nothings #15

In the yellow room, strewn with unpaired shoes and miscellaneous laundry,

2 a.m. tips fingers close to pen and purrs. They say it all much better.

In the light of yours.

*image: Johanna Pieterman

Greyhound Gap

DOGS' PRAYER

I ask for the privilege of not being born...
not to be born until you can assure me of a home
and a master to protect me,
and a right to live as long as I am physically able to enjoy life....
not to be born until my body is precious
and men have ceased to exploit it because it is cheap and plentiful.

(author unknown)

Actually this may even be Life’s prayer … *sigh*

On the crest of a crisis which - thank the gods and my inspired, beloved Son - has been averted, I lived the weekend on phone and web, pleading with some of the most amazing people to find refuge for two ex-racer greyhounds. By today.

I spoke with Liz from Greyhound Gap at length yesterday. She was brilliant. Calmed me when it was clear how distraught I was. Then polished her armour, ready to do battle with impossible odds and sort out another imminent betrayal of beauty by two-legged fork-tongues.

At the last moment, Son and gods reached her soul and the current keeper relented this morning.
So they are saved. For now.

In the medium-long term, though, loving homes are still needed for Lewey and Charley.

I intend to help Greyhound Gap – they run constant relays up and down the country, often at crazy hours, moving hounds from disaster to safety, temporary or emergency care to permanent and so on.
I have a car, I can and will help with some of that.

I don’t promote "stuff" in this blog but these people are angels and so, today, I am. In the wake of a demonic few who treat beauty badly. Visit Greyhound Gap – they have links to others like themselves too. But they don't really need visitors. They need gold-dust volunteers.

There are some distressing images on the next new link if you click on report sections (I looked at poetry and that upset me enough) so if you visit Greyhound Muses make sure you’re ready to weep. Then help.

*images: Caroline Epp (hearthound.com)

still ...

lots of this ...











hardly any of this ...













and absolutely none of this ...













just in case you were wondering ...

wholemeal pigeons

I threw bread out for the birds late last night - natural recycling, right? Share and share alike?

Admittedly it had made me feel a bit “off”. I don’t normally eat white bread but I’m too lazy to be considered a healthy eater. More a picky manic grazer. And some white breads are nice.
This body survives to spite me. I wouldn’t throw curry out for the birds, though. I’d have eaten that.

This morning white bread still adorns my yard. Huge clumps of it. Cotton wool gone bad. Fluff turned to crunch. In a grumbly sort of way I applaud the pigeons. They have wise beaks. No icky stuff for them. Maybe they’re unable to throw up. Or prefer a curry. Or maybe they’re just smart.
They’re lined up now on next door’s roof. Watching me. Malevolently.

Oh happy day. Clearing up shards of white bread. Apologising profusely.

I'm so living on the wild side today!

*ahem*

In case anyone was worried ... i am still here *grin ... just worn out at the moment ... but yayyy!! i may be fitter these days, despite my inability to even undress by the weekend. Muse is quiet too but who can blame her? She's become addicted to the scent of chemicals used in the course of my hard labour. This week will be another hard one but then i think it gets a bit steadier and i'll catch up on each treasured world you show me ... love to all of you who pop in here ... xxx

nothings #14

image: Michele Constantini

nothings #13 ~ whaaat?

Occasional Lover: Why don’t you answer my texts? Are you horny yet?

Me: I’m exhausted. Just started work after 6 yrs of being a wreck and I don’t get horny just like that. We were never going to be in-love but hell, we’re still strangers.

OL: I take it you don’t want me any more?

Me: Sorry. I think we should call it a day. We only ever chat in text just be4sex. I think I need a bit more than that.

OL: I’m willing to try. I really fancy you.

Text silence to ponder possibility of touch. Human contact. Company. To forgive that he never asked what my biopsy was about. Or read a word of my poetry. Or knows what my star sign is. That he does not know where to find my mind. Because I never showed him. How to touch.

Maybe I should. Could. Maybe.

Me: OK, maybe we should meet over the w/end ... see if we like each other with our clothes on?

Text silence. For an hour.

OL: Are you horny yet?

Me: Noooo! It just doesn’t work like that.

OL: Sorry to have bothered you. You make me feel horny as hell thinking of you. Can’t see the problem. I’ll not bother you any more. Take care. X X X