*clitora's RAWR*

popcorn and laughter

mad sad orange love me
Hanging on like St. Christopher, Waiting to chase the moon.

Dream well.


mad sad orange love me

This afternoon I sat in the yard, holding my cat on my lap as he lay dying.  He breathed slowly, then painfully.  I told him I loved him, over and over I said this, 'I love you, it's alright to go....'  And then it was over.  His name is Simba.  He was 17 or 18....somewhere in there.  Yesterday I sat with him on the lawn as he snuggled up to my leg, sunning himself and purring.  It was a merry, orange-in-every-way Beltane. 

Last night, I learned that Osama Bin Laden was killed and when I woke up this morning, it was still true.  Today on NPR a woman in Boston was interviewed in the midst of one of the many rallies going on all over the country.  She referenced the occasion as being "so cool" and "one of the best things to happen to America."  While this death, this situation is many things, I would certainly not say that "cool" is one of them.  I can't dance around because anyone is dead, even him.  I don't feel any joy about it, not any part of it, not his death or the thousands of others.  This is just a never-ending chain of death-death-death-hate-hate-hate.  Nothing more.  When the towers fell, they rejoiced in the streets.  They were glad.  When he fell, America rejoiced in the streets.  She was glad.  She was glad, I wasn't.  There was something that felt close to relief, perhaps.  A solemn sort of justice, and I term it that even though said justice is not mine to make the call on.  And I know....I know this would all be different if I had been gouged deeper by those planes.  I know.  Really, someone else said how I feel first and best, so imma throw a quote and leave it at that.  I find it a comfort that these words are blanketing the interwebs tonight: 

"I will mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."

mad sad orange love me

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman!!  And, apparently, Allen Ginsberg, too.  I'll attribute this to too much time spent wandering the produce section of the grocery store this evening.  I can't waaaaaaaiiiiiiit for the farmer's market to start back up next month.  Strawberries, kale and sun-brewed tea.  Love. 

I am wading through a back-log of communications and writing.  When I try too hard to talk, I don't say much at all. 

Epic recycling project with the kiddos at work: untangling the GIANT YARN WAD so as to separate the random bits and strings.  Tie random bits together, create giant yarn ball.  Use giant yarn ball to knit a wonderful tapestry for the office, to be embellished by my wonderful students. 

My horoscope made me cry this week: 

In the coming weeks, I would love to see you get excited about many different people, places, animals, and experiences. And I hope you will shower them with your smartest, most interesting blessings. Do you think you can handle that big an outpouring of well-crafted passion? Are you up for the possibility that you might blow your cover, lose your dignity, and show how much you care? In my opinion, the answer is yes. You are definitely ready to go further than ever before in plumbing the depths of your adoration for the privilege of being alive.

Rob Brezsny and his superpowers strike again. 

This is what I have been up to since February, other than drawing the same tree over and over again: 

From craft fairs to catherals....Collapse )

mad sad orange love me
You know as well as I do that you have to listen to this today.....

mad sad orange love me

Rainy night house.

Art-based theme for crafty-like projects that I have been working with: 
a question of locks
my knuckles are sore from post-thrift embroidering.
also, I keep drawing trees. 
Well.  not really treeS. 
it's the same tree, over and over and over and over....

My lawn-art dog that I keep in my garden (his name is Robert) has lost an eye. 
I shall have to fashion a patch for him. 

Dori and I found a nice brown bunny in the yard just ten minutes ago.  It was the Easter Bunny.  He ran into the woods.  I would have tried to catch him, but I temporarily forgot that bunnies were associated with Easter.  In any case, no matter what anyone tells you, we found him first.  And he doesn't shit jellybeans.

Thrifted finds of the night: 
ugly cotton-jersey skirt in RED with black silk-sceened tassels all over it. 
strange, lacey knit fabric in YELLOW that will make a lovely, lemony springtime scarf. 

I should be taking more pictures. 
I miss everyone. 

mad sad orange love me

I stole this from peregrin8 who is amazing and finds the very best things. 

Jester wools make you gay AND they never shrink in the wash.  It's a double win. 

mad sad orange love me


It has to be said. 

Dancing lyme is hard. 

Writing lyme is damn near IMPOSSIBLE. 

Maybe it's just writing lyme for dancers?  Maybe it's trying too hard to incorporate each important bit of story and dizzy and light and gray that folks have told me so far?  Maybe I need to talk to more people.....that could very well be it.  Except I've already talked to a bunch.  And when I say a bunch, I mean a metric fuck-ton.

I can hear Nerissa now...."You know what I think?  I think the only person stopping you from writing this is you.  It's Carolyn."  And she would be right.  Per usual.  I may leave the writing until the end, at least the bulk of it.  When I know who will say what, who will sing what, who will just breathe. 


My innards are still (STILL) in a state of revolt.  I don't have the time or means to get to the naturopathic doc I'd like to see in RI.  I'm like that song, I just keep bleeding....you know the one.  Don't you?  If not....watch this.  Even if you hate the song, the dance is fucking AMAZING. 

mad sad orange love me
Postal goings-on, a list for myself: 

I've got to stop it with the housewarming packages. 
They get more excessive with each one that I put together. 
No one needs 4 pillows instead of one because you couldn't pick a color.

A family of narwhals will soon make its way to PA.

I still haven't gotten back to the one person who needs me to get back to her.
Unacceptable.  Completely so. 


On life: 
The center is starting to fall out. 
That's not neccessarily a bad thing, but the anticipation of the landing is scary.

Mantra, mantra, mantra: 

It is not for you to take care of the world.   Remember and remember and remember this.

Do not be wreckless with other peoples' hearts
.  Do not bother with those who are wreckless with yours.
Remember that even more, especially the first bit.  Especially the first bit. 


A letter to the humans: 
I don't always want what you think I want. 
I am confusing.
I contain multitudes. 
(But I'm nowhere near as fantastic as Walt Whitman, just to be clear.) 
Love, C.

mad sad orange love me

Somedays I miss singing so much I could scream. 
Alright, that's most days lately. 
No one ever gets my wonky theory and guess-the-composer jokes.
It's a bit sad, really....on my part and on the world's.  Ah, well. 
Maybe in my next life I'll be a cello player. 
Or maybe I'll be a kazoo maker. 
Or maybe I'll just dance. 
I'll probably just dance.
Until then, there's only Alice. 

mad sad orange love me
I am behind on basic life functions. 

Some are important, like getting back to people. 

Some are not. 

Like movie watching. 

Tonight I attempted to fix one of these two problems. 


Black Swan. 

Holy Shit. 

If I am almost as disturbed as the rest of the folks who have seen it....well.  That's saying something.  I started making a running list of the most terrifying things about 15 minutes in, but then I lost track.  Highlights of the list include Natalie Portman's skin peeling and nail cutting incidents, Winona Ryder's face meets nail file episode and just about every scene showcasing Barbara Hershey's (FANTASTIC) performance as the deranged mother of an even more deranged ballerina. 

Excellent movie.  Really.  Darren Aronofsky has guts and he lets us all see them (in this case almost literally).  Natalie Portman deverves every precious ounce of that Oscar.  But if I see her walking down the street anytime soon, I'm running the other way.  FAST. 


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