Carrots, spiders & poetry
A few weeks ago, it might have been some silly early hour of some morning, I was on the front doorstep of my house with a girl across my lap, spanking her in time with another friend, and we were singing: "And we won't stop until somebody calls the cops, and even then we'll start again and just pretend that nothing ever happened". Like it was a protest chant, an anthem for the early hours and those kinds of adventures. I like to imagine that the original artist wouldn't have minded at all.
Tonight three of us were on the porch having our last drinks before bed, talking a mile-a-minute to fit in all the things we always need to tell each other, when we heard someone walking by. One by one our heads popped over the balcony railing and the woman below, glasses-wearing, older, kinda hot, said: "Oh! There's three of you! I shall have to serenade you". So she walked back the way she'd come and strolled by again, singing a song to the three girls she'd found on that balcony above her. "We LOVE YOU!" we told her, and she told us she loved us too.
I pulled a handful of carrots out of my garden today, full-sized real-sized carrot-sized carrots. I was so proud. We ate them with dinner, and posed like bunny rabbits (which you always have to do with carrots still wearing their leaves). I did two hours of karate tonight and every time I was told: Mokuso (eyes closed), I closed my eyes and pushed my limbs through the air and in my minds eye I saw the seedlings in my garden pushing themselves up through the crust of the dirt, reaching with their incredible strength towards the sun.
On my way to bed I found this spider hanging out with the poetry on the wall, waving his legs & trying to look much bigger than he really is. I wanted to pat him (the silky-soft fur of huntsmen spiders is so velvety and touchable-looking), but the arachnophobic housemate asked me not to.