Insects

In the black and white photo
I am two. I squat
and hold a bug between
thumb and finger--
an intent look on my face.

A man sits beside me and says
"I don't love you." I don't know this man.
Three stops until I'm free.
The train isn't crowded enough.

In every school project I used bugs.
I never killed them.
Honey bees were my favorite catch--
scooping them one-handed off the clover
like gold dust.

He says, "I like your hat."
I move towards the door.
Should I leave should I stay
does he look violent.
Already I am late.

I taught a friend how to catch bees.
I told her they won't sting--
If they sting they die--
Just be gentle.

The man gets off at my stop--
I try another exit but there he is
in front on the stairs turned, and
scanning the crowd--

My friend got stung. You squeezed too hard
I told her. There was light
on the clover. The air was light.
We ran from the field.
I remember the length of her hair.

a One and a Two

Lists of Important Things

I am amazed by my tools. I love the way they look. I like their feel, the heft, their use. When you need to do something and you pick up a tool and it is just right, life is good. I relax in the presence of my tools. My workroom is a well textured cocoon. The only thing I do in my workroom is work. There are no easy chairs no casual table or reading lamp. There are 3 workbenches: the jewelry bench, woodworking bench, and the etcetera bench with plaster stored underneath. And the shelves. I won't ever list my jewelry tools... wouldn't do it for taxes or fun... life is too short. But my saw list amazes me. I don't classify myself as abnormally aquisitive. But look at this list...

Prune saw (2), 3 hacksaws (varying sizes), PVC pipe saw (plastic), a dove tail saw, hand saw (2, one good and one almost gone), 1 thin hand saw, A Japenese saw that is so cute and unused, 1 electric mitre saw, 1 manuel mitre saw, 1 circular saw, 2 jigsaws (one extremely old that I should dispose of, but, well), 1 Bosch saw that is so useful for nipping off the bottoms of door moldings in an old house if you are installing floors. Don't know its name, except "goddess-sent"), and a sawzall.

The sawzall is my favorite, except possibly the Japenese saw that is so cute and unused. Though the Japenese saw is more of a cosmic favoritism. The sawzall is an aren't-we-having-fun-now favorite. My hand saw is pretty special too.

Lists like this are so satisfying. Its kinda like a history and a story and a personal definition all in one. Every single item has a moment and a purpose attached to them. I remember needing the PVC pipe saw and I remember buying the handsaw. The sawzall has so many what-the-hell moments attached to it that's probably why its a favorite. Its like a motorcycle memory. And the Japenese saw sits, encased in plastic, sleek and unused.

Just an addendum. Someone has far exceeded my feable PH reference. Check out
http://anissaannalise.livejournal.com/

Doh!

One never knows but at least one can stay entertained. There's a lot of ranting railing peeling and pooping about the culture we have somehow derived. But has anyone considered, it is the most valiant? I bought a painting tonight. Because, in part, the artist (and I had deduced that between bathroom breaks he is an artist), described it as, the paint "is thick." Pardon me and you probably need to, but that is freaking brilliant. There are two piddly things in my piddly universe. One is, I like paint. So crucify me for an object loving hedonist. Yes! The other is no bullshit. "oh I did this painting because of a sunset that happened on a day when my dog died and I was 12 and I had my first kiss." Save my piddly from such dribbly.

But I have, relunctantly because I love to complain about the world I am not succeeding in, decided this culture is the best. Has anyone else thought that? Look at it. Given the circumstance. We as a living organism are effectively on death watch. Dunno about you, but I don't see a fabulous future. Because of some wierd creature organism hangover from a more ignorant time we expect something like at least 10 kids a generation will read Middlemarch. And we are appalled (and I singularly am) by the fact few read, and the number reading Middlemarch has dropped to 8. (Forums are addictive, you've gotta rec that, LOL!)

Don't key in on the name "Paris Hilton," but think instead of a damp smelly twig poking out of the water and sluge on a flood plain. And we, as the primordial muck of a prehistoric phasmortigation (?) reach for... our forearms distended with the effort of survival and hope... fingers seperating in deliberate aim and desperation... we... the culture at large make the last flailing grab for... Carrie!

Ah man. One never knows does one. But at least, one can stay entertained. And the shop I bought the "thick paint" from is MoTowne.etsy.com

Who Knew

Who knew, indeed. But what I was going to blather about is the state of... well. Finances. Bleck. Today I discussed life with the manager of my local bank branch. Weelll. maybe not life in general but an overdraft or three and I am guilty. You see, life is way to complex. I didn't expound on this. Instead I brought up Gisele Buchanan and Tom Brady. You see, I read that GB earned 150 million and TB earned 30. Million. Last (one) year. And one of my overdrafts involved a $30 penalty on a $1.25 charge. Geeze. (I think I represent the amoeba of this story.) The local branch lady was nice and understanding, the bank person downtown who bizzarely kept hanging up the phone was less understanding. (What would Freud have said about her relationship with her phone? WWFS?)
I really don't think I misremembered the $150 million... and not even for a cure for cancer. or AIDS. Infant mortality is on the rise in Mississippi and a lady (I'm sure she is a nice person) is paid $150 million to walk around in a bathing suit. Now paying TB 30 mill.... well, go Pats, what can I say. Geeze. Like, win? My $30 penalty + TB's 30 million = three beers during a Pats Super Bowl.

Its the Hands

I think this post originated with my viewing richierugs.etsy.com earlier today. His rug of hands on a piano, title of the piece, "Just Shoot the Piano Player." So when I felt compelled to take a picture of a wax and I of course had to hold it... the hands stuck out. But its the piece! Carved wax, particularly carved swoopy wax... it is erotic... No doubt about it. Art in all its pure and unpure forms... is erotic. But there are those hands! Have I stumbled upon a metaphor of the universe? Religions seem to like hand stuff... is it an inadvertant recognition of the metaphysical disjunction between the pedestrian image and desire? There is some disjunction there and I ain't no John Donne. I be a simple carver of wax and drinker of beer. Cheers.