This is the worst photo, through the window screen, of the cat couple that comes and hangs out in our yard. I hardly ever see them but this morning looked out the window and there they were. They snuck under the twine and between the posts that D strung up around our little GARDEN of sorts, and were lying amid our tomato plants, just as we imagined they did when we weren’t looking. I was so thrilled to catch them there, all stretched out and probably just finished peeing on the radishes and digging up some freshly-planted seeds.
Through their garden terrorism these cats have become things of myth to us, invisible little demons whose handiwork we find the next day. Everything all dug up and shat in. We’ve felt powerless against them. We, or at least I, had this strange realization about things like this — you make something and leave it outside and anyone who wants to can just go tromp around in it. Of course. Why hadn’t I realized it sooner?
My mom says cayenne pepper but D isn’t buying it, not for cats, he says. I still don’t know. All the books suggest inserting a bunch of tiny posts all over the dirt, like popsicle sticks or something, which seems unnatural and mean. It would make me feel spiteful, like we used an unfair advantage to defeat them. D says once the plants grow more, get past seedlings, the cats will leave them alone. Instead of rolling my eyes at this I laugh a little — hell, maybe he’s right, maybe cats do demur once they see your endeavors are already fully underway. “Oh, these plants are really growing, nevermind then, I’ll shit around the corner!”
So when I caught them it was like seeing a famous painting in person for the first time. There they are! The whole yard to stretch out in and they squeeze through into our little marked off area, leaning on the most precious and most fragile of the plants! But they also looked so darn cute out there, like they were enjoying it for us while we had to go be at work. All I could think was that I HAD to get this on camera so I darted across the kitchen for my phone but as soon as I could open this window with the broken lock the cats saw me and walked over, their tails intertwined, waiting for something. We looked at each other, they ambled around side by side. I debated giving them some of my cereal, but did not. I tried to remember they were the enemy. I took a few pictures of them, but as soon as I lifted the screen, they untangled. I wondered if they would jump in. I closed the screen and the striped one went and laid in the patch of budding wildflowers. I took a picture of that too, but it was too far away.
10:22 pm • 22 May 2012 • 26 notes
“whats ur social? i need it bc u are my benificiary bc if i’m dead mom will most likely be already lol”
— my sister’s getting life insurance!
1:10 pm • 4 May 2012 • 16 notes
To the people who don’t see why this is sad:
He put his sunglasses in his little cloth drawstring sunglasses pouch thing —
then he put them in a hard case.
Are you with me now?
5:46 pm • 2 May 2012 • 32 notes
Typed this into my phone today mid minor emotional breakdown on the L train platform (which was experiencing a 30 minute delay — all I could think was, Someone better have died). Anyway, holds up.
5:28 pm • 2 May 2012 • 20 notes
Kickstarter rewards this week. The circle of life. Or something.
1:36 pm • 24 April 2012 • 20 notes
I am so angry at the world tonight because I can’t find a way to watch episode 2 of Girls online for free. ::shakes fist:: (update, thanks pirate friends!)
Argh.
So I guess I could tell you I read these two books over the weekend. Dustin brought them home from work at my behest.
“tHE OLD ONE IS ABOUT CRIPPLING ILLNESS. yOU UP FOR THAT? i MEAN, SHE SURVIVES, SO. DID YOU KNOW SHE’S A GENIUS NOW?”
I don’t know why he was doing all caps, but I accepted it.
He got home around 11pm and I stayed up past 2 reading the first one. Then on Sunday I read the second one in the middle of the day, on the couch, while it rained.
They are very good. Sort of detached, lyric, very measured, distilled shit. Like Lydia Davis and Maggie Nelson kinda stuff. I’M INTO IT.
I wish I had them to read again. I mean, I do. But it’s not the same!
Sarah Manguso! She’s also a poet. I am in her corner.
10:48 pm • 23 April 2012 • 28 notes
“To decide to do “this” as a living is to invite barbs that generally pile up around gender and power. The poet is a fag, the poet is a drag, the poet is righteous. But really I think people resent our freedom. Our choice to keep doing something they may have done badly when they were younger and were full of feeling and to keep doing something that supposedly anyone can do – making something out of something as practical and mundane as language is to brand oneself as a lifelong fool rather than merely a fool in her youth. People feel sad about what they disavowed to become who they are now. Poets are human of course and have disavowed plenty, but to stand behind this nonetheless significant or foolish act – it’s a kind of self identifying, self categorizing act (like language itself) that enrages people exactly in the place where they’ve made choices and need to assume you haven’t. This – to be a poet – was the biggest choice in my life, and I suffer fools gladly and have a great life. Look at this. I just wrote a book called snowflake, for god’s sake.”
— Eileen Myles on the Hairpin!!!
4:18 pm • 3 April 2012 • 93 notes
This is how my alma mater — Notre Dame — addresses the “sexual assaults on campus.” (37 reported since 2005! Reported!) The article is called, “Anything But Clear” and is Reason #3456789965:22457 why I fucking hate the fact that I still owe these people upwards of 30 thousand dollars for the privilege of having my mind fucked for four years.
10:00 am • 30 March 2012 • 45 notes
My boyfriend agreed that sure, my face qualifies as a plausible face in the ensemble cast of a Terence Davies film. He will never live this down.
12:48 pm • 27 March 2012 • 10 notes
