this morning i had breakfast at my favorite spot – green apple cafe on dekalb, with queen piper anderson, who is heading up the blackout arts collective these days. what a dope woman y’all. their lyrics on lockdown tour starts next week – check the calendar on their site to see if its comin your way and DO go check them: www.blackoutartscollective.com!

when i got home i was sitting here looking down at my chest, which i have been doing a lot since my mom took me bra shopping last week. i was thinking that my breasts looks pretty awesome except that the left one seems to be larger than the right. no matter what i did, this was the case. finally i ended up topless in the mirror arms above my head realizing that my dedication to the movement has internalized such that the left has a significantly larger home even in my mammaries!!

citizen cope flashback! whew. breathe in wax off.
then – www.raylamontagne.com – another overheard in a restaurant new love of mine. go listen to him.

tomorrow night is rude movements at apt – the tall light and handsome tyler spinning. i’m going…are you?

in other good news – it appears i have negotiated my way back into my apt with mad improvements for a rent raise. never give up, never surrender, particularly when it comes to ny real estate.

my horoscope said to tell that special someone how you feel, so i told my new gay boyfriend shane that he is the shit in a gucci bag.

here are some poems sent to me from my canadian sister claire:

And now we will count to
  twelve

 

and we will all keep still
…

 

 

 

For once on the face of the
  earth

 

let’s not speak in any
  language,

 

let’s stop for one second,

 

and not move our arms so
  much.

 

 

 

It would be an exotic
moment

 

without rush, without engines,
 

 

we would all be together

 

in a sudden strangeness.

 

 

 

Fishermen in the cold sea

 

would not harm whales

 

and the man gathering salt

 

would look at his hurt
  hands.

 

 

 

Those who prepare green
  wars,

 

wars with gas, wars with
  fire,

 

victory with no survivors,

 

would put on clean clothes

 

and walk about with their
  brothers

 

in the shade, doing
nothing.

 

 

 

What I want should not be
  confused

 

with total inactivity.

 

(Life is what it is about,

 

I want no truck with death.)

 

 

 

If we were not so
  singleminded

 

about keeping our lives
  moving,

 

and for once could do
  nothing,

 

perhaps a huge silence

 

might interrupt this
sadness

 

of never understanding
  ourselves

 

and of threatening ourselves
  with death.

 

 

 

Perhaps the earth can teach
  us

 

as when everything seems
  dead

 

and later proves to be
  alive.

 

 

 

Now I’ll count up to
twelve,

 

and you keep quiet and I will
  go.

 

 

 

 – Pablo Neruda

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You do not have to be good.

 

you do not have to walk on your
  knees

 

for a hundred miles through the
  desert, repenting.

 

You only have to let the soft
  animal of your body

 

love what it loves.

 

Tell me about despair, yours,
  and I will tell you mine.

 

Meanwhile the world goes
on.

 

Meanwhile the sun and the clear
  pebbles of the rain

 

are moving across the
  landscapes,

 

over the praries and the deep
  trees,

 

the mountains and the
  rivers.

 

Meanwhile the wild geese, high
  in the clean blue air,

 

are heading home again.

 

Whoever you are, no matter how
  lonely,

 

the world offers itself to your
  imagination,

 

calls to you like the wild
  geese, harsh and exciting –

 

over and over announcing your
  place

 

in the family of things.

 

 

 

– Mary Oliver