you asked me too and i did
this morning when i woke up
i was the child i used to be
i was in my old bedroom
it lasted for a few seconds
today we live in a fog
in and out, rising and descending
yesterday i came out above the clouds
when i am in town
i write witty stories
often quite sexually charged
when i write for the paper
i write true accounts,
nothing made up
other than the odd private joke
that only you and i know
in my diary
i write incomprehensibly
skipping all that doesn't matter
all that is left
is that i will die
eventually
here on blog
i used to write those true accounts
without the jokes
now, here, i practice
for who i am
with or without you
dead or alive
Of course, why would anyone want to read the above. I can make it more interesting.( hopefully) I often think there is are hilarious, fantastical, exciting things happening in every single day. let me try.
Today kind of a dreary day. All that about the fog was very true. Everything i write is very true, always.
I inside behind the computer. My husband outside splitting wood. Dense, very hard and heavy spruce, bug kill. When you would come over to my place today, you would hear the sound of the axe hitting the wood and a minute later the rattling of keyboard keys. In between you would find something odd. Something laying on the steps. You might have to step over it. I can imagine you giving it a glance, wrinkling up your nose.
I tell you, they are rabbit guts. In another piece of writing, i made it sound like two unrelated things where related. I was the huntress and there, once upon a time, was a rabbit. And in order i was officially named; Royal Rabbit Gut Puller. The real story maybe less exciting, i leave that up to you.
Friday, Don and i went bison hunting. (I know, Don already got his bison, but now it is my turn. But that is another story.) As the hunt Friday was unsuccessful, we knew of place where he could go and cut some good wood, to at least come home with something. And i could climb, surely, the vertical rock face. ( you have to make these stories somehow fit together to create a comprehensible existence, yes?)
You know, truly truly, i am hoping today, on this dreary day, that my latest lover will come by and play the grand piano for me.
Back to rabbit guts. As i put them on the steps Saturday morning, by now the magpies have pecked at them and the contents, yellow brown bits of dry grass in a soupy consistence, are spilling out. and a little hole is pecked at the tissue in between the large intestines and the small ones.
Claude Debussy now playing for me. The cat, again, jumping on my lap, cat hairs on my keyboard.
Friday; While Don cut wood, I followed an elusive man's snowshoe tracks up the mountain, towards the rockface. Elusive, as i did actually meet this man for real. Nevertheless i did so in a haze of alcohol, marijuana and lots of laughter. At this moment i can't even remember his name, and have no idea where or what he is. But for real it were his tracks, i know that for a fact., trust me on that one.
A lynx and a coyote had also followed his trail, as in the snow many stories are recorded. Suddenly there was a commotion in the recording, i left the snowshoe trail and followed the lynx. I came out by a kill side, bits of rabbit hair, drops of blood and this big fist sized... something. It smelled awful and was bloody. Me not wanting to make presumptions, slid it in my coat pocket. Yes, i am sorry i do do things like that.
I climbed the rock face, partly. The next day we did go back and i climbed to where you see it in the photo.
At home after thawing it out and prodding it, i too concluded; indeed these are rabbit guts. whereupon i place them on the outside steps, where they will remain till.... they are gone.
Now that was one story of numerous stories like it that make up a day.
Hope you like it.
