I just applied for University.
I have never been so afraid of rejection in my life.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
golem
The last few weeks have been short, and too full of mundane activity; the dull kind of busyness that eats up my spare time, and leaves not much of interest to talk about.
Today I woke up feeling ragged and washed out; flea bitten and scabby. My eyes are red and bleary, raw from trying to rub them into some kind of focus.
At work, I force feed the unfortunately named Nyx. She came to us days ago, barely alive, exhausted by the efforts of taking breath, unable to lift her head, little more than a husk. Beyond repair, we were certain she would die.
Tonight she has summoned enough energy to hate me. She exhausts herself fighting against the tiny mouthfulls of food i slowly poke into her. She gags and retches, barely able to breathe around swallowing.
You have to eat.
Her eyes and sinuses are gummed shut with viral slime. I clean the crust off of her eyelashes and wait for her to catch her breath. She wheezes and focuses her eyes on me.
improvement.
Slowly, she eats enough to qualify as a meal. She turns her head defiantly as i wipe away the thick ropes of food and drool that hang from her chin. I clean her face and paws, clean her eyes again.
In my arms i hold a tiny cat shaped golem, made of twigs and paper.
exhausted.
impossibly thin.
and yet she persists.
Rubbing her chin, i think about my two Skinny Boys being adopted, ( a thing i've been working towards for months) and am shocked by the sudden sharp slap of sadness. I gasp with the pang of the realization of how much i will miss them.
Fat tears squeeze out of my eyes and plop rudely on the back of Nyx's skinny neck. I blink them back but its too late. I think about the growing list of faces i miss and add my Skinny Boys to it. I think about all the things that keep me awake at night, and all the things i am afraid of. My cheeks burn as more tears slide down them.
Through my sobs a tiny sound reaches me. Far, far away, at the distant tips of my fingers the faintest of rumbles begins to grow.
Nyx's eyes are closed.
Her entire body rattles with an obscenely loud purr.
i am forgiven.
persist.
Today I woke up feeling ragged and washed out; flea bitten and scabby. My eyes are red and bleary, raw from trying to rub them into some kind of focus.
At work, I force feed the unfortunately named Nyx. She came to us days ago, barely alive, exhausted by the efforts of taking breath, unable to lift her head, little more than a husk. Beyond repair, we were certain she would die.
Tonight she has summoned enough energy to hate me. She exhausts herself fighting against the tiny mouthfulls of food i slowly poke into her. She gags and retches, barely able to breathe around swallowing.
You have to eat.
Her eyes and sinuses are gummed shut with viral slime. I clean the crust off of her eyelashes and wait for her to catch her breath. She wheezes and focuses her eyes on me.
improvement.
Slowly, she eats enough to qualify as a meal. She turns her head defiantly as i wipe away the thick ropes of food and drool that hang from her chin. I clean her face and paws, clean her eyes again.
In my arms i hold a tiny cat shaped golem, made of twigs and paper.
exhausted.
impossibly thin.
and yet she persists.
Rubbing her chin, i think about my two Skinny Boys being adopted, ( a thing i've been working towards for months) and am shocked by the sudden sharp slap of sadness. I gasp with the pang of the realization of how much i will miss them.
Fat tears squeeze out of my eyes and plop rudely on the back of Nyx's skinny neck. I blink them back but its too late. I think about the growing list of faces i miss and add my Skinny Boys to it. I think about all the things that keep me awake at night, and all the things i am afraid of. My cheeks burn as more tears slide down them.
Through my sobs a tiny sound reaches me. Far, far away, at the distant tips of my fingers the faintest of rumbles begins to grow.
Nyx's eyes are closed.
Her entire body rattles with an obscenely loud purr.
i am forgiven.
persist.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Two Skinny Boys
Just putting out feelers for people who might be interested in adding a cat to their posse...if you're not but you know someone who might be, please forward this along as you see fit!
We have TWO handsome boys available who were surrendered to the hospital by their owner.
They are both neutered and (nearly) up to date on their vaccines (final vaccines are already paid for and will cost YOU nothing! Isn't THAT nice for a a change??! :-P ) They need a little love and fattening, but other than that are in great shape.
WILFORD is a 5 year old male, brown tabby with white paws and face blaze. He is very handsome with a long coat and, though shy at first, very friendly. He loves having his chin and ears rubbed and will head butt you in appreciation, or do his tippy-toe dance if you really get him going. His fur had to be shaved because of matting, so he looks a bit funny at the moment, but will be pret-teh gorgeous when it grows in again. This boy will likely have a big personality once he makes himself at home!
THE BOY is an 11 year old,medium haired, black and white male with the most GORGEOUS pale green eyes. He is the more timid of the two and would do best in a home where he is the only cat. (we were told that Wilford used to boss him around quite a bit... poor boy!) He's a little shy, but very very sweet and just needs a little bit of convincing that we mean to spoil him. Check those Peepers!
If you are interested, please don't hesitate to contact me for more information, OR better still...swing by the hospital and introduce yourself to the boys.
Thanks for readin'!
A.
We have TWO handsome boys available who were surrendered to the hospital by their owner.
They are both neutered and (nearly) up to date on their vaccines (final vaccines are already paid for and will cost YOU nothing! Isn't THAT nice for a a change??! :-P ) They need a little love and fattening, but other than that are in great shape.
WILFORD is a 5 year old male, brown tabby with white paws and face blaze. He is very handsome with a long coat and, though shy at first, very friendly. He loves having his chin and ears rubbed and will head butt you in appreciation, or do his tippy-toe dance if you really get him going. His fur had to be shaved because of matting, so he looks a bit funny at the moment, but will be pret-teh gorgeous when it grows in again. This boy will likely have a big personality once he makes himself at home!
THE BOY is an 11 year old,medium haired, black and white male with the most GORGEOUS pale green eyes. He is the more timid of the two and would do best in a home where he is the only cat. (we were told that Wilford used to boss him around quite a bit... poor boy!) He's a little shy, but very very sweet and just needs a little bit of convincing that we mean to spoil him. Check those Peepers!
If you are interested, please don't hesitate to contact me for more information, OR better still...swing by the hospital and introduce yourself to the boys.
Thanks for readin'!
A.
"Did I SAY you could stop??" Wilford can hardly believe my audacity in interrupting a chin scratch to take a silly picture....
The Boy with his big green eyes. Ahhh-dorable!
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Cat Piano
Kittens,
It has been an awfully weird christmas, and i am delighted to put the year 2009 in its grave.
Likely 1010 will be all about elbow grease and determination, which admittedly does not sound like much fun, but at least there's some semblance of a plan.
its not much, but i'll take it.
And on a totally unrelated note, and because i am sick to death of christmas, and because i was reminded of it last night in a conversation at the NYE party, and because it is pretty in a great many ways,
here is:
The Cat Piano.
J'adore.
It has been an awfully weird christmas, and i am delighted to put the year 2009 in its grave.
Likely 1010 will be all about elbow grease and determination, which admittedly does not sound like much fun, but at least there's some semblance of a plan.
its not much, but i'll take it.
And on a totally unrelated note, and because i am sick to death of christmas, and because i was reminded of it last night in a conversation at the NYE party, and because it is pretty in a great many ways,
here is:
The Cat Piano.
J'adore.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
swagger
holy shit, holy shit, holy shit....
*fans the air excitedly*
you know when you make a bunch of stuff and you're just sort of like "blaaaaaaaagh....", and then you make one thing that climbs right to the top of the pile, and you look at it, and it stares you right back and shamelessly wrangles and hogties your stupid sheepish insecurities and sacrifices it on an alter of self confidence and cockiness' lovechild... and then you take a sip from the cup and you're like..... "Efff... sometimes i am awesome..."
and then you start to grin like a jerk but you don't even care...because good is just GOOD and sometimes egomania is warranted...even if i DO say so myself...
...
riiight??
you know??
well...
i think this is that one...
xo
A.
*fans the air excitedly*
you know when you make a bunch of stuff and you're just sort of like "blaaaaaaaagh....", and then you make one thing that climbs right to the top of the pile, and you look at it, and it stares you right back and shamelessly wrangles and hogties your stupid sheepish insecurities and sacrifices it on an alter of self confidence and cockiness' lovechild... and then you take a sip from the cup and you're like..... "Efff... sometimes i am awesome..."
and then you start to grin like a jerk but you don't even care...because good is just GOOD and sometimes egomania is warranted...even if i DO say so myself...
...
riiight??
you know??
well...
i think this is that one...
xo
A.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
maybe
it might be 330 am
i might have sold some art tonight.
I might have shot up a burlesque show, after the gallery thing.
I may have stumbled into a metal show.
it possible that i drank too much
and could not find my way out of the car, when i was (Graciously!, Mercifully!) dropped off at home
and maybe, i might have to work tomorrow...
oh kittens! lets hope all the puppies and kitties are healthy tomorrow!
nothing can get hit by cars!
*crosses fingers*
i am drinky faced.
that is all.
i might have sold some art tonight.
I might have shot up a burlesque show, after the gallery thing.
I may have stumbled into a metal show.
it possible that i drank too much
and could not find my way out of the car, when i was (Graciously!, Mercifully!) dropped off at home
and maybe, i might have to work tomorrow...
oh kittens! lets hope all the puppies and kitties are healthy tomorrow!
nothing can get hit by cars!
*crosses fingers*
i am drinky faced.
that is all.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
crush and swell
sooo...
i woke up yesterday feeling disgusting and feckless. Dissociative, detached, disappointed and disappointing.
Peripheral at best.
i was going to skip the show, thinking that i just wasn't up for it. feeling like i couldn't be bothered to paint on a party face, to stand in line, to go through the ritual, to disappear in another crowd.
buuuuut i missed the Shrines the last time they were in town, and i knew i'd regret not going if i skipped out on a Khan show i actually had tickets for.
So i scrubbed and showered, pulled on a dress and pair of boots, and curled my lashes.
And kittens, i must say, I'm ever so glad that i did.
I got to Babylon late, but the place was still mostly empty so i scouted a couch (skeezy, disgusting things they are but we must try not to think about that, my ducks) and drank a Stella, and shared some friendly chatter with a rather nice fellow named Matt, from Saskathchewan.
Thinking there was only going to be one opener, I hit the bar again after the first act, and made my way to the front of the stage. The floor was filling up, and i wanted to make sure to have a good position staked out for photos. I claimed an amp, front and center, and perched on the corner, scanning the crowd for Mason and Kiiks. I managed to flag them down as they came in and we chatted for a bit as the floor got tighter, waiting for round two and percolating with growing excitement.
The second act was a snarling psychobilly four piece called Bloodshot Bill that quicklly packed the dance floor and worked the crowd into a frenzy. I snapped a few shots and finished my beer, felt the music pounding all around, and began to dance. A few songs in, someone pushed his way up to the front, right beside me, and shouted a few requests at the stage. It was King Khan. He was all laughs and smiles, loving the music and the frenzy. He danced his ass off, and i did too, and soon we were bumping hips to the beat and shimmying like mad things.
Well worth the price of admission.
The fevered pitch only intensified for the main act, although i was sad to have lost my special dancing partner. :-P
The floor was completely packed with bodies, ribcage to ribcage, pushing and swelling as everyone jockeyed for a good position. I was especially glad to have staked out an amp to anchor myself to, and cheerfully defended it, slowly but firmly digging my elbows into the ribs of those trying to edge a little closer at my expense, playing the same game of dumb as my would be usurpers.
"Oh sorry! Its a bit tight isn't it?? Yeah...., There's not much room. huh."
served with a nonchalant shrug and a sheepish smile,
nothing personal. :-)
(and that, dear reader, is why the slow elbow is best, in crowds as well as in bed, It seems more happenstance than attack, but remains every bit as uncomfortble if you know where to lodge it effectively)
The band emerges, and you can feel the crowd press closer. Khan has ditched his pants and sweater for a gold glitter flapper dress with a fox head loincloth and an electric blue bob, and BBQ sports gold glitter tights and a pink turban.
The music starts and the throng is immediately jolted to life. A living thing gone mad, throbbing and swelling, howling and gnashing, It occurs to me, at this point, that i might be in over my head, after all i have never been much of a pit rat, , but i dig in and hold on, determined not to give up my prized position too easily. The crowd swells so close that the entire front row is pitched up onto the edge of the stage, scrambling to hold their ground. Photos are impossible at this point. If i let go of the amp my feet leave the floor and i begin to drift, and the flailing bodies makes framing an absurd and abstract notion.
The bouncers look completely lost.
BBq tells the crowd to fuck off and settle down.
"this is a rock and roll show, not some goddamned Edgefest bullshit"
I'm completely absorbed in staying upright and protecting my camera. A fight breaks out to my left and the bouncers are forced to wade into the action, They look like sheep at a slaughterhouse.
Hardly discouraging.
They play a few slower numbers, trying to ease the crowd down a little, and i am able to snap a few photos.
Then the torch songs run out, and they return to the irresistible beats that we all have been waiting for.
Voodoo compulsions that can't be ignored.
A koan we answer with our bodies.
There's no room for style here, no room for flashy maneuvers, just an outlet for pure energy, an urgent and immediate response. I thrash and grind in what little space i have, gone feral with fierce abandon; pushing back against the crowd when they press too close, like an enraptured porn starlet. snarling with ecstasy. pricklng with bliss.
I laugh as i find myself dancing Billy Idol style, with a fist held up in front of my face, to block unexpected elbows and other wayward bony projections from the pit.
And on and on it goes, wave after wave after wave; a crashing call to arms
I come away drenched and delirious,
By the end i am panting with exertion, grinning and gasping at once, reveling in that delicious and too-rare state of complete and utter body exhaustion.
How lovely, to be so alive.
i woke up yesterday feeling disgusting and feckless. Dissociative, detached, disappointed and disappointing.
Peripheral at best.
i was going to skip the show, thinking that i just wasn't up for it. feeling like i couldn't be bothered to paint on a party face, to stand in line, to go through the ritual, to disappear in another crowd.
buuuuut i missed the Shrines the last time they were in town, and i knew i'd regret not going if i skipped out on a Khan show i actually had tickets for.
So i scrubbed and showered, pulled on a dress and pair of boots, and curled my lashes.
And kittens, i must say, I'm ever so glad that i did.
I got to Babylon late, but the place was still mostly empty so i scouted a couch (skeezy, disgusting things they are but we must try not to think about that, my ducks) and drank a Stella, and shared some friendly chatter with a rather nice fellow named Matt, from Saskathchewan.
Thinking there was only going to be one opener, I hit the bar again after the first act, and made my way to the front of the stage. The floor was filling up, and i wanted to make sure to have a good position staked out for photos. I claimed an amp, front and center, and perched on the corner, scanning the crowd for Mason and Kiiks. I managed to flag them down as they came in and we chatted for a bit as the floor got tighter, waiting for round two and percolating with growing excitement.
The second act was a snarling psychobilly four piece called Bloodshot Bill that quicklly packed the dance floor and worked the crowd into a frenzy. I snapped a few shots and finished my beer, felt the music pounding all around, and began to dance. A few songs in, someone pushed his way up to the front, right beside me, and shouted a few requests at the stage. It was King Khan. He was all laughs and smiles, loving the music and the frenzy. He danced his ass off, and i did too, and soon we were bumping hips to the beat and shimmying like mad things.
Well worth the price of admission.
The fevered pitch only intensified for the main act, although i was sad to have lost my special dancing partner. :-P
The floor was completely packed with bodies, ribcage to ribcage, pushing and swelling as everyone jockeyed for a good position. I was especially glad to have staked out an amp to anchor myself to, and cheerfully defended it, slowly but firmly digging my elbows into the ribs of those trying to edge a little closer at my expense, playing the same game of dumb as my would be usurpers.
"Oh sorry! Its a bit tight isn't it?? Yeah...., There's not much room. huh."
served with a nonchalant shrug and a sheepish smile,
nothing personal. :-)
(and that, dear reader, is why the slow elbow is best, in crowds as well as in bed, It seems more happenstance than attack, but remains every bit as uncomfortble if you know where to lodge it effectively)
The band emerges, and you can feel the crowd press closer. Khan has ditched his pants and sweater for a gold glitter flapper dress with a fox head loincloth and an electric blue bob, and BBQ sports gold glitter tights and a pink turban.
The music starts and the throng is immediately jolted to life. A living thing gone mad, throbbing and swelling, howling and gnashing, It occurs to me, at this point, that i might be in over my head, after all i have never been much of a pit rat, , but i dig in and hold on, determined not to give up my prized position too easily. The crowd swells so close that the entire front row is pitched up onto the edge of the stage, scrambling to hold their ground. Photos are impossible at this point. If i let go of the amp my feet leave the floor and i begin to drift, and the flailing bodies makes framing an absurd and abstract notion.
The bouncers look completely lost.
BBq tells the crowd to fuck off and settle down.
"this is a rock and roll show, not some goddamned Edgefest bullshit"
I'm completely absorbed in staying upright and protecting my camera. A fight breaks out to my left and the bouncers are forced to wade into the action, They look like sheep at a slaughterhouse.
Hardly discouraging.
They play a few slower numbers, trying to ease the crowd down a little, and i am able to snap a few photos.
Then the torch songs run out, and they return to the irresistible beats that we all have been waiting for.
Voodoo compulsions that can't be ignored.
A koan we answer with our bodies.
There's no room for style here, no room for flashy maneuvers, just an outlet for pure energy, an urgent and immediate response. I thrash and grind in what little space i have, gone feral with fierce abandon; pushing back against the crowd when they press too close, like an enraptured porn starlet. snarling with ecstasy. pricklng with bliss.
I laugh as i find myself dancing Billy Idol style, with a fist held up in front of my face, to block unexpected elbows and other wayward bony projections from the pit.
And on and on it goes, wave after wave after wave; a crashing call to arms
I come away drenched and delirious,
By the end i am panting with exertion, grinning and gasping at once, reveling in that delicious and too-rare state of complete and utter body exhaustion.
How lovely, to be so alive.
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