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A cardinal catches both eyes this morning. Then I start to see him all around, again. Red and striking in his childhood wonder, meaning an old memory, meaning I've been here before. Blue jays with their tufted dos, and sparrows too, but that bright red is really special right now. I admit I felt stranded in the south of California. Birds of paradise. His profile. That regal beak between my legs.

Walking into town, one perfect mile that's not a dead end, and I've been here before, too. I bet I was my great grandmother's grandmother, or something. Don't recall male lifetimes.

One. Is this ↓ (or that ↑) true?

When it was dry in the desert, I looked towards lust as salvation. Tethered to lust, seriously * tie me * stretch me * longer than it made sense. It doesn't make much sense to build in a desert, but it can be exciting to twist order.

I had the same reoccurring nightmare as a child: Jailed for a crime I didn't commit. With nobody there to help, or even listen without mocking. Estrangement and isolation bred from age-old cycles. Now I am doing my best to work with and on ancestral land, to take the keys to see if that rattles off the present day bonds ready to break. Cross country straw grasping persistent. Expected that, sip by sip. Transmute bit by bit 2 heal my shit. Crack open and the fizzy peroxide bubbles up the junk that got the healing started. Initiation, Thank You, junk + junk pickers. Kids eat their scabs. Grain barn Home Sex Gym; it's a new way to farm (ideas). Mockingbirds impersonating and roosting pea fowl preening.

I lost 1/3 of my hair and 4.5 long finger nails in my decision making (my hair) and migration (my nails). The National Audubon Society writes, "Molting is energetically expensive — as is migration and breeding. So, birds make sure these three activities don't overlap." Nature and defying nature, there's a pendulum humans oscillate along.

Driving to the airport early Saturday morning and I'm not sure why, but I remember draining Paul's* cyst in the shower. Sad man-boy raised by servants and his wife left him for an even richer man, and we're in the shower when I see it. I ask, but I'm not sure I would have been able not to put my thumbs on either side of the hard boil and press down, in and up. The hot water has helped prep the thing and I push my thumbs in a double sided swoop and it races out shooting out at me. My face, ew. I scream (extra loud given the acoustics) and he gets more self-conscious. I calm him and I mean it: Babe, let me get this out. Let me take care of you because we’re here and it's happening. The smell is too intense, goodness. There's that drive to get to the bottom of everything.

The cyst left an impression on us both. He cried, soft Dionysian underbelly. All okay. He talked a lot about this with his therapist. I know this because he would start each dinner date with therapy updates. I wonder — If it came back, grew back? If he still goes? Why I think about all this?

Therapeutic Drainage: Maybe that's the style of farming I'm up to, again. Could be my karma, and is presenting as my life. Standing on the other side, as in both sides, it does hurt in that (sorry) good hurt way. I am grateful giving / getting my attention.

Drain Me

Split me in Two. Can you absolutely know that it's true?