wash clothes in the basement.

feed the cats. pet the cats. say things in a high-pitched voice to the cats so they bliss out and roll around on the floor.

make a list of the K-3 books you want to track down.

have breakfast.

go to the thrift stores and peruse the furniture.

buy cat food and cat litter.

go to the library to look for the K-3 books.

make strategic purchases from amazon of K-3 books.

pay electric bill.

.

I had a wonderful and vivid dream about Allegheny Mountain Radio. I was visiting, and I guest-hosted Noon Hour Magazine. I wasn't prepared, but I was prepared to wing it. I had tape for a story I wanted to air, but it wasn't cut together or narrated, I just had clips on an actual honest-to-god cassette tape. The board didn't face the window of the booth anymore, it faced the wall to the right. Some of the buttons were hooked up to different things than they used to be, but it worked essentially the same once you got the hang of it. I was very disorganized. There was a lot of dead air. I couldn't hear what was on the air half the time because I couldn't figure out what button to push so I could hear it. I would put on a CD and play something just to play something, without even knowing what it was. At one point, Gibbs came in and told me the music mix sounded like... I'm not sure exactly, "J-104" or something, meaning a generic commercial rock station. I said, "I know, I know, I can't hear it." It was all kind of funny and chaotic. I remember having an idea of how great and chaotic I wanted it to be, like I wanted it to be planned chaos, but it fell flat (the way a Story Slam story falls flat if you're not prepared and had delusions of planned chaos). I remember introducing myself very awkwardly, saying I was visiting. I remember that #5 was one of the cd players and the other cd player wasn't adjacent to it. #1 was still the main mic but I kept forgetting that. I remember opening the mic and opening my mouth and having nothing come out, which never ever ever happened to me, because talking to people who can't see you has never ever ever been a problem for me. I ran out of time and didn't air my story. I think I was thinking I would play the cuts and narrate it live. But with the disorganization, I ran out of time. Then there was a second day. I was going to host again. I still wasn't prepared. I was going to try again to do it the way I wanted to do it the first day. I woke up at one point and chose to stay in bed and close my eyes and stay in the dream, which I was able to do for a while, but the dream didn't go anywhere else after that, it was just me in the booth looking around and moving things around and deciding what buttons to push. Cheryl and Gibbs were the only people I saw there. Cheryl handed me a cd once or twice. I couldn't understand what she was telling me was on them. I remember the cd rack at the back of the booth. I couldn't remember any of the standby songs I used to have around in case I needed to throw something on. It was a pleasant and vivid and enjoyable dream. I felt so good when I woke up. I told Diamond about it but not in detail. The details wouldn't have meant much to him, I guess. I told him there's a part of me that wants to go back there and live in the country. Now I'm up in my apartment and I just listened to all of Tift Merritt's album, Tambourine. An album from the radio station and one that reminds me of home. If I ever guest-hosted Noon Hour Magazine, I would most definitely have this album lying around close at hand. I want to go. I want to move on. Not necessarily back, but on somewhere.

Loving my new little Norristown room. :) My cats have had a frightening few days, and there was this whole incident with the landlord deciding to sand and paint my walls after I moved in, which didn't need to be done, and the workers moved all my stuff onto the balcony and left it out there, including my computer, and I pitched a (calm, Heather-like) fit, and the landlord apologized and no harm was done. Except that the cats were in here all day with strangers using power tools while I was gone, and Ramona and Sylvie were a little bit traumatized. (Nothing fazes the cats that have travelled with me since Marlinton.) Remedy got out, but D. caught him and kept him in his room and babysat him until I got home. Thank god for D. (not that I don't say that every day anyway).

I spent hours in here last night unpacking my few belongings and organizing and imagining potential furniture. Furniture must be cheap, light and highly functional. The scavenge has begun. I hooked up my Clear internet modem and it just up and worked. No hassle. I couldn't believe it. And the signal is stronger than it ever was in W. Philly. I'm listening to KYW News Radio 1060 online. Somehow, it's more cozy to me to listen to Philly news radio from Norristown than from Philly proper. Like when I used to listen to Philadelphia radio from Marlinton. Except I can get on a trolley and go to Philly. :)

There are still some things in the basement of the old house, which I'll get this weekend. Important things. Like my coffee maker, and my printer. I sort of stashed them there and didn't tell anyone. I'm going to touch base with the neighbors to let them know. I've been making coffee's down at D.'s apartment. :)

The cats are calmer and seem pretty happy now. Syl and Mona have found a few places to hide, even in such a small space. They like a secluded corner of one of the closets. They like the top of the high cupboard on the wall. They figured out how to open the cupboard under the kitchen counter and they love it there. I'm going to only keep things like cat food and cat litter and trash bags and laundry detergent and whatnot under there, so they can go in there if they want. I want them to have their own spaces in here.

My cats have five toys here that made it from the old place:
- Devil Duck
- Orange Bouncy Mouse
- Pink Plush Tweety Ball
- Burlap Fish With Ribbons and
- Straw

"Straw" is not a regular straw but a woven, plastic, kind of springy straw that I bought for 50 cents from the pet store. It was cute to see the cats chill out last night and start playing with these toys and kneading the new rug and getting comfortable in here. They seem to only be comfortable when I'm in here with them. Every time I return, they've hidden and then they come out slowly and start purring and eating and playing.

Many things are moving and shaking on the job front. I won't do details right now. It's all in flux.

Tonight I'm going to an art show and a poetry slam. It's First Friday. Reasonable Solutions (an Occupy group) is having an art show fundraiser in Old City. I'm going to that, then going to the poetry slam with a friend, then going back to the art show at the end to meet up with D. when he gets off work.

In the meantime, I'm working on cover letters and sending out resumes. Also going to make a trip to this variety store I've heard about in Norristown. It's called Spillane's and it used to be a five-and-dime. I hear it's massive and has everything in the world for cheap. I'm about to make my first trip there soon. Also doing laundry in the basement here in a minute. :)

It's just a good day. I love today.

.

The back door has not been opened since you opened it to check if our kung pao tofu was still in the yard where the criminals tossed it. That was over four months ago, after the police brought us home from Kensington with no keys, after you scaled the side of my house and jimmied down my office window, after the officer on watch scolded you for tampering with the crime scene, after the cats questioned us big-eyed, after you said talking about it or not was up to me, after you announced you were starving. When I think of opening the back door, I remember, as if they were warnings, all those childhood dreams of pushing and pushing doors into frames that were marshmallows or waterlogged or splintered or odd-shaped or half an inch or more gapped on all sides or swollen barely too small, without clicks or latches. You opened the door and walked down the steps without looking left, where they came from, or right, or right, or right, and picked up the plastic bag and styrofoam carton and tofu and peanuts and plastic forks and packets of soy sauce that are maybe still in my refrigerator now. The door fit obediently back in its frame and you locked both locks for what will be, for me, the last time. I remember the retrieval, but the food itself, as in a dream, was not thereafter seen.


.

There are three cats on my bed. If there were just one more cat on my bed, all of my cats would be on my bed. This number of cats used to be 50% of my cats, but now it is 75% of my cats. I have mixed feelings. Remedy is purring an uncharacteristic, kittenish purr and kneading the afghan that Beatsie had taken to sleeping on.


.

Brown leaves don't cling to the tree.
They hang from every twig,
any part not attached
moving each and every
time the wind blows
in any direction whatsoever.


.

”The path to Stony Creek is so obscure that when I show you how to get there, you'll be the first person who has stood there since the turn of the 20th century. The bottles are weathering into the sides.”


.

All the pigeons are in the sun. All the assembled pigeons on the wall. The shattered glass of the bubble enclosing the escalator down to the subway looks like sun glinting on water, and the buildings are shining tall. All the feathers of the pigeons are puffed and the birds are huddled. The birds know where to be for now.


.

becomingunparallel (or Don't Cross Me, Love)

River trail, train track, river --
parallel, parallel, parallel.
The consequence of becomingunparallel
would be shattering.

-------------

Not Quite

"Uh, we need two tickets. How much is it?"
"Where you going?"
"Oh, East Market."
"Market East?"
"Yeah, Market East."
"One way?"
"Yeah, two ways."

Someone made a thing that does nothing but spin when the wind is channeled along curved copper blades. It spins all day long on the corner by the kitsch shop and grinds no grain and moves no water and butterfly-effects nothing in the world that I know of. That I know of. In the world that I know of.