I'm in the Vancouver airport. There are birds everywhere. I think they are sparrows. Sitting in the trees, in the eaves. "We're not supposed to feed them," says the Starbucks girl, "or they'll reproduce everywhere."

This airport is so, so confusing. First you go through customs. Then all of a sudden you're thrust out into the bowels of the aiport, and you have to search to find gates or claims or security again. A long, arduous search. But I made it, and now here I am, with the birds and the Starbucks girl.

My computer is being worrysome. When I first booted her up, she claimed she could not connect to the wireless because she had no Airport hardware installed. Not so! I turned her off, flipped her over, lovingly pulled her hardware out, and then slipped it ever so gently back in, and that seemed to do the trick - for now. We're going to stop and check in with Dr. Apple-Store when I get back to Seattle.

Not many other people hanging out here at 8:00 am on a Thursday morning. Seattle was packed - Memorial Day rush, maybe? - but not so here. 'least not in the International departure gates.

4 hours and I get to board for Beijing...

All your jibes falling flat? Forbes, in an article today, states that researchers have pinpointed a specific brain region responsible for comprehending sarcasm. Maybe your audience is just brain-damaged.

Why must I act the wolf?

There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street,
and being the noise.

Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.

Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.

Open your hands,
if you want to be held.

Sit down in this circle.

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd's love filling you.

At night, your beloved wanders.
Don't accept consolations.

Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover's mouth in yours.

You moan, "She left me." "He left me."
Twenty more will come.

Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thougt!

Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.

Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.

- Rumi

A long time ago, I wrote some newsgroup posts about sexual issues - I was molested both by peers and by a teacher in my teenage years - and in part, as result of this, I had serious intimacy issues for years following. These issues, at that time, were manifested through acting out sexually. I wrote the posts as a heartfelt cry for help when I hit bottom, and was tired of hurting myself and other people I loved. I didn't like my patterns of behavior, but felt powerless to do anything and didn't know where to go.

I got an email the other day from some guy who found the posts while looking for material to masturbate to, and thought they were "hot". He was hoping maybe I still had the same problems and would hook up with him.

I don't know how to describe my feelings, reading his mail. Shocked. Felt a bit dirty. Felt a bit thrown out of time. Surreal. It doesn't help that, on the same day, I had met up with an ex-boyfriend for the first time in years, and he dates back to the time of the posting.

On top of that, I was amazed and a little shocked that this guy found me at all. I wrote the posts year ago with an address that is long since defunct. How then was he able to mail me at a current address? Well, it turns out that the post I made at the start of my blogging career listing personal details and such so old friends could find me also allows news group surfers who come across posts from back in the day to find me, as well. The joy of the internet - nothing ever really goes away.

In brighter news, Sam is going to move in with us! So awesome. I love Sam. Good times to come.

Of Kitchens and Potatos

I love, love, love my new kitchen. Sure, the stove is old and the refridgerator is not in his prime, but the room is huge, there are three amazing windows, a large sink, and counter space like you wouldn't believe. I could live in here. I used to covet Jaimes's kitchen - I'd dream about it at night - but now I'm happy with the one I have. I need no man's kitchen to be happy

Walked to the market tonight with Louie and Chris, picked up meat and potatos and fresh fruit. Buffalo! Some of the best looking cuts at the counter tonight, and on sale, at that. And potatos and garlic. Tonight we are feasting like kings. The potatos are rosting in the stove, and I'm about to toss the buffalo into the cast iron skillet. And then there's the asparagus I already had! I wish I had time to cook like this every night. Someday, when I am done with school and my time is more my own, life will be so, so beautiful. And yummy.

As I was driving today, some guy zipped ahead of me, cut me off, and then, for good measure, HE flicked ME off.

Then, the Seattle branch of the US Passport Agency called, and the Agent I spoke with tried to guilt me for not wanting him to throw my Passport back in the mail, when he only has it because the US Postal Service returned it the first time around. I haven't definitively sorted out with the Postal Service yet why it is that sometimes they return my mail. I don't want the Passport Agency to mail my Passport again, only to have the US Postal Service return it again. This would do me no good. So the agent is allowing me to pick it up tomorrow, but grudgingly. And he tried so hard to make me feel bad about it. What? Does this significantly impact his day?

Work has been crazy today. But fun. I'm liking it at the moment.

The barista (is it barista if it's a male? or baristor? baristino? barist?) at my coffee shop flirted with me. It was nice to be noticed in a postive way.

Then I found out that iffy plans with Tina I'd been hoping would come together are not going to work out. It's silly, they were so iffy anyway, but my mood just plummeted.

Up down up down up down.

Soon to take a test. I'm still not really ready. Boney landmarks suck.

Kat: but he is kind of crazy.
Adam: ha
Adam: You love crazy.
Kat: I do.
Kat: I love people who are broken.
Adam: You love his kind of crazy.
Adam: Shit
Adam: woman - never tell that to a man.
Adam: You are a strange cat Kat.
Adam: I can read you so well in some ways. Like when you withdraw it is so obvious. But then there are these deep well parts I'm not so good at. Didn't you once tell me you wanted to be pursued?
Kat: I do.
Kat: Sort of.
Kat: Except I don't really have time for it.
Kat: You know?
Kat: I dunno.
Adam: I'm laughing.
Kat: I think maybe I want to be pursued, but don't necessarily want to be with whomever is pursuing me?
Kat: but want to be pursued by them nonetheless
Adam: Ha
Kat: like a cat
Kat: which wants to be let out
Kat: only it doesn't want to be out
Kat: and when it is out, it wants to be let in
Adam: Exactly like a cat.
Kat: except it doesn't really want to be in, either
Kat: it's the letting that it wants

Someone ran into me today. The moment I have a bit of free time, someone runs into me and I spent hours on the phone talking to the insurance company and sorting everything out. I kind of liked it, though. Change of pace. I felt badly for the woman, however; she was a bit shaken up. But neither of us was hurt, and the damage to both cars seems not that bad.

Then I made dinner for the first time in my new kitchen. I have a ghetto stove. It smokes like a mother. The button for the light is broken, so you must screw the lightbulb in and screw it out to turn the light on and off. The timer is so confusing that I gave up and timed it on my own. But I made good chicken. With fresh grated garlic roasted on top. Yum.

The Postal Service hates me. Sometimes they deliver my mail. Other times, they return it to sender as "Undeliverable" with "No Forwarding Address". All the mail addressed the same way. Theoretically, all delivered by the same postman. Except when it's not delivered. Like yesterday. When they returned my passport to the passport authority. Stupid post office.

Two weeks until China...

Boundless Optimism

For years, I have carried around with me a single argyle sock. I have faithfully packed and unpaked it through many moves.

Why the single sock?

I liked the pair. I've always hoped that the second would someday show again, and then I could wear them together once more. And so I keep the one. Year after year after year.

The pessimistic side of me says it was time to give up hope long ago. But still I keep the sock.

Last night I performed tango, for the first time, at the Buenos Aires Grill with Evan Wallace. And I was paid. It was not bad at all.

New York

The wing flirts with oncoming night,
dancing with dark and shadows.
A blanket of shimmering light
spreads as far as I can see.
I think of gathering it up
and presenting it to Grandma's
Singer sewing machine.

Back home in the light of one small lamp
her machine hums softly for her,
she and it working as one,
each no more than an extension of the other.
This woman-machine
defies logic, creating exquisite clothes
one would not think such a
mismatched pair
of wrinkled lady and rusty noisy machine
left over from another age
could fashion.

If the blanked outside my window
was set upon Grandma's table
left to the care of she and the Singer,
it would perhaps be molded
into a risque evening gown.
The seductive shimmering robe
would follow closely the curves
of any body it draped across,
winking softly as it played wanton
games with light and shadow.

The illusory dress jolts from thought
as I am jostled
in my straight-backed
worn to the floatble cushion seat.

I look at my table with the
crumpled pretzel wrapper clinging
to the bottom of my dewy
plastic cup, condensation pouring
down the sides, born from
cool of iced Ginger Ale.
Accompanied by the rustle
of garbage bag filled with
napkins and pretzel wrappers,
the stewardess steps up the aisle
and squirrels my garbage
into the bag with all the rest.

Back outside the window
my potential gown has dissipated
into a mass of broken lights, no longer
meshed into the breathtaking
glitter blanked that Grandma
and her Singer would have coveted.

- Kathryn Krueger, 1997

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

I shame the tiger

I shame the tiger
The brilliant streaks
which comprimise his coat
pale
against the intricate web
of confused
yet proud
streaks, spots, interlocking bands
of blazing color and light
which amalgamate my soul.

- Kathryn Krueger, 1998

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Grey, rubbery, ballooning its way up through my abdomen, my pain said to me, "I protect you.

'I hold all your other pain."

In simply noticing it, it changed. The air slipped out. This thing which had been large, rubbery, now became small, snakelike, snaked in amongst my intestines and other orgrans. And it slithered away out of sight, silently, leaving hardly a trace.

---

My right half; red, prickly, firey. My left; calm, smooth, orange, rubbery.

"I am your right side," says the right to the left. "I am an animal. I feel. I live. I burn wild and free, I am consumed."

"I am your left," says the left to the right. "I cool you. I protect you. I cradle you when you hurt. I am forever healing you, calming you, sedating you. I need you to calm yourself, and to pay attention. To feel less. To tame yourself. To be more like me."

"I need to burn," says the right. "I burn. Burn with me. Live and feel. Nothing that is around you is important."

Do they then begin to merge?

Flesh. Now we draw closer. The question is: can I love Connor, who will die someday, any day, the smell of his shoulders becoming only a memory. Can I soften to love, with full knowledge of the suffering I welcome in? Thomas Merton said the love we most cherish will, of necessity, bring us pain. Because that love is like the setting of a body with broken bones.

- From Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells

As I was driving back to school after our break tonight, I found myself at a red light with an old guy in the car next to me. He was looking over at me, smiling, waving. Seemed so happy! I smiled and waved back.

Then, he leaned over, holding something to his face. I thought he was blowing his nose, so I let my attention wander back to the traffic light.

Momentarily, his left turn arrow turned green. I turned to look at him once more as he drove off, and ... he was transformed! He had slipped a rubber rat-nose onto his face. Was stroking his whiskers, waving at me again, and giggling like a little school girl. I had just moments ago been listening to loud dramatic music, but now couldn't help but laugh, myself, as well. He was such a sight, and so very, very happy.

In the vein of Jon, LINKFEST:

• Helicopter!
• Cyrkam Airtös

Behold, Chris's super-cute photography assignment: Lonely Death Bender.

Rants from Seattle's Newest DJ

I got some new DJing software for my computer, and an external USB sound card, so that I can both preview and send output from the same machine.

And that software, man, it's been crashing all over the place. I'd heard from Alex that it crashes for him, but he thought it was because he loads his whole music library. He said that it doesn't crash for Kevin, because Kevin drags and drops. Well, I didn't even load a playlist, much less my library -- I was just dragging and dropping files. But still, the crashing.

Also, I don't think I understand it very well yet -- at one point during the Practica I accidentally played two songs at once. I quite unfortunately had my headphones on when the incident occured, previewing something else, so I didn't even notice right away. Took a short while for me to realize what was going on and stop the offending second song. It was horrific! I had, like, FIVE people come up to me later that night and say, "Hey, it's cool that you're trying to mix songs and be creative and stuff, but the beats weren't matching up too well. You maybe need to work on it a bit." Argh! What I really need is to work on playing one song at a time.

In other news, I seem to have some crazy electro-static field that wreaks havoc with mics and such. During classes, we kept having problems with huge bursts of static over the sound system, so bad that we had to power the whole system down several times. And I swear, I'm not being paranoid, but it was somehow tied to me. It sucked.

I hate email. I hate that I can write any number of emails to any number of people, and sit for days, or weeks, and never get any response. The same for phone messages.

So, getting no response - what does that mean? Someone read what I wrote and didn't feel it warranted a response? Didn't read it at all? Didn't even get the email?

Do I just let it go, or write another, or call, or write a real letter? At what point does reaching out to them more become an annoyance, where they are perhaps sending some signal that I'm not picking up on because it's all-too-subtle?

I dislike the little ball of something-bad that gathers in my chest when I've written someone about something close to me, and it's been days, and they haven't responded, and at this point I'm not sure they ever will. I almost want to be angry, but then again, I'm probably one of the worst for being consistent in responding to emails and phone messages. So who am I to hold it against anyone else? It would be so hypocritical. So the ball just sits there. Sort of like the ball that you can feel in your stomach just after you've eaten Dicks, a little ball of fat and grease and salt just sitting, only this one is less salt and grease and fat and more bad feelings.

Or maybe I'm still just feeling the Dicks from last night.

As of yesterday morning, there are no more metal fillings in my mouth.