ma soeur est enceinte
elle est seulement seize
le coeur de ma grand-mere palpite
chaque fois elle parle d'il

so last night for the second time, i exchanged exhilaratingly sexually loaded witticisms with my little black haired ponytailed vixen, who teases and flirts me up to no end and for whom i "have to wait till sunday for", when i'm coming over to "walk her dog" (her words). a sunday that may never come since this is basically a thunderstorm of my subconscious, conscious, id, ego, superego, and what have you. i am sleeping soundly during these tart trysts "in real life". what is that though> and where> and whence?

there are many suspicions i have about dreams. come visit me, mr. freud, and we shall have a nice chat.

my life is consumed as of late. i suppose by the ordinary of getting through. but again, to what> and how now? perhaps the little moments of transcend, which are something i often have to coax my sense and senses into realizing, are all that life truly has to offer. i do not mean this glumly, not at all, those little moments come from everywhere and nowhere and are wonderful, but quiet. almost ordinarily so. i don't know quite what i mean. perhaps that the dazzlesparklewhirr isn't quite doing it for me anymore, yet in its true form i'd like it to, yet i know that i'm not capable or even very willing to chase it around anymore.

does anyone out there know of a sweat lodge that doesn't have a problem with strange random people just showing up? i am very much in need of one.

i think it's advertising
and/or the man
some kind of sunday blues
a never used to be
no aloneness please
help if you are human i need you
just the sight of a face will do
(and i hate that about me and about you)
so like gum on the sidewalk
must teach myself how to melt
only to become solid again
maybe at night when the world has cooled down.

hi yall. i have a summer cold, and it's the blues. hm. what else. i have not seen anyone from e-strip in weeks, since the courtyard bbq. and that's the blues too. maybe the food was horrendous, yes? and worse, the beer watered down?
alack, perhaps it is my lassitude rather than the quality of my victuals keeping me away from droogies. do not mistake lassitude for pococurance, however.

i took a personality quizzy quiz today, and it told me i was an evil genius. muah-hah-hah-haaaaaaaahhhhhh. watch out. i could be cookin up a plan at any moment. since i am poor at cookin up plans, and generally un-evil, i think the quiz was off a bit.

well, okay. this is a class D post but ay me. summertime in buffalo spells time slipping like liquid. slip. slop. slippety. slop. hey look, it's fall again. how morose of me. i duly apologize.

• holly*--my auntie just bought an old junker of a house so coincidentally, i participated in a house gutting just a few days ago, during which i stepped on an upturned nail with one foot, went to steady myself with the other, and stepped on a nail with that one too. ha! i guess that can happen figuratively as well during the 'gutted as a person' process. i think i'd like that process to happen to me. i have gone through it somewhat, but it happens so subtly and gradually that i can only see it when something new emerges. then it's like- hey, i guess that was in the works for a while. maybe that's not quite gutting then, because the actual house gutting was messy, dusty, dirty, exhausting, and more than a little violent. shit was flying everywhere. the front yard was overflowing with debris waiting to be whisked off to the dump. i think i need that variety. are you going through one?

well, to those of you out of town or otherwise engaged, you shall be sorely missed at blue heron if you aren't going, which i assume. i will party and dance small pieces of my butt off for you, and will think of you during my sixth or so bloody mary. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. bloody marys.

it has occurred to me that getting a frickin cell phone has changed my life rather significantly. i can't think of a single thought i had today. why have thoughts when you can talk on the phone? talk talk talk, gabb, gab, chat, chit, and rat-a-tat-tat-t-dow. i really hate being on the phone. i really, rilly do. when i am not i simply sit, tho. and watch birds. eventually it prompts me to call someone. since my gramma does not work, i call her often.

where are you reepicheep?

so now i am having a beer, and dancin wit myseh-elf (oh oh) via a gift called writing. thoughts in the last five minutes:

pink is for minks.

work would be good, if you "earned" in a day what you "earned" in a week.

somewhere out there, a motorcycle has crashed.

now if i could somehow smush these three thoughts into a story, but oh, to do it plausibly. ohhhhh. woe. i am unbrilliant at present. help! i enjoy myself too often! candy at work is slowly becoming the highlight of my day. the pleasing green background of e-strip is like a delicious margarita, making me want to get a blender, stat.

three boobed woman, muselike, staring mystere at a skyscape seemingly bare, visit me. we shall meet in our dreams at the spider lounge, where you will be drinking a milky elixir made from unknown precious goat fluids and i shall be smoking a sorrel cigar as i approach you. and our discourse shall shake the time space continuum. if you please, and i will sacrifice to you a bottle of cold duck and five shoots of scallion and call on hermes to witness.

i never, except i am going to make mine non-sexual, which is much less fun. but there's a lot of new folks, and i'm shy. (phhfff) ;)

SO, in my life i have never:

1. taken a bath in anything other than water
2. eaten a snail
3. grown a third breast and/or nipple
4. actually seen an ocelot
5. been out of north america :(
6. heard the cry of the blue-footed booby
7. shorn a single living thing
8. witnessed a birth
9. waterskiied
10. attempted to grow a very large pumpkin

like flacidness, i too hope to experience all 10 things on his, oh i mean my, list someday.

i have been delinquent.

thanks to all for the uniqueness of your presence and presience at le bar-b-q. we, as in paulnotpaul and myself (trisha) had a fantabyulastic time... good thing tomorrow is sunday. the day of our lord jeebus, wherein i can pray for the sinner that is me.

to get the warm juicy feeling, i have been prompted by our luxe webmaster to post my knowledge of salts. which i actually learned from a magazine. the practicality of these uses may just melt all e-strippers' hearts-o'-ice after my long and derelictionous absence, which is regrettable and pathetique.

enough about me. you are soooo interesting:


rub salt in the cavity of a chick-in or turkydear to keep the bird moist (before cooking, duh) mmm. nothing worse than that dry bird.

add a pinch o'salt to cream or egg whites to make them whip up higher. nothing better than that high whip.

salt raw eggplant to draw out the excess moisture (and cut down on the oil absorbed during cooking-- nothing like saving dough on that precious olive oyl).

banish onion odor from your hands by rubbing them with salt and a splash of binegar. i'd so rather smell like binegar than onions. though i still hold fast to my theory that onions are momma nature's secretest vagina.

put a dash of salt in your vase with cut flowers--they'll stay fresh longer. hurray, less trips to mother nature florist. on elmwood.

clean sink drains by running a hot strong salt solution down them. no more odors, no more grease build up. bye bye dran-o. you expensive whore.

rub salt on your grill tools. it magically rids them of the black grease stuff that is carbonized lighter fluid, et al.

polish your fine brass or copper pieces with a paste made of equal parts salt, flour, and binegar. lay lady lay. lay across my big brass bed.

my personal fave, living in this podunk backweather berg: make a solution of 2 teaspoons salt in a gallon of water. spray it on your car windows, wipe it dry. frost will not build up inside them, saving precious minutes in your already late workaday morning time. which you could spend much better getting an egg mcmuffin of course.

there you go. everything you might want to know about the amazing salt of the earth (and a real good dancer) except how to mine it. oh, and there are special kinds of salt that do special things to special foods. but that may be a story for another day.

i had a weird fantasie today, of starring in a movie in which there was a lot of righteous ass kicking done by, of course, me. i realized i am really over the moon for violence in movies when it is a scenario in which i agree with the need for fisticuffs and other weaponry. like kill bill, matrix (one, please. shudder to think of those last few), and fight club (duh). gunplay is boring though. mayhap i will make up a t-shirt that says "fists not guns". since everybody is so into wearing what they're into.

can it?

today i am obsessed with random events. forming a pattern somehow, in some mathematical model i can't begin to comprehend.

there is a big bin at the grocery store of green beans. i sort through, finding the unmottled and most robust, as seems to be the ritual as i have seen so many women (all women) do it before me. you do not just throw a handful of beans into a bag. you meticulously sort, finding the unmottled and most robust. i rip such a one from its paltry looking sisters and think as the bean must be thinking: goodbye, my quintuplet darlings, us born from the selfsame flower. i am destined for a different pot from you, if indeed you make it to one. looking as such, you may just end up in a wegman's rat's belly, or, back to your base molecules as some food for a future bean that looks as appealing as i.

there is a wall of eggs, each in its pastel green styro, blinding me in the decision making process. how can i possibly choose a carton containing eighteen perfectly fresh unbroken eggs showing no signs of the atrocities from which they came? do i select from the top, bottom, or middle? the 1st, 2nd, or 7th column? after all, each egg in any given carton is most likely from a different fowl. so many, at this time of year, are destined for a dye bath, and eventual garbage pile. how many easter eggs can 1 person eat. and children won't eat an egg when there is cadbury to be had. eight out of eighteen are now garish and beautiful, like a wife of 28 years who finally decides to go out on the town. the rest, who knows? the thousands of ones left on the shelf, who can know? the pans and trashes and bellies they will end up in.

and so, when i chose my numbers for tonite, to gloriously and forsakenly stake my claim in a gluttonous 105 mil, i simply let these randoms do their thing, and my vision blurred, and i chose only based on the spaces in between things that appear empty, but end up ending up somewhere no one can know and rarely imagine.

based on so much thought, i just know i'm gonna hit it. ha ha..........

holly, love the picture...
and your stories
(and i have been putting myself away in the ground for a long time. it feels bad.)



who else but us and the other few we know dream of, of all things, a *goat* farm?!? (and sheepies, of course, matthew).

springtime is for bathin em in the river.


sigh... oh will oh will it happen someday?