“I feel like a pimp when I wear this shirt,” I told Ming. I was wearing my new purple / lavender shirt–synthetic, swirly, and warm. “In a good way. Maybe not an actual pimp–the aesthetic. Lesbian farmer pimp.”
It got winter-like here, and I needed some warm clothes. I found this shirt in the dude clothes work wear / hoodie section of our pharmacy Malwart, which is nice. The xl fit me tight like a snug burrito. The 3x is comfortable. Then we looked at reflective vests.
How did I get through last winter? Good question! I had two pairs of pants. Ming did laundry a lot.
We had just landed here, and honestly, we were dazed. Homelessness fucked me up. I was not in my right mind for a while there. Glad I managed to form sentences and act like a human.
I need a steady place to rest and process my experiences. Everyone needs that, right? But the people who need it most are the people who are most likely to lose it. The irony is thick.
I took this picture in my good friend’s room. She is a noise musician with a lot of stuff in a small space. I’m grateful for all I’ve learned lately.
Lesbian farmer pimp reminds me of a previous fantasy I had of running a brothel / herbal abortion clinic in the wild desert, with Ming by my side for medical assistance. He could be the desert medic–I could be the abortion dula. In that fantasy I wasn’t a pimp, but I was something. Still have the books for it.
I had another fantasy also of taking over an abandoned cacao farm in Mexico–similar vibe. Doing good work with low costs, brave, living in some kind of community edgier / more anarchist than my current or previous. I’m not a guns person, but we’d need some form of toughness or protection.
Maybe we could be a dog rescue also. And the dogs could form a dog moat and smell malevolence.
listening to the noise
I want to post about our homegirl djbaglady’s recent noise show. Meanwhile, here’s a recording Ming took on my phone.