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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Little Ms. Demon
Halle-fucking-lujah Fu's pieces are finally fired: Waiting For The Light That Follows The Darkness, A Talent For Emergence, A Generous Spirit Is A Beautiful Curse, and Please Say Yes, Please Say No. I also fired a piece with the Aisho's hand which has no name and which, in keeping with the present theme in the dream that is my waking life, cracked in the firing. The Demon Grrlfriend's piece was also in the same firing. I called it The Woman Who Is Blessed By The Shadows Of Trees. And, of course, I am not truly happy with any of it. So I'm Going To Write About The Gym The gym was all but deserted today. There was some annoying man dressed in this very strange muscle shirt which I think was designed to both detract from his hideous face and to show off his well-worked form. He was annoying mostly because he did that thing, that thing that I hate so much of "I'm going to stand right in front of the weight rack and do my curls (or shrugs or what-the-fucking-evers) so that you can't get to the weights." And, I'm so, like, take your little weights and move the fuck away from the weight rack so that I can get to the weights, Big Man. You're not nearly impressive enough to be making me wait. I also had this thought about the women at the gym, this thought that is so a product of how much I like to check out the women in their tiny little spandex workout clothes and how much I hate being checked out so that I never wear tiny little spandex workout clothes and also how much I'm annoyed by the women who do their little annoying workouts with their little annoying eight-pound weights. So what I was thinking was this: Since most of the women are half-naked anyway, why bother going to strip clubs? Just pay your $20 a month (the alumni membership cost at my gym) and come and gawk at the little, annoying half-naked women. That's my thinking anyway. You get as much out of it in terms of being both sexually aroused and disgusted by those women, and you get a workout to boot. Plus, you don't have to pay that much of a cover and you don't have to stuff dollar bills into anyone's g-strings. (And trust me, some of those girls you want to ask for change from for that dollar.) Also, I was thinking about how strange it is that the gym is the only place on campus where you can set your backpack down and walk away from it and come back and expect to find it exactly where you left it, completely unmolested. I was seriously freaked out by this for several months when I first started at the gym. Since bags and backpacks aren't allowed in the weight room, people just ditch their bags in the hall outside. I have seriously left my bag with hundreds of dollars worth of textbooks, my hundred+ dollar calculator, my cell phone, my wallet, my beloved Doc Martins, everything worth anything to me when I was in school, just sitting out in the hall along with everyone else's stuff. And this, mind you, is on a campus where all the libraries are posted with warnings in huge fonts: DO NOT LEAVE YOUR BELONGINGS UNATTENDED, and where, in my last semester, some poor schmuck in my non-Shakespearean Renaissance drama class had all his notes stolen when he walked away for a moment from his table in the student union building. So, yeah. Gym people? Stupid but honest. The List? I am grateful for the dream(s). I am grateful for pickled onions. I am grateful for pickled demons. I am grateful for sadness and loneliness and doubt. I am grateful to have realized this week that my mind is the frontier I have to conquer in the quest to attain my goals. I am grateful for Max and for Kim and for Judi, the tiny little California girl who offered me some jeans that she is too big to fit into anymore. I am grateful for my body, for the gym, for The Brain, for The Soul, for The Mind, for this time, for this life, for this moment. I am grateful.
More lies:
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