for dinner i made rice with kidney beans, french green lentils, and sage. to the right is a composite of mashed beets and potatoes, which looks disgusting but is the best thing i’ve ever tasted!
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I’ve lived most of my entire adult life outside the law, and never have I compromised with authority. But neither have I gone out and picked fights with authority. That’s stupid. They’re waiting for that; they invite it; it helps keep them powerful. Authority is to be ridiculed, outwitted and avoided. And it’s fairly easy to do all three. If you believe in peace, act peacefully; if you believe in love, act lovingly; if you believe every which way, then act every which way, that’s perfectly valid — but don’t go out trying to sell your beliefs to the System. You end up contradicting what you profess to believe in, and you set a bum example. If you want to change the world, change yourself.
—Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get the Blues)
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The Golden Girls
The wonderful moment
you walk into the men’s locker room and catch three men changing—shirtless, mesh shorts sliding down their waists from the release of drawstrings. Tightening the belt around your jeans, you find yourself getting hard. But it’s not just the sight of these men shedding their clothes, or the composite of their skin and your skin delineating scenarios in your mind. No. It’s the smell in the room. The rusty metal lockers, the sweat on tired bodies, the misfired shots of urine, and the recently rolled on deodorant hangs in the air like a clever sigh.
And it smells so fucking good.
Crafts Fair, Picuris Pueblo
Bent over a black pot on an outdoor stove
a woman lifts bread
dripping from the oil with a stick and calls
for more Cokes from the house.
We drift among the booths
where families sit with quilts
and pots, carved turtles and tiny katsinas.
The sky’s white, the heat like cotton batting.
A lone carnival ride revolves,
empty cars bolted to a steel rod.
Whatever we came for, it isn’t this sad, dusty field
or the trays of turquoise rings and bracelets,
the same we’ve seen in every trading post
along the way. Why not admit
there’s no place our love will be easy again,
however far we drive into the mountains;
why not say it here, where the air
is heavy with flies, where nothing is trying
very hard to be graceful
or even kind. But maybe it is kindness, after all
that keeps us from talking; we walk side by side,
tear the soft bread in two and share it.
Up the hill are the private houses of the pueblo.
At the half-built church
you stop to snap a picture
of the finished arch, the piled adobe bricks,
a place our friends will later take for ruins.
-Kim Addonizio
my hair is not cooperating today. regardless, time for school! happy monday y’all
