dans ma maison

I'm a doodler, ive always been a doodler

Ive been bursting, bursting at the seams, looking for the hitch, waiting for a sign, wanting to know why, more even

wanting to know how. 

Here i am, here we are.

I cannot manage men, i feel guilt for being with anyone because anyone i show interest in feels like a subscription, like an extention of me, which i cannot possibly be pegged with right now. Maybe i'm a product of my genereation.

I moved in yesterday. Hauled my bags to the front of the house and pulled the physical manifestations of my life far up a windy couple flights of stairs that had been burned down, and rebuilt, burned down, and rebuilt. Science V religion science v religion as I contemplate the age of the earth curling up the steps, the age of the house, it's brevity. 

Sweating. Just enough to feel good. There's a cat under my house, a cat that looks at me longingly. A cat, i think maybe i should name as i'm sure  it has been named many times before by many others in many different circumstances. And now, it seems, you are without identity. Cat, the conversations that you and I could have. And I've inherited you, the cat with many names. Polynominal, diecinombres, beaucoup de noms, molti nomi, many names. I claim thee, cat of many names, "dieci" sounds just like its spelled. Dee aye chee. and nombres. a melding of cultures not so far off from each other, you my friend, are a melding of many things, and I am the wash of your next layer, cat.

I sleep lofty, almost to the ceiling, I must be the queen of this house. I must be the hobo of the city.

And you must be the king, funny how we got here eh? good night from across the ceiling slushy bear.