Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

The clearest description I have managed so far about my blog is that it is not about cats. In general, I find predators pretty predictable while prey on the other-hand, because they live in universes of anxiety, develop more textured personalities. I also have as a writer a deft hand when it comes to making matters worse, so of course , the already panicky are ready made for me. I will try to grow this blog into an assortment of laughs, because that is what my life has mostly taught me to do. I will use the famous people I have known to get your attention and then tell you small but many times wonderful things about them. I will never name the ones I say ugly things about but I hope you will guess who they are.

Month: December, 2016

The Carelessness of Young Girls

I am an especially suspicious person. I suppose this stems from my early discovery that automobiles are constructed to fail around the same time using what is called “planned obsolescence.” It made it easier for the car salesman to make money on a more predictable schedule.
As I sit fuming over my daughter’s destruction of a second iPhone 6 this month, it occurs to me that Apple’s manufacturing scheme somehow predicts the carelessness of young girls.
I suspect we grow old and die at precisely the right speed as well. Even God, I guess, has to make his quarter.

He is Pleased with me

He knew
I wasn’t going to tell.
I wrapped him in brown paper
and went home
and hid him,
after he raped me.
He was pleased.
He climbs on me at night.
I dream of him doing bug things.
“Remember our first time?”
he whispers in the mean humming pitch
of warm August night locusts
and I am confused.
“Of course,” I whimper.
He is pleased,
and I feel safe.
He sits in the quiet old chair.
Next to my bed.
I dream, that he is not there.
At breakfast, across the table from me,
he asks, “So what shall we do today?
So casually. I am confused.
My life with him is beginning.
He touches my hand,
He is pleased.
My deceit holds no estate in him.
I have vanished into what has hurt me.
Life forbids that I feel nothing at all.
My life might be long.

What your real friends see

Merry Christmas to all my friends, utter strangers, NSA snoopers. robots, advertising data vacuuming tools, Trump and Clinton supporters and those of you who steadily misinterpret things I say but still remain friends to me out of a desolate and fearful loathing of having less than 2,000 friends. Remember that you can always be proud of what your real friends see.

Or you

Laughter should never be a weapon.
When it is, people know you lack confidence.​
And they never forget the hurt.
Or you.

It hasn’t changed her

One of my best friends has just died. It hasn’t changed her.

Daily machines

Every machine you use daily would have spawned a new religion 2000 years ago.

The people​ I know

I have always had fun ascribing human characteristics to animals. Lately, I enjoy doing this with people I know.

What does a race really need?

How is it gracefully announced that what I will think of your race will always be less than you demand, yet well more than you should need?

Little Lifetimes of First love

The little lifetimes of first love
All whirling and crashing
about your heart
like hungry snowflakes,
all different
all the same,
till one does not melt
away.

If you are a woman

By Sarah Kay

If you are a woman read this
This is wise and spectacular Regis
If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
You can let them look at you.
But do not mistake eyes for hands,
Or windows for mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may not have ever seen one before.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
You can let them touch you.
Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for.
Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer, another woman –
But their hands found you first.
Do not mistake yourself for a guardian, or a muse, or a promise, or a victim or a snack.
You are a woman –
Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat
You are not made of metaphors,
Not apologies, not excuses.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
You can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright.
Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural,
Still strains the muscles, holds firm the arms and spine.
Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
Admit they don’t have the answers they thought they would by now.
Some men will want to hold you like the answer.
You are not the answer.
You are not the problem.
You are not the poem, or the punchline, or the riddle, or the joke.
Woman, if you grow up the type of woman men want to love,
You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love,
It is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping.
It is realising you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope after the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart.
You learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean,
Even after it’s left you gasping, salty.
So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made,
The ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night,
And know this.
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You are born to build.

Sarah Kay

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