New Book (Parts of this book were taken from The Daily K).

I just did head stand three times, a new world's record for me, and am about to do shoulder stand for five minutes. I love these upside down poses; they make me see the world differently! Jaggar watched from be bed, where he was lying on my bomber jacket, that I had thrown there, when Graem came over to help me put plastic on the windows. It's handy to have a handy son.

‎"DO NOT be staring at her body. Very few girls actually like this, and you staring at her breasts will turn her off of you." This is some advice that I got from a Wikipedia listing, after Googling, "How to ask a girl out." I'm 53, and I'm still not sure how it's done. I do know that I shouldn't stare at her tits, whether I am going to ask her out, ot not. I mean, it's just not polite. I wouldn't want a gal staring at my dick, now would I?

I was going to take my second walk of the day with the dogs, but the arthritis in my right knee, is letting me know that it exists, so I may just take a short walk. There is a sandwich calling to me, in the kitchen. I'm going to make chili, again, tomorrow. I could eat chili every day. My youngest son loves it, too; and I am going to use it as a lure to get him over for a visit. All is fair in love, and love.

My neck hurts a bit from doing headstand, and my legs hurt a bit from being alive. I might take a day, or two, off from doing headstand, but it will be hard as I am addicted to doing it. I love looking at the world from upside down. The blood that rushes over your brain, and your heart is supposes to be really good for you. I take great pride in the fact that I am 53 years old, and I have just learned to stand on my head. It shows me that all things are possible.

After visiting me, a friend of mine called, and said that the smell of my dogs was still on his hands, that he was having trouble getting it off. This made me think that I probably always have the smell of my dogs on my hands. So, when you meet me, is the first thing that you think of me is that I smell like dogs. If you have dogs, or if you are a dog lover, this is probably alright, but if you don't love dogs, you might not love me.

I am having vegetable soup for dinner, but it is a special vegetable soup that Wayne Myers, the computer genius, taught me to make by taking a regular sized can of vegetable soup, and adding a can of mixed vegetables to it. I also add a can of kernel corn. This is a tasty treat, and, somehow, gives me the illusion that my food is being stretched. I am a day away from being out of food, again.

I just had for dinner what I had for lunch: rice. Jim Croce is singing to me. I wonder how he would have turned out if he had lived. And what about Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain; how would they have turned out? Jerry Garcia maintained an audience until his death. Would Morrison and Cobain have grown old so gracefully?

Henry, the great, Great Dane, who lives next door is visiting. Yesterday, Henry blew liquid crap from one end of my apartment to the other. He tried to warn me, I guess: I was in the bathroom, seated on the throne, and Henry came in and let loose two little farts. When I was done with my crap, I came out into my castle, and found what Henry had done. I didn't get mad. Henry has done this before, and I have become quite proficient at wiping up his crap. If I say that I love him, I have to take the good with the bad in his behaviors. It's not like Henry was out to screw me by shitting all over my home; he had an upset stomach, and had to go, so he went.

My dog, Morisson, is a very wise looking dog. He just worked his nose under my hand, and got me to give him a head rub. Morisson hasn't run away in a long time. I can, now, trust him to walk with me outside to take care of business without him runnining off. I m happy for this. In the 2 1/2 yeats that we have lived in this apartment, Mo has run off only once. He was found on a busy street, dodging traffic. I could have lost my Mo. I, now, keep him close with voice commands. My main command is, "Morisson I love you."

I was doing Tadasana(Mountain pose), in the kitchen, and I looked up to see Morisson facing me, doing downward facing dog. Have you ever yawned, and then seen your dog start to yawn?

When the bathroom sink is dirty, I should probably clean it, so that I will have the joy of a clean sink, but, mostly, I only clean it when guests are coming over, which is very infrequent, so mostly I stare down at a dirty sink, when I wash my face, or brush my teeth. Does this indicate something lazy about me; something anti-social? Is this an inherited trait? I grew up in spotless homes, maybe I am rejecting the rigidity in which I was forced to live; the harshness that was hoisted upon me when it was time to clean, when it was time to keep that which had been cleaned clean. If I had joined the military, would they have excise this trait from my existence?

I make a nice cup of coffee, and stick it under my cat, Kobain's nose. He moves his head forward a little bit, as if he is really smelling it, perched as he is on a stool at the edge of the kitchen. Kobain has become a mooch. I have turned Kobain into a mooch, a ruthless panhandler, looking for scraps of food off of my plate before I have even eaten. He gets up on his back legs, often, and stretches his front paws towards me, towards the food that he can smell on my plate. Kobain knows when I am eating something that he will want. Meat is his game; fix a salad, and he is off in the apartment doing something else.

Up at 7:05. I'm watching Henry, and Anna, this weekend. We are going to usher in the new year together. The weather has been beautiful: warm, and not raining. It has been nice for walks with the dogs.

It is hard to believe that this is the last day of 2010. It took me a long time to get used to writing 2010, and not 2009, and I am sure that it will take me a long time to get used to writing 2011, instead of 2010.

I have no new year's resolutions, as of yet. I would like to continue on the path that I am on, a path of peace, and peace of mind. I would like to see the writing pay. I would like to continue with my Yoga. I would like to see my family stay healthy, and happy. I would like to see peace on earth, happiness where there is homelessness, and lack of food. I would like to see all alcoholics put down the bottle, and quit suffering. I would like to see all drug addicts quit fixing, snorting, inhaling. I would like to see hookers find a better job.


I had the weirdest dream, last night. I dreamed that I was wanting to go to school in Athens, Ga. and that I was walking about the town with several suit cases, completely lost. I found myself inside the apartment of this man, who said that there was a space for rent upstairs from his. I started worrying about Bundy. I knew that Morisson would fit in, and my cats, and turtles, but Bundy was a barker; he would disturb all the other residents. I didn't know what to do. In this dream, I was a woman.


I stare into my coffee. It looks like any other coffee that I have ever drank. I stare at the wall in front of me; the wall is the same as yesterday. I play songs that are familiar. My dog is at my feet, where he usually is. Governments are still corrupt. Corporations are still screwing people, but I choose to focus on what I can do about the world. I can feed my cats, walk my dogs, turn on the heat lamp to my turtles' aquarium. We don't need another hero. I can do Yoga. I can make my bed, at least once a week. What good is it if I champion the revolution, but am an asshole to my neighbor? I'm speaking to me. I'm speaking to you.

I just walked The Great Danes around the wet block. Anna, and Henry, both love to walk. Bundy barked at us as we were leaving; he likes to walk, also, and was jealous that Anna, and Henry, were getting to walk, and he wasn't. He will get his turn, as soon as I finish getting The Daily K for today together, as soon as I finish this cup of coffee. Patience, Henry; patience.

I couldn't move my right knee this morning, when I woke, and when I did it caused me great pain. It rained yesterday, and rain most always affects my knee in a non-positive manner. The weather, outside, was warm, so I turned the heat down in the abode. Cooler temperatures affect my knee, also; so, there, I had the one two punch of cold weather, and rain. The good thing is that once I got up, and started moving, the pain went away, and the knee let me operate normally. I fed my cats, dogs, and turtles, and made a big pot of the cheap coffee that I am drinking. The coffee tastes great. It doesn't taste cheap at all. I think that cheap is, sometimes, a state of mind. After I fed my dogs, I went next door, and fed Kitty Poo, Henry and Anna. All three of them were very glad to see me.

It is 6:38, and the King and Queen are sprawled on the floor next to my bed. I took them out for the second time this morning, and then brought them over here to keep us company. Henry keeps getting up to inspect things, like the empty cat food bowls, and the toilet in the bathroom. Anna is content to lay her chin on the floor, and rest.

The Great Danes, and I, went for a walk, again, yesterday. Henry, and Anna, love to walk. Henry leads the way, Anna, and I follow. It was wet, yesterday, and there weren't many people on the sidewalk, but the day before the weather was sunny, and it is funny how many people The Great Danes will attract to them.

"Are they Great Danes?" is the most asked question. People are fascinated with the dogs. I remember being a little scared of them, when I first met them; they were so big. Now, they seem normal to me, not huge; they seem just like Henry, and Anna to me.

Henry and Anna have a feline roommate named Kitty Poo. Her official name is, "Karma," but no one much calls her that. I used to let Kitty Poo slip into our apartment, but she will not slip into it anymore ,because one of my cats, the black one, Jaggar, is such an asshole.

Kitty Poo is a black cat, also, and one might think that there would be some sort of bond between black cats, but between these two, at least on Jaggar's part, there is no bond. There is not even an inkling of friendship, or respect. It is as if Kitty Poo is a long hair, and Jaggar has no hair, and must maintain some moronic code of behavior that relates strictly to the length of one's hair.

"Oh, you are a long hair, Kitty Poo, I will not respect you, and I will try to beat the shit out of you." I have seen such behavior exhibited in humans, so I would think that it is not too far a stretch to see it in animals.

To look at Jaggar, right now, curled up on the floor next to my desk, you would not think that he was capable of such meanness. He tries to act like he doesn't care about me, but the fact that he sleeps so close to me, tells me that he does care. When he was a kitten, Jaggar was run over by a car that must have been in a hurry to buy french fries, or a cheap burger. They found him with his chest caved in in a fast food restaurant drive through lane; his mother lay dead next to him. Jaggar was rushed to a vet's office, and was raised from the near dead by the vet staff. The vet staff kept bringing him out to me, when I would come in with my pets, showing me Jaggar's progress, and then, one day, they handed him to me, saying, "We know that you will love him!"

And love him I do; I just wish that he wouldn't be a dick to Kitty Poo.

"Love" is not always what you think it is, or what you think it should be. Sometimes, love is hitting you in the face, and you don't see it. Sometimes, you think that you are in love, but you are not.

I am eating chili; it is the last of this batch of chili, and I am sad, because this was the best batch of chili that I have made yet. Last night, I finished watching the movie, Glengarry Glen Ross. It was, possibly, the most boring movie that I have ever seen in my life. It was the type of movie that you watch until the end, because you keep wondering if it is going to get any better; but it doesn't. The feeling that I got when it was over, I liken to the end of a bad acid trip.

I am out on Love Porch. I have four dogs with me: Henry and Anna, the great, Great Danes, Bundy, my semi-psychotic pooch, and Morisson, the best dog in the whole wide world. Kitty poo, my neighbor's small black cat just escaped back into her apartment, as she had escaped out of it, about an hour before. Kitty Poo loves the great outdoors, but she found her passage way blocked, as I made sure to keep The Love Porch screen door shut, tight, well aware I am of her tendency towards the great escape, and her proclivity to wander.

Including my two cats, Kobain, one of the best cats in the world, and Jaggar, a bit psychotic, himself, and my two turtles, Rue Paul, and Prynce, I am responsible for the sustenance, and entertainment of nine living beings this afternoon, not a single one of them human. This probably doesn't occur by chance; I am either rabidly anti-social, or absolutely no fun to be around; or both.

I don't have hardly a dollar in savings, and I just realized that an item, that I have in a bag, with a receipt to be returned, such as this scale that doesn't work when I stand on it, is kind of a savings plan; while the money is tied up in it, I can't spend it!!