mccain

to call him a pussy for trying not to debate is to denigrate pussy.

sakes alive

on the down low i blog. on the down low because there are other things i should do: find someone to fall in love with; read a stack of books; clean my ears; urinate; knit; take atavan; hate on our politicians; masturbate; cook; bake; seek; think; mediate; meditate; run; feed swans; feed myself.

some of those are truer than others. i was in new orleans last weekend for a big birthday celebration of a good friend who then, not two days after i saw her, became a mother of a little baby girl. and the friend's sister said she liked my blog and so this post, above all, is dedicated to j, the sister of k, who flew a long way for the partay. oh my gods!! mister eliot, eat your heart. out.

there is no dating news on my horizon. all my horizons are hard right now to discern in that middle distance, the fog or maybe, these days, it's the smog that's obscuring them, making sea turn to sky with no delineation. i have told lots and lots of people, help me out, see, introduce me around, see, whaddyawaiting for? and i was supposed to have a date the other night but the guy cancelled (it was blind, that damn smog again ruining everything) cause he was sick. my brain feels like a sieve. i told two people to set me up just the other day and now i cannot recall who those people even were. oh now i remember, it was not even the other day, it was this very morning on the subway. these were fellas i know. it was coincidence running into them there. this morning feels like it was days away. it isn't even yet evening.

tonight i am going to two parties. two! i even wear a party dress. it is not pink. at least there is that. i made a poncho for my niece. it is mostly blue with lots of specks of other color. it is pretty but it's still too warm for such a garment.

i better come up with some material stat. or i will lose you too.

this is a story; it's a little thing

i know a little boy, he is six. he is charming. he is not at all ticklish. i have tried to tickle him on his feet, under his arms, on the back of his neck, on his belly, of course. he doesn't laugh. he doesn't even grin. he told me he trained himself not to laugh. he trained himself not even to grin.

i told a little girl about the little boy. she is four. she was incredulous. she wants to have at him. to try to break him. we were at the beach when i told her of him. she was playing with jelly fish. there are a scourge of them in the ocean these days. i got stung myself on my eye and wondered if i suddenly had palsy.

i told the little boy about the little girl's wish. he said to tell her no, she won't succeed, it'll be a waste of her time. he told me, though, that when his grandpa tickles him, he smiles. i asked if that is because he doesn't want his grandpa to think that the elder man's tickling efforts have grown weak, impotent with age.

the little boy said, 'no. i smile because sometimes i don't want to be left out of all the fun.'