Y sent that purple square for you, and the green/yellow luncheon napkin for me. Who is Leo Narducci? Couldn't resist that b/w to wrap the guinea feathers. Those 3d twats are milkweed pods. We hold them sacred and let them grow wherever they want because they host the Monarch Butterfly eggs and catapillars. Plus, when all the seeds blow away there are golden yoni hanging everywhere.
Once, long ago, Y found myself on Maui. There they grow everything good: coffee, onions, pineapples, passion fruit, aloe, hibiscus, cane, and of course: Maui Wowee. Everyone said: Maui no ka oi. But here is a song called Hawaii No Ka Oi. Anyway no ka oi is "the best". Really the best, better than everything else. Maui No Ka Oi came first, Y think, since there were t-shirts everywhere saying it. And, as we know, all culture originates on a t-shirt or bumper sticker.
Oh, that painting. Here's the whole story: Crayola crayons resist with Japanese ink. Then, to Kinko's on that weird corner in Berkeley where they had the first Cannon Color Copiers. That's what you got. A valuable antique color xerox. Y got it down so they would intensify the color to the point that it made a thick, pretty layer which looks better than the original drawing. Just ignore that stupid copyright thing. My work is to be used freely for all non-commercial purposes. It's called Fyre. And that signature name is my California name. So you can keep it private since Y don't live there any more. Y must have been in such a hurry when Y signed that, cause it's not at all my usual style of the time. Plus, Y know Y made the original at least in '89.
The poppies - hallucinogenic - does this have something to do with your friend M, the one with a beauty of a life? Got an interesting link there.
Y was so scared about that cyst because more than anything in the world, Y did not want to tell my mother that Y was going in for a mastectomy. She nursed my grandmother through hers. And now she is coping with my sperm donor who has lung cancer and he wants to LIVE! It is so strange to have to pick him up off the floor, fling him into a wheelchair and order him not to wear socks on a slippery floor. That's what Y did yesterday. He used to be smart ( and cruel ) but now he is utterly impotent. Freaky. Stressful. A slap in the face like what the bishop gave us to remind us that from there on in it would be lots of slaps we would be enduring. That fucker (both those fuckers, actually) hit me hard, too. My sponsor, whom Y was totally in love with, and whom Y never saw again after the pageantry, was the only thing that made me think twice about maintaining the correct decorum after the cone-head wallopped me. Ever since she's out of the picture, and Y maintain no decorum whatsoever.
Here's something that may amuse you. In my pissing, moaning, crying, flinging my corpus around, etc, for being banned from Butch-Femme.com both my darlings had the same response:
My Darling Butch: "Big deal, you got kicked off a website. You been kicked out of countries!
My Darling Son: "What is it called? Butch femme? Mom, you should own that site. (Me: Y can't argue with you) Well, you already got banned from a country."
Yes, Y studied the rules before and after. After, Y noticed that none of the rules were followed by anyone. Private ownership: a wonderous thing. Master of one's domain. The fate of others held in one's own hand. Or so it would appear. Y love power of ownership, too.
