February 3rd, 2002


(no subject)

2002-02-03 04:38 (from (link)
I am sitting here just heartbroken for you! I don't know how you do it. . . I just know losing Chuckie after 17 years was so heartbreaking for me and still is. I know you love all your cats and take the most loving care of them - so I don't think it is anything you are doing that is causing them to die.

You are in my prayers,
Love, Susan

Re: Jacqui!
2002-02-03 11:35 (from (link)

Thanks Buddy, I think it's a combination of things, the older cats will naturally have health issues and a higher risk of dying, then there is this whole line of cats who are too inbred and have kidney and heart disease, these are the ones I got from Gia, and Gelato, my beautiful oriental who died last fall, was from another line of cats who I just learned were getting ill so their breeder gave them all away and started over again. Then there is whatever fault I bear in this and I'm not sure what this is yet, having too many cats, not being able to pay enough attention to them, there being some kind of weird virus flu thing that's going around? I don't know. I'm just so damned tired of it, sick and very tired.

Scott came over for a while last night but he wasn't feeling well and wasn't the best company, I so needed comforting and I think he doesn't really know how to do that, you know, to sit with someone who is grieving? There's an art to it, being a comfort and a companion without wanting the person to do or be anything other than how they are, not cajoling them, or pulling on them for attention, just being loving and supportive. I know he tried in his own way and I'm grateful but he gets bored and uncomfortable easily and he wasn't feeling well. Finally I resorted to chemical means of survival and took one of my last two Vicodin, (God I wish I could get some of these on "the black market" like Gia does, or find a doctor who would trust that I could have a small amount around for emergencies, I made this last little prescription of eight or so last for about a year. I had one more prescription from my dentist that I never filled but the wallet thieves got that, sigh, and half of a Klonopin. This zonked me out enough that I could stop crying and just space out on the TV. I loved this cat so much. He was so amazing, you would have to have met him to know. He liked to rub and rub his head all over you, and he would lick you as much as you would let him, and he loved to talk and talk. I'm looking for a good picture to put up but I can't find any, I think Cyd might have a copy of the Tick and Bluebell thing I made years ago but I don't want to bother her to ask. I'm hoping Scott will have one.

I feel hung over and sad. Hopefully I can get it together to take the kids to the Getty like I promised. Eduardo and Freddy and a friend of Freddy's are all here. Today si the last day of Devices of Wonder so we have to go. We made reservations but I don't think you need them. Oh blah, I don't feel like writing.

Thanks for caring,

(no subject)

Billy Bob Teacher, Angelina Jolie Alien Vampire Girlfriend, and Me

I forgot I wanted to describe my intensely weird dreams of last night.

I am in a school setting. I think I am in grammar school and we are all fooling around before class. Billy Bob Thornton is our teacher. everything is weird and stoney and surreal. We are all sitting in a circle. We are supposed to give some kind of presentation on the interchange between teachers and students, using symbolic objects, it was our homework assignment.

I have placed masks, tombstones, and death imagery around the room. I am a rebel student somehow. The other students think I am too weird to pay any attention to, and Billy Bob is wary of me. I think he thinks I am too troublesome to be of any use in class. One of the other students begins her presentation, it is very simple. She is young and upbeat, cheerleader-like and insipid. I look at her with dark hateful eyes. I can't wait for my turn.

Reluctantly people turn their attention to my presentation. I present this portfolio of photography, art, and research that explains in detail my relationship with education. I pull out large photographs of grey skies filled with branches and crows, landscapes, and winter storms. I go on and on, passionately explaining things that are beyond their level of comprehension, beyond my own comprehension, explaining art and symbolism, things about Pythagorean theorem and rhythm in art, speeding up the pace so that it becomes overwhelming. When I am done I am pleased with myself. I have impressed Billy Bob and proven that I belong, that I am a brilliant student, that there is more to me than one can see based on judgments of my external self.

I go to Billy Bob and Angelina's house, it is more of a lair, a small room or space, lots of fabrics and tapestries, boxes and ornaments and strange things. I tell Billy that I'm sad Angelina never showed, she had promised to. Suddenly a dusty sheet covered box begins to lift, it is a coffin. Angle sits up and tells me that she would have liked to have come but she hasn't been well. She is pale and dusty, her eyes are pale blue and occluded, the eyes of an old woman. I am a little afraid of her, she is alien and vampiric, yet fragile and in need of care.

We go to another room, a smaller space, and she is applying some kind of black oil to her eyes. She is weak and pained, but the oil, something she has a limited amount of, fills her eyes for a moment then settles and returns them to their normal color. Then her hair regains it's dark luster so she begins to look like herself. I somehow know that she is an alien and has a limited time left on this planet.

I am male now and we go to this wonderful apartment. I think it is my Father's and that he just keeps it to use when he is in town. She asks me why we can't rest here for a while, why don't I live here? I tell her that I don't like living with my Father, that I don't like to pee with him and be that close. There is this unusual and beautiful bed/bath that is suspended in the middle of the room. It is a kind of golden circle that looks like it wouldn't hold water, but we get on it and it begins to fill with warm water.

The end.

PS: Do you guys remember Stretch Armstrong? Well, Beau had Stretch's dog, Fetch Armstrong, and he stretched him so much he broke apart and his syrup oozed out, poor Beau. I'm going to see if I can find another one for him on eBay, I don't think they sell them anymore.

(no subject)

I love children's book illustrations. I also love dragons and get really upset when dragon slayers slay them. These are from Ojo in Oz L Frank Baum 1933.

I love the dragon, he's so cute to me.

This one just screams Jen, the olive, to me


(no subject)

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day,
You tell me of our future that you planned;
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve;
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.