||[Apr. 30th, 2017|08:59 pm]
The mild evening air has brought some flying insects— probably moths— which I can't see, but the feral cats can. The black cat is chasing them, darting here and there, leaping, batting at the bugs with his paws. He vanishes amid the long grass then reappears with a jump, lands and vanishes again. His playfulness and lithe energy make me envious. What fun it must be to chase bugs on a warm spring evening. And, if he catches one, it is a small but tasty reward for his exertions. Not so enjoyable for the moth, though, I'm sure. |
I went chasing food in the more civilized manner this afternoon, snatching packages and cans from shelves and tossing them into a cart. My gratification must be delayed, though. It all had to be paid for, and now sits on shelves waiting to be consumed. Unlike a moth, none of it will be aware that it is being eaten when its time comes. Well, as far as I know it won't. I do have my suspicion about beans. Looking at them, they seem remarkably prescient at times— like small, smooth, pink brains, almost.
Perhaps AT&T could use some beans. My Internet service is still patchy, and the company clearly hasn't put a lot of thought into how their system is put together and held together. I would not be surprised if it turned out that a sack of beans could do a better job of it. Maybe I'll mention it to their agent next time I deal with customer service.
by Gina Myers
The curve of her spine bent
along subway lines. The only thing
that makes sense is to lie down
on the sidewalk right now.
Beer can crushed & tossed across
the street. We're not going to make it.
For an entire summer my life's
solution was to not leave
my bed. A thousand miles later
& I still want something else.
Shifty and shifting away from the center.
It's clear now: we were never
going to make it. The darkness creeps
over, smears in the rain. The end
of the night means leaving the bar.
Myself keeping myself in check.
Sometimes I want to go back
& do things differently
but this is one fuck-up I can't take
back. Pink Moon. Pink Moon. Pink Moon. Pink Moon.
Hit play again. Lying in bed, feeling
the darkness creep over.
Let the weird back in. Find a point
in the distance, fast and furious,
something worth racing off to.
I'm looking for something new,
something catchy, something
to fall asleep to.
I had some beans with my dinner, and they seemed delighted to be a part of it.
Not sure what to say about the Sunday Verse. It is at odds with my mood.
Beans do seem on the whole to be good natured things— until after they have been devoured. Then they are sometimes apt to become vengeful.
The verse is at odds with one of my moods, but as I usually have more than one mood in spring it fits another quite well.