So happy! Buster has been taking thyroid meds & in 3 weeks he's easily gained a pound, I'd bet—a lot for a being that was down to 8.1 pounds. Now what he eats stays on him, rather than peeing it all out. His eyes were sunk in his head he was so dehydrated & he barely could get off the floor. Now his behavior is beginning to match his kitten face. He leaps & trots & meets me at the door. Also, he is so in love with us. I can barely get him off my lap. We haven't been back to the vet, not for another couple weeks, but it's so clear that the meds & subcutaneous fluids are doing him a world of good.
An Old Story
when I didn't give the young man money
he said is it because I'm black
& you a old white lady
& I said that's right fuck off
& when I told this guy I know
he told me a story about a beautiful girl
he once lived with who made the thugs
on 8th & B back off by screaming
you fucking pussies
her tininess making her curses louder
he found a story of his own to top, correct & instruct me
fuck off, you fucking pussy
Stealing this story but it's too good not to!
So my friend's 10-year-old kid just got her period, freaking out the dad no end. He was, she said, frantically googling and at one point said in front of my friend and her sister, "It could last SEVEN DAYS!"
Their conclusion: The most perfect example of mansplaining in the universe.
Poetry is a rival government always in opposition to its cruder replicas.
~ William Carlos Williams
Is this an impeachment inquiry quote? I dunno, I've just been so in love with Williams lately. I never exactly know what he means but he always inspires me.
Almost a new year, the chance to set things right, aim better, get on the mark. Happy New Year, l'shana tova, to all, whether or not it's your holiday. May it be a sweet & healthy new start, may you find your passion, & make a start on repairing the world.
I'll be off the next two days but a Monday Quote will magically appear nonetheless.
Two women with 4 bags apiece, including two I could hardly budge, were at the West 4th stop, looking to get to West Canal Street. Not the F, I said, it goes to Brooklyn. I got off with them at Broadway-Lafayette, planning to help them haul their stuff upstairs to the 6 train, when they let slip that they were going to the Chinatown Bus (way east! on) Canal. I told them to get off at East Broadway. They didn't believe me, asked a man, who said East Broadway. They were headed for Cincinnati. We got back on the F. You'll have to walk a couple of blocks from the train stop, I said, can you manage? We'll have to, won't we, she side-eyed at me. No thanks at any point. Did I look like a scary New Yorker who was trying to scam them or run away with their luggage? They did not like me! The nicer I was, the more resentful & suspicious they were.
Someone spilled half a cup of (tepid, thank goodness!) coffee on me then said it was really my fault, that I'd bumped him while he bumped me. C'mon, manners, people! I'm the one wet & ill-smelling, just apologize for the inconvenience, yeah?
I sat on 5th St half-hearing then listening to (& recording pages of) this woman talk for at least half an hour (& I left while she was still on the phone). She was addressing "Detective" & telling a incident-filled tale of woe: her apartment broken into & art stolen ("I'm a well-known artist & surrounded by a lot of celebrity stuff"), which unfortunately wasn't identifiable ("people who sign their drawings are not serious artists"), her elderly parents were in the hospital, her bank account defrauded, her building broken into, her boyfriend Derek Jeter was wildly jealous ("he flipped out when any man came near me") but the Yankees didn't respond when she complained about his behavior, she also does bigtime corporate design work & was a prodigy ballet dancer ("I'm in better shape than any of them").
I sort of imagine the detective putting the phone down, going off for coffee, or maybe playing games & throwing in uh-huh occasionally.
Do I sound as crazy as her when I tell people I divorced Derek Jeter & am happily remarried to Didi Gregorius?
A writer is in the end not his [sic] books, but his [sic] myth. And that myth is in the keeping of others.
~ V.S. Naipul
Yet another reminder that doing the work is what’s important, not worrying about what happens to it.
Finally made it to the Biennial, just a couple of days of days before it closed.
I liked everything & I didn't like anything.
I don't know what I mean by that.
Last night I stopped by the Salmagundi Club to see the American Impressionist show. It was depressing—like a bunch of MFA poems, competent & lifeless. The Biennial was full of life but a lot of the work seemed entirely conceptual, so there was no point in actually executing the piece, or they were op-eds. It wasn't depressing but I didn't leave wanting to charge home & make art.
Then He Who Must Not Be Named stepped on my foot & now I can't walk.