The Gospel According To Kittens
“We eat whenever we want to. Drink whenever we want. Our bowls are always full: they over flow. Our litter box is cleaned and our poop and piss carried away frequently, so we don’t have to live with the stench. We don’t wallow in our own filth.
We sleep wherever we want: couch, chair, floor, bed, under the bed, in closets, under tables, on tables, on counters. Wherever our paws can alight, there we claim as our most comfortable roost.
If we want for entertainment we absently push buttons until the light box begins flashing the contained, noisy humans we do not know – can’t smell. We hunt each other, plastic bags, cardboard boxes, shadows. We chase our tails.
We are the masters of all we survey. Nothing is withheld from our claws.
But every morning we sit outside a wooden door, when the Their sound of awakening begins to cry out. We rush to the dimly lit crack and wait. We wait for a hand to hold us, to pet our heads, scratch our bellies. We wait for voices that speak of love in warmth we know.
Every evening we hear the sound of arrival, different from the other imagined monsters beyond our sight. We race to another door and sit, waiting for the same.
Every so often, when one of us sits alone, we cry out, suddenly aware of the emptiness, the silence, the disconnection we feel. And a voice calls out from somewhere within our kingdom, and we race to it. Gladly.”
Scattered Thought
. . .“taste and see” implies my love must be earned . . .
A Promise (maybe)
I’m a writer. Or at least that’s what it says inside my underwear.
Sartre, who is not the father of existentialism, talks about “bad faith”, about going through the motions that a the definition of a thing. About conforming to an image, a list, a set of principles inauthentically, unauthentically, non-authentically. Something like that. In short, “I am, because that’s what the list says I am.” Fitting in, instead of creating self. And gross oversimplification though this may be, in the end he says this is bad.
But what is a writer who doesn’t write?
Jeanine Hathaway wrote in her wonderful book Motherhouse “I feel the least whole when I couldn’t create, that is, I cannot image anything being different.”
I’m not whole.
Taking a page from the mouth of babes, or at least a former student, I will write, something, everyday.
I don’t promise it will be as profound as other things I have posted in the past, or even intelligible at times, but it will be something. The world does not revolve around Facebook notes.
Maybe an entry will only reflect on the boy who stood, alone, in chapel, whenever the Bible is read. But that will be enough.
I can imagine things being different.
And will, once again.
I am a writer, as more than my inseam will know.
We’re Married
December 19th, 2009
It’s Been A Long Time
” . . .without a dope beat to step to, step to, step to .. .”
Bonus cool points for those who got the reference without having to look it up.
S’up? Currently it is 5:30am and I figure I should write something. Oh the life updates.
Working at as an assistant professor of education. Yes, the completed Masters of Fine Arts in poetry has come in handy, or something. Which means, yes, I have also graduated. Mandy and I have successfully moved to Boston, and we both have jobs. Though time will tell what “success” means. Wedding plans are running along relatively smoothly. I am bridezilla: hear me roar.
Working in higher ed is weird. Getting used to losing my content. I’m not teaching English (et al) or Philosophy any more. I’m teaching education to undergrad and grad students. I’m middle of the road in age. Many of my students are going into education in light of the economic downturn. Always wanted to teach, lost job, why the hell not do it now? So ages range from 19 to 60. I kid you not. And I’m the “experpt” on curriculum, methods and classroom management. Funny.
I miss my kids. I miss my content. But I’m making this work as best I can. Currently I feel like there is a lot of downtime. I went from teaching 6-7 classes a day, everyday, with 100+ kids, to (currently) one class, once a week, with 26 students, and a handfull of student teacher to take care of all around MA. weird. Taking on more responciblities where I can, to lighten the load of my collegues and to stay busy. Designing a new course for next year (old habits die hard) and seeing where I can maybe squeeze into my old content. We’ll see.
Be nice if I could “find time” to write, poetry and music. Hmm.