centre of the universe - the dreaming

Toe Ring: 1
Nose Ring: 1
Earrings: Too many to count
Ring Made From A Spoon: Despite several attempts at 'ekscape', the Ring Made From A Spoon is still in my possession. Nay, ON MY FINGER!

I miss that toe ring, though. It was verra nice. I found it in Ottawa, at O'Shea's Irish Market, and *sniff*, it was the first toe ring that didn't feel weird. That's what I get for not taking off all my jewelry before farting around at the beach. I very nearly lost my Ring Made From A Spoon at the beach, too, but I knew where it fell off in the water, and dove around looking for it.

Anyway, yeah. If you happen to have an underwater toe ring detector, I'm sure my precioussssss is near the shore by the showers at Regina Beach beach. **sigh**

Labels: ring made from a spoon

It is morally wrong, I say...
...It is wrong, morally, I correct myself.
Morally speaking, I begin...
how can someone be 'morally speaking'? Really. Either you've a set of moral behaviours that you adhere to all the time, in which case you are *always* 'morally speaking', or you do not have a set of moral behaviours that you adhere to, in which case you are 'amorally speaking'. OR, I continue, you have a set of *immoral* behaviours to which you adhere, in which case you are 'IMmorally speaking'. Like, all the time.

There is a pause. I realise, people are staring at me.

I'm just saying, I say. I'm just saying that you can't really start a declaration of judgement, from a morals point of view, by saying "Morally speaking". I mean, you *can*, but it's not really accurate, so you *shouldn't*.

The pause is still there. It's waiting like the first after-dinner fart that no one wants to let go. The pause shifts uncomfortably in its chair.

It's just that, someone else says, glancing furtively around the room. It's just that I think no one here...I mean, I don't presume to speak for *everyone*...

Oh, but you *do*, someone else says.

Thank you, the first person says. Not the first person as in the narrator...I mean, I don't mean the first person narrator says "Thank you". I mean the first person who spoke up after that great uncomfortable pause. That person speaks again, and says, Thank you. What I *meant* to say...that is, what I was going to say before...well, it's just that I don't think anyone...

Knows what you're talking about, the second speaker says.

Well, I should think that's obvious, I say. I'm talking about how it's inaccurate to say "Morally speaking" when what you really mean to say is something like "from the standpoint of an argument in which a particular moral position is to be considered". Or something.

Well, someone else says. This is someone completely separate from the first two someones, neither of whom are the narrator, first OR second. But I think the issue is that no one is really sure where that statement *came* from.

It came from me! I exclaim. I'm *very* good at dispelling confusion.

Er, said someone. This was the first someone.

Um, said someone else. This was the third someone.

You see, the second someone said, it's just that...well...we're not really sure what *sparked* that statement. Its...

Genesis? I asked.

Yes, its genesis. Exactly! Said the second person.

Is that important? I asked.

Again, a pause filled the room. I suspect it had been at the berries and cream, which would explain how it grew so large so fast.

I mean, is it important where the statement came from? What its genesis might have been? The statement is true regardless.

At this point, everyone else in the room stared blankly at me for some time, then each of them, each of them **to a man/woman/child** began a spontaneous conversation with the person to his/her immediate left.

Coincidence? I think not.

Labels: fire sinks, ring made from a spoon, stories

Here are some words just for you, then:
When people say "it was just Hell"
they don't know what they're talking about.
Or maybe they do,
but then they don't know what Hell really is.

you do.

There is a story
it is a story of creation
one of the great myths
where the wife of the child of the sun
pulled a turnip from the ground.
Even though she was told not to.

The turnip left a hole in the ground
Which, to the humans, was the sky
And the woman fell through the hole
And couldn't see her husband anymore
Not ever again
Because she was on earth and he was in the sky
with his mother, the wife of the sun.

This story reminds me of you.

It is you in the sky, looking down through the hole
That that woman made when she pulled the turnip
your mother told her not to pull.
You are sad, but
there's nothing you can do.
You hold your children on your knee, and you tell them
of their brave,
proud mother.

And your mother, the wife of the sun,
she holds your children on her knee
and tells them of the great spider who lives
just beyond that hole where the turnip used to grow.
She tells them, "never go near that hole".

But this isn't about your mother
the wife of the sun.
It's about you.
You are the son of the sun.
Your challenge is not to blaze too brightly;
just shine enough to light a few fires
to cast enough light
to read by.

Labels: poems, ring made from a spoon

Okay, so here's the deal.

I only mention it because a couple of folks have mentioned this to me...about me...whatever. It's been said lately that one of the myriad reasons I should rule the universe is because I make people laugh. I think that's okay. I think that's a good reason to rule the universe.

Because there is truth to this: that what you put out into the world comes back to you, and usually it comes back to you magnified threefold. And I'd much prefer to enjoy things (and enjoy not enjoying things, if that makes sense) than have the universe be cross or impatient or grumpity with me. Or sad.

So my friend Jackie said this: "I love hanging out with cenobyte because it doesn't matter where we go, or what we do, everyone cenobyte talks to, she makes them laugh." [Ed. Note: not by poking them in the eyes. I have discovered, through trial and error, that poking folks in the eyes does not make them laugh. It makes them very, very irritated. Also, it took me three tries to type 'trial'. I kept typing 'trail and error', which is a different concept entirely.]

My co-worker Double D said, of our recent trip to Ottawa, that he enjoyed traveling with me because wherever we went, I made people happy.

And I'm okay with that. I'm *really* okay with that.

Babies laughing makes the world better:


German weather hosts can't stop:

Labels: cheese, ring made from a spoon, the goggles they do nothing

The night is warm, but the wind is cool. I stand in the centre of a field of summerfallow. Above me, the stars glint and shimmer. Below me, the earth is solid and warm. The soil in the fallow rows is loose and soft as my sandals sink down into it. The soil covers the tops of my feet.

Across the field, far out into the darkness, I hear a coyote yip. It is answered by another, further off away from the river. They sing back and forth, and their song is solitary, even though there are two...solitary and mournful. Their song is a song to the changing face of the moon; they wonder why their grandmother's face is covered by a veil, but she cannot answer them tonight for she is watching the sea.

Sometimes, this comforts me, this darkness, these stars, this moon, the coyotes, the earth, and the wind. Tonight, I reach for my grandmother's wisdom. I reach out my fingers, and try to touch her strength. My fingers play lightly through the heavy air, but her strength is not there. I say to my mother, who hears everything now, "Please. Please, I need you now."

My voice rolls over and over across the field.

This is where you have left me, my heart full of dust, my ribs dry stalks of wheat. I don't know why I remain standing, why I do not topple to the warm soil, my fingers becoming the earth for next year's crop. But I do not. Something keeps me standing.

I hear your voice, as if through molasses. Your words are sharp, abrupt. You judge me. I falter. You judge me. I wither. You judge me. I fall.

Grandmother moon glances down.

Where do I go from here?

Labels: Bad Mojo, dirt in your eye, Lowering standards, ring made from a spoon

You remember that song by Tom Waits called "Hold On"? You remember there's a lyric in that song ..."With charcoal eyes and Monroe hips..." oh wait. No, that isn't the lyric I'm thinking of. It's the lyric:

He gave her a dimestore watch and a ring made from a spoon
Everyone's looking for someone to blame
"You share my bed you share my name
Well go ahead and call the cops; you don't meet nice girls in coffee shops."
She said "baby I still love you.
Sometimes there's nothing left to do, but you've got to hold on.
Take my hand; stand right here. You gotta hold on."

You don't remember?

Hm.

Well, here's the video to refresh your memory:


Remember a while back I said I wanted a ring made from a spoon? In fact, just yesterday I said that to my saucy co-worker. Well, guess what I found today at Sundog?

That's right. I found a ring made from a spoon. It has made my whole day.

Labels: lips, ring made from a spoon, sauce pocket