Being your slave

........ four hours or so until I hop the A to the air tram to the terminal to the sky across half the country to a car to the highway seven hours or so in the car, is it really that long? Hopefully I'm exaggerating. Leaving the city, leaving my kitties, work, 33rd street, the subway, the noise, the unseasonably warm weather due to global warming, can I ask one question? Why are we at war in Iraq over weapons of mass destruction meanwhile Iran is openly making them? I'm sure everyone already thought of this question but it seems the biggest problem to me. I'm a little worried about nuclear things, I imagine the skin falling off my body instantly and how it would change and ruin everything forever, it would really be the end like Nostradamus or whomever else has been predicting, but maybe some rats would survive.


........Diners are so cozy, aren't they? There's always something edible on the menu. I have a hard time eating. Mischa and I have devised a system where I eat as quickly as possible and she eats as slowly as possible, otherwise I'll throw my plate away and be hungry again in a couple hours. Also, she is going to make a soup, and I very much look forward to consuming the emotion in every bite. (Oh! remember the movie I mentioned with the young and hot Susan Sarandon and lesbian vampires and David Bowie? It's called The Hunger. I love the blonde who bites Susan because I want to be her, but I don't live in an austere, castle type of home or have a grand piano or gowns but I did have a vision of my future abode with Countess Karam..........how about the dining room in the sanctuary of an unused church and we could have family dinners under the giant dying Jesus, imagine the benevolent atmosphere? Of course a bedroom like that is too obvious, but then again I could probably not eat at all under the looming shadow of severely, physically manifested martyrdom.)

SONNET 57
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.






















.........I'm going to miss my hyper little sensi-kitten. but I know she will be a good girl while I'm gone and keep the corset on tightly and only take the leash off for sleeping......and work on the christmas soup........and I will obsess from across the country as much as I can without being antisocial toward my family.

(PS. I have again become addicted to clipping from newspapers and magazines, tiny words and pictures and the saddest articles or the funniest headlines, whatever........I'm going to read and clip now, plus I don't even know why the fucking office is open?? Assholes. I'm receptionist right now and I am trying to convey to each caller both with cold tone of voice, meaningful pauses, and telephatically communicated vibrations, that calling people regarding any business matter on the Friday before the holiday weekend is total bullshit. Only the "little people" like myself are even here. Everyone should just stop calling each other and go home.)