cracking

A night looking for old friends means i am getting old. Trapped by the bindings, that closed minds entwine around willing or otherwise...subjects.
Parochial, these words come of their own accord. Spat or divulged.
Found mother has been published, another obscure hybrid australian author. Not unlike Enid she cared more for all but those that sprung forth from her very own loins. Oh well, not much to bother about when all things seem too much.
Opa is so very old.
Would the place of birth bequeath any revelations about anything at all. i expect only that I can't afford to live there. The Rhine stinks anyway or at least it looks dirty but then so does the Yarra and the Ganga. like you care.

It takes so much courage to engage with the day. The big facade of pretending you really know who you are and exactly where you are going. I can take a little make believe but they are asking me to go for some seriously hard core mental visualisations. Who am I to desire what I may not really want after all. Measured in slow degrees, released incrementally. Only enough to know what it is I do not want. Maybe the hints and smells are so very alien there is no way of articulating to myself how or what it is I want. I'm not being pretentious, no dimensions for me and no post cards either. Who in Gods name would ask a dying person for a post card? Like I want to know a disembodied person. Give me a break, I can't even handle the embodied.
No direction and certainly no place to go. Hopelessly looking for old friends. Alice , James , Errin and I know Pavlich. never was much for laying low. Right up there with a picture and all. And Jacinta, karen. Where are you all? I want to know the stories. Breeding distracted me for a bit but they no longer need me as intensely as they did so i ponder my youth and that makes me think of someone getting ready to die.
Mark Tracey killed himself. I think about him a lot. He was threatening for decades. I wonder how that maverick Chris lorracela is doing.
It was fun for a minute, the adventure and discovery. Wild edge dwelling. We all fell through the loop of respectability. Some scratched their way back and a big bank bought them up. better luck next time. I haven't found a trader for mine yet. They say krishna wants me but i am not entirely convinced, jesus not even my family can handle me for too long. Hardly think God is going to find me much chop.
No hair dressers for me. No coffee shops. No dresses. I wanted to be a nun once but who would have thought I would bloody well go and do as good as. Third world philanthropy and my biggest realisation is sweat aint too bad after all. Ok I have come to terms with accepting short people warts and all but I still feel like a bit of a fake. hare Hare bol but please leave me be for a bit. Not quite up to avangelism as I am not sure if the house is quite tidy enough to bring guests home. Frankly I think there maybe a stench in the yard. Maybe a corpse of time gone past. A remembrance trapped and putrified, gutted of life. Gutted of meaning. Ok that was mean. Meaning being watch out for men who need careers to validate themselves.
And women who think self empowerment is becoming a man. Who needs the body odour?
My husband never could figure out how i could smell if the rat was male or female. Male rats really stink, god knows how female rats bring themselves to assocaiate with the blights. i figure there is a lot of rat rape going on. I suppose if we are to take our natural course we too will be reduced or elevated to the wild freedoms of the animal world. I keep telling my daughters to consider before breeding. It is not a pretty place to deposit yet another sodden lost pupil of hell.