Friday, June 08, 2007

bright idea

The city decided to install a light on one of the telephone polls behind my ghetto townhome so now I feel like I'm living in some horribly written (and quite boring) noir novel. I like my bedroom to be light. I'm not one of those who needs it so dark I couldn't see if someone was right in front of me. I think I like it with more light because my eyesight is so bad.

Anyhow, now even with the shades drawn, I get these lines of light in the most unique oily-orange yellow shade I've ever seen. I don't know if it's the light's intensity that's disturbing me or that I like the color so much. It makes streaks across the hardwood floors. This with the insomnia (going on 2 months of hard core now) and the cats outside having sex (yes, really), and I could write a B-rated movie in no time. I just need a suspicious character and a cheating spouse (there's a bad joke in there).

I got to touch minerals yesterday in my geology class, which is going much better. The sleepiness hits me at 8:15 and I'm dying through the last 45 minutes. The professor, pretty cool and nerdy, reminds me of someone so I look at him too intently - it's the goatee and bald head. I forget my look can be pretty powerful when I'm actually thinking something.

My mind's not on school yet though - so, while I'm learning I still do the giggles when he talks about the cleavage of a mineral, whether a mineral has "distinct cleavage" or "underdeveloped cleavage". And then there are all the descriptive words for the minerals - greasy, soapy, silky, earthy, resinous. I start drifting - wonder how to describe my own cleavage or someone else's. Reminds me this poetry journal I picked up that ended up with almost a dozen poems with pelvic references (i.e. bowl, bell, box, chalice, door, etc).

We talk about streak - when a mineral is rubbed across unglazed porcelain - how some will leave a line of powder which defines them. Shoot, I know a couple of people who've left their powdery mark on me. God bless them!

So, as you can tell, I'm not concentrating. I'm getting off not just on the suggestive language (all disciplines should start this way as a means to facilitate learning) but to the language itself. No, not writing much... when?

I have the art piece to complete for the Esperanza's Que Queer exhibit that I have to turn in tomorrow and Delhi's birthday hijinks tomorrow. My god, a van full of 6 girls. The giggle vibrations alone could cure carpal tunnel as a form of alternative medicine.

Why do I always get so hot in the summer? It must be my Caribbeanness and all this sun. I must be giving something off too because yesterday some 20 year old asked me to join him for lunch. I was telling Vandi, my gay man husband, and he told me he was jealous of the potential. It's about time. I've been jealous of him for years - able to go to a bath house that doesn't have signs on it that say "Tea Time at 12 and 3 p.m." or "No sex allowed". Mama's hot I guess...

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