Snow Day

It's snowing.
I'm getting serious.
I guess it's time to grow up. Sounds fun.
This is what we ate for dinner on Thanksgiving. we had a lovely feast for two.
Then we went to the Bourgeois Pig for a warm holiday beverage.
There are some very sweet folks in Lawrence, KS.

the house we are contemplating

this is what the house looks like now.

we are contemplating our desires.

of course we want a house.

but do we want it HERE?

We do what we can.

we are incredibly strong.
we lifted those trees just the two of us.

I thought it couldn't be done. But then it was.

Building a house. thats so much more than it sounds like.

*D

brewing a stone of momentum

I want to ask you a question?
How slow can you go?
How slow will you go?
For a tangle?
For a soft night, everyday?
For a way of doing things that are unforgettable?
Will you do it seriously.
Serious.
One time I was so mad I died.
I just laid down and died. I was so mad.
I was a somad. A soman. A snowman.
I was published by the ghosts of people who might die in the future.
I mean, they are more likely to die than others, in the future.
I guess the near future. If there is any other kind let me know.
The far future. The far out future. I doubt it.

So obstinate. I just don’t know what story to tell you.
I do it all myself.
I don’t believe in commerce.
But oh I love it so.
I don’t believe in money, but I do believe in restaurants.
Oh my love, I believe in wine bars.
I believe in the saturation of my sensual tolerance.
I believe in my body as the bearer of very expensive and beautiful clothing.
Hello. I believe in shoes.
I believe in escape. And ice cream.

doll of myself

gladness

mostly.

even though

things are insanely:

wierd

hard

uncertain

scary

confusing

insane...

I still have lots of hope. And everything I need is with me now. Everything we need is with us now.
Sending out a huge wave of generosity, gladness and support:

*betsy heavens

DRIVE

I have this fucking most annoying problem in the world.

And this problem is that if I do not drive a car I pretty much can't do anything and sonow I'm roughly about 14 years old.

I can drive the damn car. ok. I can back the car up in a straight line. I can turn my windshield wipers on. I can park.

I can stop at the stop sign.

I can probably just shut up and drive.

But I am pissed off about it.

I am pissed off that I am being held hostage by this.

I want to take the bus. I want to sit next to a junky retard on the 14 mission and get there for a dollar.

There are no sidewalks for feet with people attatched here. I just feel really resentlful that everything is made for cars. And even if I can drive and park and get out and pay and eat and leave in my car...what the f. you know?

I CANNOT walk there. there are no street lights. It's 15 miles away. I would die. Literally. I would literally die.

So maybe I'm just a big cry baby pussy pants who doesn't know exactly how to drive and that makes me really kind of an asshole. Im almost 25 years old for god's sake.

But as my deadline approaches and I get ready to take my permit test and then my stupid driving test, I just want to say once and for all, before I bend under the stupid rules that I totally HATE. Before I agree to kiss ass for the rest of my life and before I lose my ability to gage how far I think I can walk....I want to say this.

HOW BOUT YOU KISS MY ASS YOU LAZY SON OF A BITCH TRUCK DRIVIN' MOTHERFUCKER HILLBILLY ASS -HOLE AND GET OUT OF YOUR HOT ROD AND WALK.

WALK.

I LIKE TO WALK.

See you all on the road. I don't plan on having so much road rage.

love,
danielle

being perfect again

i think i gave birth to myself. here's what's wierd about it:

When you are pregnant with yourself it's really tangible. you feel full. full of yourself, not in the usual sense of those words, but you feel it. really. you just want to pop all the time. and you want things you never wanted before and you dream new ideas and most of all you spend time imagining yourself. You imagine what you might look like, what you might say or like or be like.

But the birthing experience, the actual labor is kind of bizarre. it's definately not tangible. it's a process. it takes a little while. im not talking like 72 hours, i mean like a month. A month of personal labor. i think i need a new emotional vagina. i cant believe my husband still even likes me. what a freak show.

I'm serious though. When you give birth to yourself, when you give yourself that labor, you are dialating yourself, you are turning yourself inside out so that you can be alive. its almost unbearable, and you think you'd probably rather die than finish it off. thank you. and even now, in the after-whatever of the birth, the infant of me is so small and vulnerable and sort of blank, that i can hardly tell it's there. Especially because of the big me who is supposed to provide for that little me. the big me is still there, maybe we'll trade places and we'll merge together. But I sort of thought that when I was born, I would dissappear into that new me. But it doesn't work that way.

i still have to grow up. except this time, i get to do it to myself. i get to grow myself up. so right when i thought i was all done with this big huge job of carrying myself around forever and then fucking squeezing myself out, now i have to be gentle with myself. i have to make sure i do it right.
i guess i should say a GET to be gentle with myself. i get to go slowly. i get to marvel slowly at the new world around the new me thing. i can do it right, and i will do it right, because i am a total autonomous universe in and of myself. and i know everything there is to know. even from the moment the first me was born.

i was born perfect.
i was born perfect again.
you were born perfect.
so be perfect again.

*d