who I imagine the ladies of the early internet to be, Moms at Disneyland, and Sargent Benjamin. Maybe the warm up's all I got.
 
 
 
 
 
 
What's uppppp
 
 
 
 
 
 
I am having troubles moving forward. There is a defined list of things that I know I need to do, but I am not doing them. Mainly because I think I don't have the time, but also for reasons I don't fully understand. Getting my health insurance back is a huge one, paying my long over due and inflated excise tax another, signing up for foodstamps. I need new glasses and a follow up at the lady doctor. My bedroom floor is pretty much a ball pit of laundry, I feel like I've been avoiding my friends and acquaintances at school. Plus I have a damn debilitating cold, which will probably last through finals if it's like what everybody else has. And there's an x-mas show with experimental Santa that I was asked to perform at next week and I said yes. Timing is terrible.

I still don't know what I'm doing. No matter how much school I go through, I won't be brilliant at everything. At some point soon I need to stop and make the decision to continue or diverge. If my art suffers I suffer, so I guess I'm asking myself if what I'm doing with my life is good for my art. How will my ability to make a secondary alcohol from an alkene help me to tell a story about humans on Earth? I guess just being alive and making records allows for one to be a part of that story.
 
 
 
 
 
 
I live for the breeze through my window. I'm up early. There is not much to do, but a lot. I have been attempting to formulate a personal statement to send to universities where my significant experience doesn't include a lot of seedy trauma and embarrassing co-dependance. While personal, emotional work is a major part of my life, I feel both successful and struggling at it. Talking about a series of events or past way of behaving changes the memories into worse ones sometimes. Those are not the kinds of stories I want to tell or rehash.

Tying to find a way to go to college for science while at the same time rediscovering that my philosophies are primitivist is a scary endeavor. I don't think they'll like me at UMASS pretty much, so I'm trying for free school at Smith. Because feminism. On the flip side, I am aware that we are evolving through the use of higher science and technology. I am aware that at this point, a new Eden for humanity will require advanced tools and a huge pool of collected knowledge. I work efficiently in clean, controlled environments and creatively in messes. I believe in Mars and Donna Haraway.

I am a process artist.

The biggest issue I have is time. Those two paragraphs up there took me an hour to write. I hardly ever have time to edit, and rework papers. Good thing I resigned from my job yesterday!
 
 
 
 
 
 
I'm concerned about things. Anxious. I have frightening thoughts, like my face becoming clay-like. Changeable, but never quite the same once altered. Rode back from Woodstock in the rain and hit 2 in Charlemont in the blackest downpour and fog. At one point I had to forget I was alive in order to keep moving forward. Bryan broke down behind me and when his headlight disappeared from my mirror I decided to keep riding. He had told me he would have to let his air filters dry if it happened, so I left him behind with a sickening guilt. The day was hard and I was feeling like we were on separate adventures because we were having difficulties staying in sight of each other on the road. I took each turn slow, and anticipated avoiding bears in the road ahead. We had stopped in North Adams and my fucking lips were blue and I needed a long hug, i clutched at the memories I was making of the blue mountains in the thick wet clouds. When I rode I wondered if wet pavement felt better or worse when grated across at high speeds. I got home and Annie and I drove to find him, but he made it back while we were looking. He was running a hot bath and we both got in, no longer on the lonely highway, together.

We had been visiting Loren at his cabin in Olive, NY in the Catskills. We went to Woodstock and witnessed the hippy themed tourist economy which was wild. Wandered the artist cemetery there which is filled with kooky, unexpected headstones and tame-ass spiritual seeming doe Deer. We drank weak mushroom tea and walked up a long steep hill with a panoramic mountain view, 7 foot high mullein, berries, morning glories, grapes, thistle, cat tails, etc. and a white cabin with red shutters for sale at the top. (With 140 acres) woah. Then we walked back and watched Poltergeist as it started to rain. Did some painting, played some music, talked chemistry, capitalism, mice and mosquitos. No running water, pooping in the woods, awesome.
 
 
 
 
 
 
I slept last night from 6:20 until 8 this morning. Things got all messed up when I drank a red bull before the Bunnies show on Thursday. It was one of those situations where I offered couch space to a touring band so I had to at least go and meet them beforehand. They ended up wanting to crash in Worcestor to break up the trip to a show Portland, so I was off the hook but still mentally energized as hell. Earlier that day a joke I made about the growing facade of bourgeois in Great Falls was used "name and gender changed" to illustrate an ugly picture of class divide and ignorance of true poverty among "artists" and their hip friends. I was fucking pissed, then had a lot of introspection which led me to the conclusion that that person is a shitty selfaggrandizing person who would rather write a long aggressive rant than take part in an actual conversation about a real problem. That shit weighs on my mind, tho. I do not respond well to masculine aggression and when it comes to it I have a problem not imagining myself punching that guy, wish I could say I didn't. I would not call myself a socialite, or hip.
Optimism about people and community is an attitude I intentionally take.
But maybe the root of the fatigue was the quick trip we took CT which was tough sandwiched between two eight hours days. My mind and body were all out of sync so I woke up early yesterday and realized Bryan had a UHaul and need help loading his garage stuff, and it was hot and heavy and I hated it. My parents simultaneously guilt tripped me into calling them. Crystal saw me and came over to admit that her memory was impaired and she had forgotten my name. Then I went swimming with Cathe! And it was so good and then to the warehouse where I sat among the weeds until going home to sleep for twelve hours.
 
 
 
 
 
 
On my weird list of things to do today I wrote something to the effect of "examine emotions" which is actually totally random. Since I completed most of everything else on said list, maybe this bullet was the most important daily need since it came straight from my unconscious. It could be that I feel somewhat dispassionate and empty sometimes so I want to sit down and remind myself that I feel things. There have been reasons to spend time in greenfield this month. fellows have opened a new spot for experimental art And music in the store front of my old building on Miles st. FDOME played recently, and Final Frontiers, too. And Bryan is renting a space in a newly purchased for 40,000 dollar ancient, huge, dirty, dank, probably toxic brick warehouse/factory, so we are cleaning it. Anyhow, feelings are arising as I recollect being glamorized by it all in 2006 and realizing that here I am sort of on the edge of living those dreams. Today, I am unencumbered by a youthfully stupid and furious romantic engagement, my bedsheets are free from loose tobacco, I care about the health of my surroundings. I am disinclined to immediately record my content at a breeze and a church bell, but I am still enraptured by weeds.


Baby brought me sweet mochi in bed!
 
 
 
 
 
 
Cherry, Boo Boo, Smokey, Sun, and Panda are the biker names up for grabs in my fantasy gang called the Scare Bears. I love riding my new motorcycle, she is a powerful purple pony. And these days are perfect 77 degrees, so much goddamn green, fucking blue, and the best clouds from sunrise to sunset. June is awesome.

We have Bosco right now and the only way to make him stop his racket is to sing to him in long low tones. He is a cat attuned vibrationally. He despises harmonicas, chord organs, and most likely clarinets and saxophones. I guess I can't blame him.

I just finished reading Transmetropolitan and I miss it. It inspired me to upgrade my news source to a multi source newsfeed app. Although I've been bemoaning Facebook curation , it didn't occur to me that pure news feeds existed until reading the graphic novel. I was also unaware that Spider Jerusalem was based off Hunter S. Thompson until discussing it with Bryan. News is awsome. Art is awesome.

If I ever have a child I will be sure to instill in them an awe for the plasticity of organisms and human beings, in particular. People that grow very large, or grow up to be small, or develop pigment displacement, or change their form through surgery, or practice genital stretching. Our DNA allows for adaptive adjustments. Bodies are awesome.
 
 
 
 
 
 
This winter has been pretty great to me. I've been on some beautiful, epic ice walks and I've eaten lots of free winter greens. The weather has been both too cold and fine enough for pleasant outside exploration which is a wonderful complement to my recent literary wanderings. Last winter I took a taxi to work instead of biking or walking, and behaved like a bee. I kept warm by avoiding the outside and snuggling under blankets. Unknowingly, I had been preparing all year for a cold, wet winter with a my reading choices. This year with the help of books I have adjusted my perspective and I'm coming to appreciate the season.
I read Red Mars, by Kim Stanley Robinson in January. Using color logic, like I sometimes do, would cause one to assume that the red planet is warm. Actually it takes many weeks traveling away from the sun to get there and there are no life forms to create greenhouse gasses. It is covered in ice and incredibly cold. In the book it is the first time humans have been on the planet and all of them are scientists. There is a lot of exploring to do, data to collect, and infrastructure to build in straight-up cold weather. Wearing thermal suits that keep the effect of the temperature to almost equal winter in Siberia, these people are cold weather bosses and completely inspirational. Lately, in wool and mittens, I have enjoyed examining local cold mosses and lichens I have never thought to notice before. Stanley predicts that these life forms will be first step to creating livable conditions on Mars. The Mars Trilogy has not only changed my perspective on winter, but on many aspects of planet Earth.
At the suggestion of a good friend I read Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage, by Alfred Lansing. Before batteries, in the time of Morse Code and wooden ships, people went to Antarctica and barely survived or died trying to cross the continent. The men aboard The Endurance were on such a mission, but were forced to make do on an iceberg during the Polar Night before even making it to land. The book is based on interviews and journals of the sailors, scientists, and the 19 year old stowaway whose ship was crushed by an ice sheet in the Arctic Sea. The real life characters and incentives reveal themselves beautifully in the way only personal letters from that time do. So much Wetness! So much snow! So much frostbite! Reading this book and empathizing with that experience turns 20 degree New England weather balmy and safe.I’ll never be attacked by a tiger shark, while walking on ice near the Conneticutt river, but I will be wary. I won't have to make the decision to keep or kill my dogs and I won't have to burn fish blubber for heat. Winter camping for me could get never be so grimy, but after reading Endurance I will always remember the black grease and frostbite on the flesh of that crew.
Then in December, I learned about my favorite author, John Muir. This man was the original environmentalist and directly responsible for any federal nature preservation. He loved the snowy mountaintops with all of his heart and soul. His prose are majestic and vividly spiritual and at the same time scientific, observational poetry. The thing about Muir that inspires winter fortitude in me is his ruggedness. He would set out for multiple day hikes with no coat, no blanket, a loaf of bread, and some tea. He would make a bed in a pine tree, wake up all night keeping up a fire, and spend the next day climbing a rock face with his bare hands. After reading Muir, a walk in the woods is quite a holy, exciting thing. I often look up phrases that he uses and I when I do my world becomes a bit more like his.
I am truly grateful for ability to read. Stories and books have always had enormous impact on my life. Just recently on my quest for winter, I went back to The Snow Queen. As an adult I was able to hold the weight of Anderson's images of ice, glass and mirrors. I recognized the metaphors of snow, spring, and growing up. As a kid I heard the story of a little girl who goes through the woods to find and rescue her friend in the Snow Queens castle. As a person finding reasons to go out in the weather I'll say, "That little girl's love didn't waiver to some cold, why should mine?"