Make a free dancing Muglet from any digital photo
Make a free dancing Muglet from any digital photo
While walking lil’ Chuy, I understand his need to check aaalll the message boards on tree trunks, hiking his leg to leave his own email up and down the streets. Kinda like grafitti spray-painting over all the other gangs, the way I see it. But what’s with furiously pawing and kicking the back legs so madly that uprooted grass and dirt flies in the air? I guess he wants to impress his powerful scent upon any strolling bitches and bastids who might witness those bigass chunks removed from the gotdamn earth… and then they will all KNOW a mightee bad mofo was *HERE*.
I would like to know what your favorite toy was as a kid. Do an image search on Google or look on Ebay and post the image or the auction link.
And do you still have the toy, or wish you did?
Here’s mine: a ventriloquist dummy named Willie. And yeah, he has been scaring Femmes for years from his secret place in the guest room closet. I don’t know why. He has a sweet face with pink cheeks. And such cold dead eyes….
You know those panaramas that allow you to see a city skyline or the inside of a house on real estate sites?
This dude made a crazy one with farm animals. You can look to the sky, their feet, turn it, zoom in.
Finally looked in the little cedar box the vet gave me. If Wheezie were sugar, she would hardly be two tablespoons. 
Hope no one thinks it morbid. It made me smile.
A friend told me I should sprinkle her ashes somewhere. I was like, “Where? It’s not like Wheezie traveled much.”
:)
• I have been eating healthy for two weeks and gained a pound an a half. I plan to eat a cheeseburger to celebrate! Just kidding - when you are my size, water weight can vary. Not discouraged.
• My backyard is a mess. There is still a bar setup at with about 700 bottles of liquor, an ice chest the size of a coffin with sodas rusting in hit, and many chairs around a firepit that has not burned since New Years. Yeh, I am fixina jump up get on it any minute now. Pfft.
• My little dog Chuy is still depressed over losing his sister. He cries all the time and is starting to drive us mad. I got him a new blanket and sprayed it with Christine’s perfume. He is laying on it now and staring at me with those big watery eyes, looking just pitiful.
• I miss La Wheeze mostly in the mornings. I had a dream we were having a party. I went out the backdoor and I was so relieved and blessed to see my tiny friend with her tail wagging madly at seeing me again. Chris followed me out and said increduously, “Wheezie!?!?” I tucked my warm, happy angel in my arms and showed my friend Tex. I said, “I don’t know how this miracle could be since her ashes are on the mantle!” Suddenly she started to get weak, and I realized I shouldn’t share this beautiful wonder because I might curse it. Of course, hope was not enough and Wheezie whithered skeletal in my arms. Again. Crying now as I recall the dream. I know my heart is more tender than crusty, but god… how I miss my sweet baby.
• Uhg. My desk is fluttered with nasty cigarette ashes. I keep blowing at them like birthday candles. I need to slay this demon once more. I know I will regret these foolish days when I am pleading for one more Christmas.
• Everyone on my street has been robbed. Even the neighbors who just moved in. It is a charmed street with 1920’s Tudor cottages, but it is surrounded by desperate have-nots. I understand the hopeless venom of poverty and drugs, having lived it myself. But I don’t want despair to have MINE. I got robbed on moving day, and the real theft is your sense of shelter in your own little hearth. Even animals need that.
• Pounding out a web site that seemingly has no end. Back to work.
Sifting through sand to find perfect shells so miniscule, you could hardly see them in my hand.
Buzzing inside as grown dykes played softball behind a chainlink fence– wishing just one of them would not be afraid to notice I was one of their own.
Chewing on sinewy, purpley stalks of sugar cane whacked down with a machete. Dairy Queen, fig preserves, sweet cornbread, uncured ham, grapes and pomegranates stolen from the yards of neighbors. Okra growing as big as my arm, left to toughen in the garden.
Driving down Main with our shirts pulled over our faces to filter the poisonous stench of oil refineries. Thinking nothing of it.
Sculpting life-sized figures from wet beach sand, and standing invisible but proud when beachcombers stopped to see. Standing in sad silence as adults eventually and invariably added beer cans, erections, and misshapen breasts.
Embers cracking toward the tops of shadowy pines as bloody hands roasted the legs of frogs that had been gigged at dusk. Muddy rubber boots of young brothers and cousins, cruel but forgotten.
Perfecting that satisfying crack of a watermelon stomped open in the field.
Tasting the salt of the Gulf of Mexico. Hauling buckets of blue crabs me and my brothers netted with chicken necks on strings. Stingrays and eels reeled from brown water onto sunburnt piers.
In the backseat of my mama’s car, cutting through flat fields of cotton that line miles of desolate highway. Barbed wire strung on greying old branches hammered into the hard earth across Texas. Eye snagged only by churning oil rigs, the occasional prison, rusted machinery, and abandoned farm houses at the end of red dirt roads. Cattle huddling together under the shade of one lone tree in a pasture. Bluebonnets carpeting scrub land where grass would never grow.
Swimming in shady, mossy lakes as brown silt swirled under our feet, and floating down cool rivers on inner tubes from monster truck tires.
Tucking into tiny places with my outlaw friends, as if we were mice too wise to be caught. And getting so very high. Biker trash sitting still for hours while I tattooed with a sewing needle and india ink. Witnessing trapped friends become ragged methheads, heroin addicts, and thieves while we all floated kegs in the humble backyards of strangers. Even in a dull daze, trusting somehow my hope would not die there.
Clumsily chasing young girls whose voices burned husky with secrets for me. Freshman girls shivering when their bellies were grazed. Sweet Pentecostal angel with such fine long hair, so alone because she was different. Shy Rose. “Please”, she said. Audrey couldn’t keep her hands off herself, but had never been touched. Faith, smelling like heaven’s flowers. Candy, Suzette, Peanut, Bobbi, Linda, Tracy, and all the fumbling that meant too little to mention now. Do the ones I’ve forgotten have any memory of sun setting against the brick wall at the back of our school?
You best run on home, girl. Bet your mama is worried now.
Leaving that town in a broken down truck before I hardly knew how to drive.
stream of consciousness
what i remember of texas
My childhood friend Tina, my snooty cousin Michelle, fig preserves, sweet cornbread, uncured ham, kicking in watermelons in the fields, stealing poemgranets and grapes, the slightly sour smell outside the school cafeteria, sugar cane, cane poles, stingrays, eels, finding shells so tiny and perfect you could harldly see them, making sculptures of humans on the beach and standing quiet and proud when people stopped to see, and silent and sad when grownups added beer cans, cigarettes, and a penis; cotton field for miles, prisons in Sugarland, oil rigs, boys in rubber boots gigging bull frogs in the mud at night, boys bloody from the kill cooking squirells and possums in the piny woods with embers and glow, salty taste of the brown gulf, rock crabs against concrete breaking off their claws, chicken neck on a string, nets and buckets with salt water where caught crabs lay on one another; crabs live into red water to boil, picking crabs, fireflies, red dirt, bluebonnets along the highways like carpet, cool rivers, rapids, shady lakes with slime on rocks and earth kicked up brown under your feet and small flies skimming the water, so flat can see for miles, houses alone on prairies far from the freeways, abandoned farm shacks, rusted machiney in fields, cattle huddled under one lone tree in fields, chain gangs, hush puppies, shrimp boats, leeches that run on rocks, sun perch, downhills of leaves on trashcan lids, conchs, catfish called flatheads because they werent fit to eat, water towers in small towns, Dairy Queen, BBQ shacks, seperate cemetaries from blacks and whites, my grandmother vicks vapor rub and chomping her pubic hair, trying not to jack off in her bed because at home I was slept private and alone, firecrackers– city and our own, snowcones, buzzing inside while watching grown dykes play softball — wishing one of them would not be afraid to notice me, freshman girls with husky voices who could not keep their hands off themselves, fucking girls at dusk against the back of the school, art closet, sweet Pentecostal girl so alone and so pretty, Faith, Rose, Peanut, Suzette, Bobbi, Linda, Tracy Welch, and all the ones I can remember but meant too little to mention, generic beer, tucking into tiny places like mice and getting high, shoplifting, smoking circle at school, art shows, fairs, rodeos, carnivals, Molly’s bar and scary drunk men, penny candy, KneeHigh Grape soda, scorpions in shoes left out overnight, the Blue Hole, driving through town with our shirts pulled over our faces from the stench of oil refineries, and okra.