Scenes from the Temple of Doom

1. I'm at the crunchy granola grocery store where they sell the black sesame rice crackers I like, and all that great coffee--the organic mocha java, the Peru Norte, the Cameroon Boyo. I check out the magazine rack and there's a new Sage Woman and, strangely, an interesting-looking What Is Enlightenment? I don't usually buy this latter mag, as it tends to be verbose and BS-laden, but a couple of articles look quite promising.

Later, Teresa's reading WIE aloud; Teresa, the alcoholic I live with and may still be in love with. She's drunk and verbally ripping the magazine to shreds--these people have gone to the dark side, they're spiritual vampires, Ken Wilber looks like Mini-Me, this all reads like a parody by Percival Everett. She's hilarious and vicious and she goes on and on and it's the best time we've had in a thousand years.

2. She's drunk and she stumbles towards me covered in blood, she has no idea where all this blood came from. She's afraid and I tell her not to be, though I am--though I am very much afraid.

3. Dreams of violent storms: thunder like mortar rounds, booming sharp and rippling under my skin; myriad tornadoes birthing in grey dreadlocks from layers of purple cloud. In one dream I'm at the gas station at the end of my street, buying Teresa more booze, the stormfront a terrible bruise across all the sky. I know there's just enough time to get home and not a second more.

4. I spent much of July 4 giving myself degrees from Miskatonic University: Doctor of Experimental Philosophy; Master of Occult Sciences; Master of Codependency; Doctor of Chaotic Dynamics. As dweeby as it sounds, this was a lot of fun. I even went to Target and got fancy paper to print a couple of them on--they're definitely going up in my office.

5. I'm washing cilantro in the sink--long, green leaves, so soft in my hands, and I'm loving Kali in these leaves, their softness, their viriditas. Touching them is like getting kissed by the Goddess.