(sk)etches: 3 / truth: a bite is a bite is a bite

pain is not real – shock is real, horror is real, shame is real – snow and teeth and sirens and the voice at the other end, all of that is real – the hood of the car, warm from the sun, supporting our arched spines, that is real – the sheets and the mattress, the blinds pulled low, the vacant room down the hall, that is real – pain was never there, present only afterward, pain is only there when you’re not yet aware of your own experience, pain makes you aware – we remember that which is distinct, we take comfort in regularity, conformity, continuity – we are happy to be at rest, but our associations are capable of being much freer than that, some of us bend the familiar – nothing is dangerous once you’ve familiarized yourself with it – nothing is safe, nothing is right, everything is new or not new, everything is possible – we choose the cages that contain us or we free ourselves – what’s the worst that can happen? – would you rather that nothing happened at all?


(sk)etches: 2 / truth: i can't wait for my claws

a woman (12 oz. drip coffee with 7 lumps of sugar and a double espresso with 7 lumps of sugar) said to me today that life is too short and I said that I’d rather it be that way than too long – she said to me that she had found the headstone of her stillborn Uncle Ron while walking through a cemetery – she remarked that we all lose one another in different ways - another woman (12 oz. americano with room and a galette aux fruits) said to me that she wished she were inside of a cocoon – a young woman (occasional 16 oz. soy moliere, usually orders a 12 oz. soy chai) said to me that everything happens for a reason and I agreed with the “everything happens” part – I am beginning to memorize the names of the people I make coffee for, memorizing who likes whipped cream, who prefers decaf, who wants no foam, who wants extra foam – so there is a segment of my brain that is filled with faces associated with beverages and treats, and that segment lights up and shines 4-5 times per week – I saw my fifth grade teacher (1 pound of sumatra beans, ground) today and remarked that I had mistaken her for Cindy Crawford at first glance, because I remember her saying in 1998 that Cindy was her long lost identical twin – I remember her saying in 1998 that Cindy’s mole was on her face and that her own mole was on her ring finger, and it was – I was glad that she remembered an essay I had written and the fact that I “never spoke” rather than the fact that I had been the person to infest her class with head lice (they are just headfriends).

I’m thinking of a recent memory, a familiar face, eyebrows slanting, eyes large and open and looking back at me – it’s good to look at one another, it’s good to put a kiss on the nose of a face that you love – a co-worker told me today that “kitten” was the derogatory term for women before it was replaced by “chick” – kittens and chicks are cute, fluffy things that grow claws and talons and beaks – kittens and chicks are things that are enjoyed when they are young and are forgotten or devoured when they grow older and I can’t wait for my claws - call me a kitten anytime you want.


truth: i almost killed what i love most

a little history:
my family has two yorkshire terriers, willow (aka stormfellow, aka stinkyboots, aka weezypup, aka babywookie) and franny (aka silverback, aka biscuit, aka chubs, aka skywalker).  in 2008, silverback had a stroke as a puppy after witnessing the abduction of our then-pup zoey by a bald eagle (it is illegal to shoot them, if you didn't know it).  silverback had a slow recovery and to this day cannot walk on hardwood floors or tile without her puppylegs giving out from under her.  she struggles to wag her tail and she is inexpressive and silent unless it is suppertime, then she flips out, licks her own face, and pats the ground with her forepaws.  i am in love with her.  she and i used to take long naps together.  i lift her to the dinner table each night and i let her eat from my plate like a real human.  i massage her legs and i tell her secrets about how i love her better than stinkyboots.  her temperament suits me, it's that simple.
4 hours ago

you'll notice that no matter how hard she is kissed, she remains unmoved.  she is a rock.  she is the surest thing.  she is my sunshine and my moonshine and my clearskies and my cloudyday.  jesus christ, she is my onetruelove.  and so when i was eating a carrots and raisins with peanut butter snack earlier this week, and silverback stood at my feet looking up at me all blankstare, i did not hesitate to drop some raisins onto the floor for her to eat.  she ate them and i could tell that she liked it because her breathing got heavy the way it does at suppertime.  i thought about how much i love raisins and how much i love silverback, and i thought about how unfair it is that she cannot choose her snacks like i can choose mine, and i thought about how deserving she is of everysnack, and i began placing the raisins in her mouth in little clumpfuls.  and then i took a nap.  when i woke up, my mom gave me some information.

a little information about raisin toxicity:
  • apparently, raisins and grapes are toxic to dogs and can cause vomiting, renal failure, abdominal pain, diarrhea, inability to urinate, depression, and death within 48 hours of ingestion.
  • 140 cases of grape and raisin toxicity were reported to the animal poison control center between 2003 and 2004 and 7 of those cases died.
  • renal failure occurs after ingesting 3 grams per kilogram of raisins or dry matter of grapes. dry matter is calculated as 20% of grape weight.  thanks, wikipedia.
  • if you suspect that your dog has ingested large quantities of raisins or grapes, call your veterinarian or the APCC's emergency hotline at 1-888-4-ANI-HELP.
my mom convinced me that silverback was surely going to die and my dad proclaimed that he had no intention of taking her to see the vet because that would be a waste of time and money.  he forced her to vomit instead, 3 times, by feeding her pretzels (which never cease to make silverback puke).  my mom sifted through the vomit for raisins.  i volunteered to take her to the vet the next day after work at the cafe.  but guess what, she has an iron stomach and she'll snack on whatever she wants and the only reason she threw up was because my dad forced her to.  she is fine and i feel terrible about my ignorance and so

i am not going to eat raisins for 60 days.  

and i would like to invite the whole world that knows about this secret blog to also abstain from that snack as a tribute to silverback's iron stomach, thank christ, and in remembrance of those fine puppies who have died of raisin or grape-induced renal failure in the past.  please don't eat raisins.  eat the grapes if you want.  but don't eat the raisins.  and don't leave them on the ground, for heaven's sake, because a dog might snack on them.