9x4x1

The black corded phone was in the house when we bought it and moved in. It sat in a dusty corner and was perhaps first used by my friend Lydia who accompanied me on the long journey from Georgia to New York. Now it sits on the desk or floor of my small apartment. When it rings, I know no one who used to call will be on the other end. In fact, it's very rarely for me. Nowadays, I regard the ringing phone as a suspicious stranger rather than meeting it with the usual anticipation of the past. It is small, plain and appeared in my life as an unexpected and totally negligible item. Now it handles the lions share of my telephone correspondance. I feel an odd suspicion toward it, as though it is a monolith causing an evolutionary effect on my household and perhaps the world. I suppose it's more likely that my life has evolved without the shady support of this unsuspecting, and yet suspect, telephone. Maybe it's the cord that throws me off. Either way, it seems so very strange that I should end up with this item that was never mine when I've lost, albeit somewhat voluntarily, almost every other stable factor in my life.
Remember how Holly Golightly said the cat wasn't hers? It's kind of like that. The phone and I don't belong to one another. I feel like I could throw it out of a cab into the rain, but I know I'd probably run, panicked, down drenched city alleys calling for it and hoping it was alright. That pretty much seems to be the way most relationships in life end. We call people and hope they are alright and wish we had appreciated them more when we had them. Maybe I'll start kissing the phone goodnight and telling it what a good phone it's been. Seems like a logical preemptive measure, don't you think?

I Heart Birdies

In the spirit of doing laundry, Tiberius is knocking down a small stack of quarters and preparing to eat them, or at least hurl them mercilessly to the floor so that they know who's boss. I think they get the point, those quarters. Tibby (for short) doesn't understand what the deal is with the state quarters and why so many humans run to walmart to buy books to store pretty new quarters in and harass jaded bank employees who are currently ruing the decision this country made to have so many states. The United Drawn and Quartered States of America.
I just recently started reading this GREAT book by Bob Tarte entitle Enslaved By Ducks. It comes highly recommended by someone who thinks highly of her own recommendations. I also bought the Dalai Lama's (Dolly Llama) foolproof guide to being happy. I decided I should try to offer something better to the blogging world.
Should I get Tiberius's wings clipped so that I can take him on pleasant strolls, but take away some of his flying prowess? Or should I continue to confine him to an indoor life (not to be confused with life on planet Endor) but let him flying around with full wing power? Please let me know, oh great blogging birdie who knows all.
It Tibby had his own blog, he would just poop on it and then toss it to the floor. I respect this in a bird.

A Cautionary Tale

Errant ways de-stress the days of the would be weary moth. Powdered wings are fancy things- not to mention antennae.
Dressed to be seen on a moths night out, the ladies take care with appearance.
A powder room is filled with white and shimmering bodies aflutter.
Drawn to light as a Christian might, endangering themselves and others- waxen wings in candles lie, outside, an unfortunate clutter.
After a weekend on a farm, I am covered with bites and sadness. An ostensible shell of emotion covers my skin. I remember singing in cars. Other people elicit pity by existing. When I'm down, the last thing I elicit is pity. My sadness is putrid to others- those that hate me and those that love me. Bizarre.
There was a store in Riverbend Mall in Rome, GA called Bizarre. That was back before they closed Riverbend Mall due to the obnoxious annual flooding from nearby Coosa river. Bizarre was filled with wicker items, sea shells and collectable fossils. There were hanging beads and peacock feathers aplenty. The store was packed with interesting items to fish through and excellent hiding places for a reclusive child. I spent many an allowance there on seahorse skeletons and aquatic items that looked like cigars. I kept them in a clear, pumpkin-shaped jar and looked through them frequently. Half the store was filled with things that looked as though they could be used in eerie ceremonies or rites.there were coasters that smelled lik etea dn I inhaled this lustily. I always felt like I was on the verge of being bad just by standing in that store. It gave me a creepy feeling like I was about to get in trouble.
Certain parts of life give me a creepy, far-away feeling.
My father told me he hoped I was unhappy- a view I understand, but find creepy.
I'm am frequently viewed as a no-no and that is somehow more easily justified than others being viewed as a no-no.
I should be happy for others who have more than me even though they are sad with what they have.
My father told me life wasn't fair for any righteous person. But he doesn't think I'm righteous anymore. Spread the word. Maybe my luck will turn.