2011/12/30

And While Certainly They Are Laughing at Me, and All Around Me Is Racket of These Cats Not Making It, I Make It in My Wicker Basket



Sorry, forgot to put up a header photo last night. Out to dinner last night with Planet and he who it occurs to me I haven't written about much less considered a nom-de-blog but nonetheless seems to be a good guy who makes my daughter happy and Earthgirl and Ilse and Landru, came home stuffed, played with Stanley, read 1Q84 (holyfuck), didn't even log in and check my statcount, what the fuck's up with that, I'm a fucking attention slut, I'm always checking my statcounter just like you do. I'll try to remember to post a header tonight.

Still, it reminds me that for all I gently badger Planet for new Fleabus photos, they aren't forthcoming. That phase is over. Up above is Napoleon, the domesticated feral, shot taken by me. Consider this the year end bleggalgaze: unless otherwise noted, any and all pheline photos displayed hence (which will include Fleabus, but also Nap and Stanley and Rose and Sara and Frankie and Mom Cat and Gray Cat and probably never Jess), including this one below, a recent night header and popular among two of you, are taken by me, with the commensurate dip in quality.









WICKER BASKET

Robert Creeley

Comes the time when it's later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter--

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor's,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes--

So that's you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know--

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz--

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we're gone.
She turns me on--

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands
me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it--

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket
.