I’ve been drinking out of a wide-mouth, pint-sized ball jar glass lately. Usually water, but tonight bourbon. There’s a spot in the glass and I always think it’s a bug that I don’t know whether it’s inside the drink or outside. It looks like a little bug, like the little crawley kinds that only show up when you’re eyes are sweating or suddenly floating in your drink. But it’s not a bug, it’s just a bubble. A flaw in the glass that’s the exact shape and color of a black sesame seed on top of a bun.
I love the practicality of this glass. It’s so big and upright compared to most jars, and it’s got that really nice fruit design on one side, but on the other side it’s got the cup and ounce measurements. Tonight I’ve had maybe 4 ounces of bourbon in here. Usually it’s 12 ounces of water and ice.
School starts in exactly one month. I feel equal parts ready for fall and as if summer just started.
The best parts about summer are the easy, lazy attitudes. Going to the beach, everything glistening with sweat or illuminator, popsicles and fruit. Snacks by the pool, long days where the sun doesn’t set until 9pm. Wearing whatever and not caring how you look. Going barefoot. Fireflies. Swimming. Rain: sunshowers, thunderstorms, big rolling black clouds, the smell of summer after it rains. Summer smells so good. I’m not ready for it to end this time.
But I can’t wait for fall. Jeans every day, with tshirts or sweaters. Hair that doesn’t get frizzy and makeup that won’t melt off after five minutes. Cinnamon smells and comfort food, warming up the whole house. Feeling cozy wrapped up in a sweater and socks at home at 6:30. The smell of fall swooping in with the wind. Hard rains that clear the skies and bring cold fronts. The rosy, earthy tones and luxurious fabrics. Boots, scarves, hats. The unmistakable freshness that makes you wish you lived near an apple orchard for once in your damn life.
The change in seasons is my favorite. I like feeling sad that the one we’re phasing out of is coming to a close and looking forward to all of the fresh possibilities a new season brings.
Writing is a burden. I’m ready to make real things with this, put words together in a way that makes sense. A whole pie of words, not just a piece here and some leftover crust there. Start to finish, concept - research - writing - editing.
I’ve had too many dealings with the animal kingdom today.
To begin with I’ve been in the middle of a standoff with my cat who decided last night, that instead of using his convenient cat door to the outside world and public toilet, he would pee directly in the middle of my perfectly made bed. There are ants invading my bathroom and car, weird in the bathroom and a burden in the car. Not to mention I had a weird standoff with a deer at dusk.
And to top it all off there was a spider staring at me during my relaxing midnight shower.
This evening I was feeling greasy and irritable (fast food for dinner followed by a snack of chips and sour cream) so I decided to take out all my piercings so that I could wash my hair and face without fear of anything getting caught or snagged. This was an excellent idea for a couple of reasons: first off, my hair was feeling particularly frizzy and generally bothering me, secondly one of my earrings was being a real pain and preventing me from sleeping like I like to – on my pillow. So anyways I took everything out and I washed my face and got into the scalding hot shower. I used the last of my shampoo and decided to double-condition my sad hair while I reveled in the steam. Allowing it to open up my pores and clean out all the crud. It was in the middle of this crud cleansing that I noticed a relatively small, but nonetheless gruesome looking spider on the wall where the shower head was. Watching me, to be sure, waiting until I turned my back to rinse my hair so that it could casually jump upon my bare back and wreak whatever havoc spiders are known for.
Well this simply wouldn’t do. I tried to console myself with the fact that it was probably a woman spider and therefore I had no reason to feel vulnerable, but to no avail. I was forced to rinse my hair with one eye on the spider. This is not an easy task, my friends. I do not advise it. As I’m sitting here writing this I have soap in one ear because that side of my head was never properly rinsed.
This damn spider completely ruined the point of this evening: to wash myself with no stress and to find myself moisturized and cozy watching Netflix in a giant sweater for hours, possibly all night!
Now I’m agitated, I haven’t properly moisturized and I have to battle with my jewelry to get it into the holes that are rapidly closing on my face. Thanks a lot mother nature.
On the night that David Bowie came to dinner we had various types of skewers and listened to jazz. Because what are you going to listen to when David Bowie is around? Something that predates David Bowie. Something that is not influenced by David Bowie.
It was a casual evening, cozy and lots of fun. Before dinner we had your typical cheese and fruit skewers, smaller, lighter, and entirely delightful. A large variety of cheese cubes, such as sharp cheddar, smoked gouda, pepper jack, munster, and colby jack. As for the fruit, there was pineapple, strawberries, green grapes, mango, and raspberries.
Skewers, I feel, are great for casual, social food gatherings. Skewers are like the beaded necklaces of food. Combine any variety and pattern of fruits, vegetables or meat that you want. And the fun doesn’t stop with the savory. Dessert skewers are a ton of fun. Take for example the Strawberry Shortcake Skewer – pieces of sponge cake alternating with strawberries, topped with whipped cream. Maybe you’re more into the donut-hole skewer, or you prefer all fruit all the time. Whatever combination suits your fancy, it probably looks good on a stick.
David Bowie is a big fan of skewers because it allows him, in all of his incarnations, to express himself.
At this point you may be curious as to why I’ve only mentioned one guest so far. Well, the answer to that question is simple: I only invited David Bowie. However, I invited 6 David Bowies. All unique, and all down for a shish kebob shindig.
The first David Bowie I have invited is Present Day Bowie. Clean cut, regal, he wears lots of black-on-black. Recently released an album entitled The Next Day, very pop. I feel that Present Bowie is a very friendly man, humble and understanding.
The second Bowie is 1960’s Mod Bowie. Fresh-faced and youthful, Mod Bowie is eager to experiment with music, fashion, and his personal identity. Mod Bowie regards Present Day Bowie curiously, wondering at what knowledge his future self may hold. He has no idea of what’s to come.
Space Oddity-era Bowie is what’s to come. This marks the transition in Bowie’s career when he begins to make it mainstream. This is Glam Rock Bowie, this is what I consider to be Classic Bowie. Classic Bowie emerges around the beginning of the ‘70s and begins to change up his look. Tonight, Classic Bowie is keeping it real with platform boots, gold lipstick, and some of the most impressive shoulder pads I’ve ever encountered. Present Day Bowie sees Classic Bowie and seems amused, maybe even a little nostalgic for the days of his youth. Mod Bowie is interested but wary.
Present Day Bowie sits at the head of the table, authoritatively. Mod Bowie is to his right, and Classic Bowie is across from Mod Bowie.
Now we’ve got Ziggy Stardust. Ziggy Stardust is David Bowie’s alter-ego, allowing Bowie to take a step even further into the psychedelic with experimental music and makeup. What do Mod Bowie and Ziggy Stardust find to talk about over shrimp and pepper kebobs, I wonder?
David takes a sharp turn after Ziggy and becomes the Thin White Duke. A somber man focused more on the funkedelic rather than the psychedelic, Bowie finishes out the 70s as the Duke. Producing perhaps some of his most timeless work in this era, such as his hit Fame, co-written by John Lennon. The Thin White Duke is robotically minimal in his appearance. Bleached hair suavely combed back, and skinny suits that accentuate Bowie’s lanky frame, the Duke creates a sharp contrast to any of his former selves, particularly to Ziggy Stardust. The Duke remains mostly silent throughout the evening, trying to intimidate us all. It works on some: Mod Bowie won’t look in the Dukes direction, but Present Day Bowie knows what’s up and doesn’t flinch.
Our last Bowie to arrive is somewhat more outlandish than the rest – shocking, I know. The Goblin King, however, isn’t perhaps a true incarnation of Bowie, as Bowie only played him in the film Labyrinth in 1986. That doesn’t make him any less interesting or pertinent to the Bowie Legacy. The Goblin King clearly takes no crap from anyone. A few times during the evening, Present Day Bowie had to put the Goblin King in his place for being unnecessarily nasty to some of the other Bowies. The Goblin King good naturedly bounces back, joking with the Thin White Duke about hairstyles. The Goblin Kings own hair sticks out at every angle.
Overall we, me and the Bowies, have a wonderfully memorable evening. I can see at the other end of the table that Present Day Bowie, the Reigning Bowie, is proud of his past selves.
Each of the Bowies took leftover grilled chicken, shrimp, and vegetable kebobs home. I kept the cheese and fruit for myself, and there were no more dessert skewers to be had.
I left you and rolled up to the Books a Million to browse for a bit (to look at the most beautiful copy of Little Women, which I didn’t find, but did find out hat I only have part one so I have to sort out part two soon) and get coffee.
So while I’m browsing this black lady and her young daughter approach me and ask if I know of a church nearby where she and her baby can get some food, and I say hat I don’t, sorry. Then I walked slowly over to get coffee, trying to read the menu before I got to the counter because all I want is coffee and I want it for less than $4 because I’m dealing in quarters.
So there’s a counter with stools where a little black boy is sitting talking to the larger black dude (young to mid 20’s?), who watches me walk up. So instead of continuing to try and figure out how to get classic coffee I said “um, I just want coffee?”
And he said “Just coffee? Do you want iced, blended, hot coffee?”
I said “hot coffee,”
he said “ I have midnight blahblah already but I can brew some regular, it will be about 5 minutes.” And I said that midnight would be fine.
So he went to get the coffee and I began to count quarters in my hand. “No room for cream thanks,” and he set the coffee in front of me and I asked how much and he said don’t worry about it and walked back to the little boy and I said thanks, smiled, and dropped some quarters in the tip jar and he appreciatively said “you didn’t have to do that” and I took my midnight coffee and got into my car and texted you and laughed a little bit to myself.
Smells are amazing, complex, and never exactly the same combination. A Sensual Memory.
Coffee – old and bitter
Fresh outside Air of Spring
Sweet caramel cookie cake
Aveeno bodywash and African Black
soap
A face full of Witch Hazel Rose
Toner
Old lady Lotion
Doused in Red Musk perfume
mixed now with
Dark, fresh coffee grounds
and a touch of
Sunscreen.
The fresh-pressed-brand-new-book
papersmell
The cold nothing of the freezer,
coconut oil on my toes.
Sriracha
A summery Leafy chlorine-y smell on
the way to the mailbox
Newspaper.
SaltySweet on my leg
pot Roast
Lipstick
Sharpie Pen
Crystal hot Sauce & Black Pepper
Grammas perfum
Hot electronic iphone smell
Ponds on my hands, smells like a baby
Jasmine rice
Prego
saltine crackers
coffee (old)
My quilt – fabricy, sweet, stuffy?
Makeup
Caramel sauce
Gas from my lighter & jasmine (beachy)
I Keep smelling myself candle
it’s a complex.
This old ESP casebook, v. reminiscent
of the perfume opening I’m wearing
today
An orange
A single fart Stuffy house,
Synthetic fabric foodsmells,
Lipstick warm
Tshirt (ironic)
toothpaste, toner, lip balm, Lotion.
The End.
Side Note: The fan is blowing my hair in my face, & it smells so interesting. Like soap – similar to Dove – but also like body – a nice organic smell – but also quite sweet. Probably from product, but I like to think people are sweet too.
Smells are amazing, complex, and never exactly the same combination. A Sensual Memory.
Organic smells are very rich ones. Warm & buttery body smells. Rich, fruity, dark, nutty, sweet like Honey. Not a lot of light notes, a little but it presents itself as salt or tangy. It’s more about the space inside a smell that keeps it from being overwhelming.
The air between molecule types in a Cloud of Scent.
Synthetic smells are more like plastic, not porous. Organic smells are cotton, silk, wool – breathable. Synthetics are satin, nylon, fleece. They make you sweat & drive you crazy if they don’t allow you to adapt to a situating. Stagnant. A Sheet of Smell, not a cloud.
The First Pie I ever made was a Blueberry Pie with a crust from Betty Crocker
Look how fresh-faced and eager I was!
I had carried that pie plate from my house in North-Central Florida, across to the Panhandle, and all over Franklin County like Lucille carried her hatbox across the country in Crazy in Alabama.
This was the day that I finally did utilize the pie plate. I felt post-anxiety fresh after a week of dizziness and no appetite, and I was damned and determined to make my pie fantasy a reality.
I watched the World Cup on my laptop while making pie dough and drinking whiskey when left to my own devices at last in my cousins condo before visiting a graveyard looking for dead relatives.
My first pie. One of my most successful pies in the beginning of a summer pie flurry. The pie plate, with 90% of the pie still in it, traveled around Apalachicola with me the next day.
Through a thunderstorm and power outage, it waited around with me for gas money and road trip snacks, and together we made the longest journey home as I missed USA vs. Portugal.
Something incredible is happening in this centrally located student lounge
Student Lounge, 12pm, 2/5/15
Every 5-10 seconds someone walks in or out of the heavy push door, which then chunks loudly into place before almost immediately being shoved open again by some unsuspecting student who is then subjected to a lot of collective hate from everyone in the area who is trying to relax or concentrate.
If there is a pause between slams that lasts upwards of 12 seconds, you can feel everyone start to tense in anticipating. Bracing themselves. And on the rare occasion that we reach 15 or, god forbid, 20 seconds of silence, you can hear someone sigh exasperatedly or swear under their breath when the door is once again barged through.
At times the door opens in a rapid succession, one person after the other – k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk - for an astoundingly loud 10 seconds, once the door closes and does not immediately open again, there is a collective sigh.
A feeling of connection and irritation channels through those of us who have been here for 15 minutes or more seeking solitude. People become increasingly agitated and begin to loath all other students.
This hatred will stick with them as sorely they continue this semester, then bitterly they finish their time at school. Jaded.
Everyone except this one guy....
He’s sitting at a table with a small black toolbox, an almost empty bread loaf bag, a family size Sabra hummus, and two water bottles. He’s got short hair and glasses and clothes so boring I can’t even tell you about them except to say that his pants are too short. He is eating his hummus and bread right out of the container and watching the silent TV and seems completely oblivious to the constant k-chunk of the door.
The girl next to me is online shoe shopping and is about to buy some ugly sandals. She’s one of those new age hippie types which I can tell because of how gracefully she ate her salad and how straight she’s sitting but also how much she has shaped her eyebrows.
So this girl sitting in front of me has been there for as long as I have. I’m in the corner and she is along the wall to my left with her back against it. In an armchair with a cushy footstool which has her laptop on it. She HATES the door thing. I saw her this morning getting off the bus, we were late to class together. She is wearing a light blue average tshirt (of the 5k variety), brown hair in a pony tail, black leggings with a pink stripe detail, gray argyle socks pulled up tight to midcalf, and ugly gray, pink, and green running shoes. She would maybe be cute if she wasn’t frowning so much.
This black girl (woman) just walked through the lobby (and out the loud door) wearing a gray hoodie with the hood up, carrying a brown paper bag and her phone, which was on speaker and to which she was talking loudly.
Across the room from me and to the right against the wall is this guy who is in two of my classes. He was in the videogame panel in my media class a couple weeks ago and he thinks he is The Smartest Person (kept talking about oculus rift during the panel without saying what it was. I’m still not sure.) he is average height and kind of slim build except that he has worked out so that his shoulders are verging on beefy. Blonde hair and narrow face, made more so by the stupid haircut (shaved not only on the sides, but also in the back while the top is still long creating the sillies looking back-of-the-head bangs). He always wears muscle shirts in bright colors or a leather jacket and his jeans are a little too cutesy (new and crisp and dark and nice…but cuffed). He’s like a really gay jock. He hasn't looked up from his laptop except to see if anyone is around (they are).
The phrase "down to clown" keeps popping into my head today.
I'll see a picture that I really like, or some music video I've been meaning to watch, and as I click the music video somewhere in my head i say "ah yeahh, i'm down to clown!"
Well, no. I'm not down to clown. I hate the phrase down to clown and I resent that somewhere in my brain I felt that it was okay to a) say this at all, and b) say this in regards to myself!
I find it very disrespectful to think this about myself. Down to Clown.
What does it even mean?
Do you ever think about how the wind is like waves and we are living in an ocean of air?
Can’t the layers of our atmosphere extend to include the water on earth, meaning that they layer of earths atmosphere inhabited by us, the troposphere, above sea level is just another ocean?
The tides are weather and just as there are whirlpools in water so are there cyclones in air. Changes of temperature, calm days and rough days. The only real difference is that we are operating inside a gas ocean rather than a liquid ocean. Things move at a different rate and are affected in a different way. The patterns of a gas ocean are not the same as those of a liquid ocean.
In the same way that the air is too thin for us to breath on top of a mountain, as we near the next layer of atmosphere, it is equally difficult for a fish to breath our thin air compared to her heavy water. They can’t navigate our atmospheric ocean very well and we can’t navigate theirs very well.
Why are the ocean and our atmosphere the ones that cultivate life? What’s so special about these two oceans that is different from all the rest? Consider also that the deeper into the ocean you go the more mysterious it is. Yet another oceanic atmosphere level that is heavier than all the rest.
blakekathryn
stormborns
kianamaiart
2087
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