Three years ago yesterday Nap died. I was Nap's human. Not a day goes by I don't think of him, I think of him every time I climb up or down the steps from my house to the road, he'd sit in my lap when I sat on the top step. Since then, two more cats who considered me their human have died, Momcat and Fleabus. I know few greater joys than being a cat's chosen human. We have three cats still, down from eight four years ago, and I like Stanley and love Rosie and love Olive but my wife is Stanley and Rosie's human and my daughter Olive's, they like me but
Every animal we've housed in the 39 years L & I have been together, cat and dog, found us and saved us, not us them, but no cat or dog has found us now in over a decade. I thought one had in Michigan earlier this April, a black kitten playing on the side of Tophith Rd near Munith, I stopped my car three straight days, it ran to me each day and purred in my arms, on the third day I took a box, on the third day it wore a collar and a tag. I still need rescuing. I'm a hot-mess. Iggy won't save me, not even today on his 78th birthday
Sideways too, I'm soaking in it, Madge. Will I be eating catfood in Magamerica before I can feed it to a cat that adopted me? Will I ever be able to go to a shelter and rescue an animal but have nightmares for years thinking of all the animals I did not take home, who plead with me with their eyes to save them? That won't save me. Neither will The Cure, but today is Robert Smith's 66 birthday, he's four months and a week older than me
"If the cultural landscape is nurtured and defined by the marketplace, the academy, and the web of monied foundations and institutions that make up the professionalized cultural economy, then there will always be a degree of inescapable dissonance for the leftist artist, and for the leftist writer and poet, like myself. But that dissonance is instructive or, at least, it should be. The coercive and conditional nature of the market, the academic institution, the prestigious foundation is designed to discipline the left-wing artist, and persuade them to construct a creative self that is ultimately conducive to and dependent on that capitalist, careerist terrain. At best, it simply tames or otherwise neutralizes any such dissonance. At worst, it enlists the leftist artist to construct a bastardized, supervised dissonance that instead survives, reinforces, and stabilizes the very structures that should be troubled. A dissonance that is decorative, observational, permanently underdeveloped, and loudly commodified."
"For this to have been a deliberate act — which it plainly was — consider what that means. A person within the IDF saw the news that Fatma’s film was accepted into Cannes. He/she/they then proposed assassinating her. Other people reviewed the suggestion and approved it. Then other people carried it out"
Momcat just hit by a car and killed. I picked her up off the street and wrapped her in a towel and put her in a Chewy's box and put the box on the backporch, the screendoor closed to keep coyotes and foxes and dogs from eating her. The ground too frozen to dig to safe depth, I'll take her to the vets for cremation tomorrow
Some man walking his dogs yelled hello, crouching over a painting I thought it was my stomach growling with gas and then the neighbor banged and banged and banged on the door, said a black cat, I knew it was Momcat, I knew it wasn't Frankie
I tried to say to L (last night before I typed this) and C (this morning) and succeeded more than failed how my processing always starts with gratitude I know how and when my feral cats died and they never just disappear and are never seen again so I never have to imagine day after day (and I would imagine day after day year after year) what horrible death they suffered and just process the hard death they had
I'd promise myself I'll never have ferals again as if I have a say and as if I'm not delighted to be adopted by them, dogs and cats have found us for forty years, more will again and good
Twitter/blogger overlord Jon Schwartz - who I like! - tweeted1. The most interesting thing about Ben Shapiro (the only interesting
thing about him) is his deep commitment to being ignorant. Some people
don't have access to knowledge. But he went to UCLA & Harvard Law
School. They have libraries. His ignorance is an (unconscious) choice.
I replied (forgive me, I'm foolish, small): Counterpoint: his ignorance is his JOB, one he chose and chooses to
excel at. Stop thinking those preaching to the pig-ignorant are
pig-ignorant. They are turds of a different smell.
I do not understand granting cracker-whisperers the out of ignorance.
I do not understand granting Liberal-whisperers the out of ignorance.
Ben Shapiro (cashes check) doesn't know how the world works?
Lengthy but mostly flat, knees this morning not barking.
I love bogs. I love heaths. I love scrub forests.
Pouring, 7:17AM Thursday morning, rain all day, what to do?
I know -
ACTIVATING THE NAPOLEON
EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM!
Our housesitter/catsitter got married and moved to Michigan, the woman who comes once a day to feed the cats has not seen Napoleon (or MomCat) since we left on vacation. Neighbors to our left are building an addition, MomCat sleeps in their backyard, the elementary school across the street is tearing down the portable classrooms, Napoleon sleeps underneath them to wait out the Summer sun.
ACTIVATING THE MOMCAT
EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM!
It is not unusual for Napoleon and MomCat to not appear for strangers, and
the food put out is eaten (though we've possum and raccoon scavengers), but
I will never forgive myself if I never see them again.
Not just this, but the fuck with forlorn on vacation?
New Richard Thompson? His band coming to DC November 9th?
