Gorgeous rain. Night rain. Rags shivers always. Does he remember the great flood? Dogs, Gods love made visible. Rags deserves more. Everybody around here is neglected.
“Intense, Remote and Intelligent”, Doris said. Three words. Without a moment’s hesitation. Like she just knew it.
Rikki is transgender. Pussy is a Penssy. We barely use it. Asexuality is a thing. Why do women have breasts? So men will talk to them.
Getting older and staring at women’s asses. Fuck. This isn’t what life is about, is it? What kind of role does sex deserve? Sacred? A distraction? Both?
Oshun is goddess of sex, love and abundance. We barely even have dance. The children do. Spinning skirts.
Om. Indian and Muslim cats who awake at three am for two hours to ponder the universe: hang with God. Jam with God.
Went with almost five Ashirah to the instrument petting zoo today, then croissants on the grass in the park. The cafe had given us red and white checkered wax paper. The perfect little disposable picnic blanket. It was the best day of our lives.
Wondered a little while later, was there a best day? Rivka goes, “you might not remember it.” So fucking wise.
How do I find these people with so much fucking integrity. Even the liars I hang with have integrity. Nice.
Other homeless transgender people stay here now. STRIVE peops. So far between good and great. Or fine and great, anyway. Cool learning. So much to learn.
Try to remember to shut the fuck up. Talking is a dangerous occupation.