see corky in action

blogging away
brainslug
circumstance
eclecticism
greblog
jane
jenifer
kd: autodidactic
kudastan
life happens
ludic
my life
navel
thinking out loud
wordswordswords
zen calm ink

pitas

bigbaby
computer donation
coolio postcards
dergoogle
dictionary
the eye
flowers
get your war on
gonzales
headstones
hoaxes
lileks
microbes'n whatnot
name yer bebe
news
oddtodd
onion
pokey
protection
scripts

recommended

rent this or the kid gets it

why don't you love me?

baby I'm amazed at the way I really need you ooooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ahhhh

Wed|05.29

You let the class know in second grade, and you start with Kevin.

You've said one too many smart-mouthed things and he's about to push you down. You wish there was some new science to determine when to shut your mouth when you're talking to Kevin, but there isn't. So you hold up your arms, make an X in front of you with your straightened hands, and say, "I know karate."

Uncertainty crosses his face. He changes his mind about hitting you. This works so well that you can't help but use it again. Maybe you overuse it.

Maybe you should accept that Kevin doesn't like you anymore; sure you were together in kindergarten, but you were kids then. He's moved on. That hasn't stopped him from throwing your paste across the room, though. Nope, not Kevin. And you know how to tease him, you know what to say to make him so angry that he can no longer speak. It's fun, admit it.

So you really need the karate line. It keeps you standing most days when you could be kissing the ground instead.

But it spreads around. Kids talk. Karate's exciting and they think you know it. It's a difficult situation.

You say you can't really give lessons. You're not a teacher and you're still learning. It wouldn't be right. But kicking like this? This is something people do when practicing karate. Also, these hand movements. "Sure, I could throw you on the ground," you find yourself ad libbing. "But that would be wrong."

Kevin's suspicions rise. The line doesn't make him back off like it used to, you can tell it won't work much longer. But what you don't count on is the playground.

It's been a bad day, Kevin-wise. He's a moody guy. He's a foot taller than the rest of the class, and he uses random bullying to take the edge off. The two of you, in particular, have been arguing and pushing each other all day. Then comes a break.

You're by the jungle gym when it happens. Kevin's flunky Bernard comes up behind you and grabs your arms. Kevin appears before you and smiles. "Flip him," he orders you. "Use karate."

Bernard is as tall as Kevin, and stronger. His arms are locked around your arms, above the elbow. You are solidly against him. Your head reaches his chest. You try to get out but it's not possible. You don't accept this for several minutes. You haven't taken one karate class. Still, people flip each other. You've seen them, on television. There must be a way. You keep trying.

Kevin's smile is unbearable now. He's cocksure, he'd light a cigarette if he had the habit. But he's just seven; there's still time for tobacco.

"Use karate! I thought you knew karate!"

You're attracting a crowd. People nudge each other and whisper, "Why doesn't she flip him?"

You can't. You can't do anything.

The bell rings after ten solid minutes of being held by Bernard. He lets you go. You walk into the building. The only thing bigger than Kevin's glee is your humiliation.

You know what's next; they will start to question the existence of your horse.

have you been all right? all these lonely lonely lonely lonely

Tues|05.28

Hi.

Hi! How's your mommy?

My mommy's good. How's your mommy?

Super! How's your mommy?

My mommy's good. How's your mommy?

Super! How's your mommy?

My mommy is good. How is your mommy?

Mine is super!

Good. Hi!

Hi!

Good.

Super!

good god yall

Mon|05.27

Blah blah blah. I wish I could make up things.

Work tomorrow. Nothin wrong withat. Gotta work. Good to work! Happy happy work.

What do people do? Huh. Weird. Did you ever look at someone and think they have their own thoughts, family, friends, work, concerns, etc., that are all somewhat different from the person next to him or her, and the next person, and the next? How can everyone be different? Why do they matter? Can every freakin person in the world matter to someone else, or if not now, have mattered? Weird.

THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE.

And so many I've never seen or heard of or know of, I'm just talking about all the strangers I see every day while outside, in my one city.

where does your power lie as you move across the southern sky

Sun|05.26

I turned 23 by the side of a road in Texas. Buffalo were in attendance, as were 39 strangers who were kind enough to all sign a card ("Which one is Cleo again?") and sing, and light candles for me.

Yes, okay, I'd happened to mention the day before that my birthday was approaching. But the rest was their idea, really. Really. It was fabulous, but I was dealing with residual paranoia from some wicked strong cheeba someone had brought with them that I'd made the mistake of smoking.

Eight hundred bucks seemed like a fortune to me and that's what I crossed the country with, minus 0 for the transportation and food and lodging. Two weeks of travel, a week or so of hostel life, and a few shows (PiL, George Clinton, Etta James, JJ Cale, and Mink Deville) later, I was out of money in the one town I hadn't really meant to go to.

San Francisco was where the bus stopped, so I would stay a few days (was the plan). Then I'd go to LA, visit some friends and relatives there, then to New Mexico, my destination. No special reason, except that that was where Coleman and I had originally planned to go (Taos!) before he backed out of the trip, taking his car with him.

But somehow, in some way, the nest egg I'd brought with me had evaporated. So I looked in the newspaper and decided to answer an ad for a part-time job in exchange for room and board at a residential hotel. What the hell. This was kind of a cool town and I'd met a guy I liked and some of my friends from the bus were still in the city, so I could stay for a while.

Wherever I ended up, I had no intention of going back east. I knew this when I started, but I pretended, especially to my family, that it was just a trip. I wasn't sure for how long, maybe a few months, I told people.

I thought about getting off the bus in New Orleans, but the ride wasn't even halfway over yet. Plus I'd BEEN to New Orleans. Pretty, but nothing new.

Big Bend was a cool place. This might have been where I started feeling comfortable with a few people. Mostly the trip, while, you know, GOOD, was a mass of anxiety for me, someone who really didn't like being around people in close proximity. My fear of driving was greater than my fear of spending so much time with so many people, and that was how the bus won. I knew if I drove I wouldn't stop in half the places the bus was going to. I wanted to go to those places and I didn't want to drive myself to them due to the crashing and so forth.

If I had known I would get one shower and two shampoos during the entire two weeks, that really might've changed my mind. REALLY. But hey.

Mmmmmm, showers.