Blog Found

What usually happens:
I lose my password to a newly created blog. I spend good writing time trying to access the account. I guess at passwords and at the blog title. I end up creating a new blog, frustrated that the name I wanted has been taken, by me. I almost find the old one and get lost in the entire process of password protection.
This blog is for good keeping.
Good keeping.
I like the way that sounds.
Good keeping.

Two in One

I need to make the notation that the posts on the 16th were actually written over a year ago. It was a jump start and a saving. It was connected with an old email
address I am phasing out and I had to move the writing to save it ...
it landed here. I am looking forward to the discipline of writing in this blog, though I am concerned it took a blog for my anticipation. And of the discovery with an understanding that comes in the special way that it does when you are looking for a word.

1.
Like a lesbian who knows an outpost of the vatican when she sees one,
I reluctantly went across the street to the post office this morning.
I try not to go there very often ever since they delivered (from evil) my just ordered from Australia copy of Andrea Dworkin's book, Intercourse.
In Australia they ship books in clear plastic wrap.
The man in the familiar uniform making this global delivery
just opened the doors to the apartment building and threw Intercourse up to the
second landing and against the wall.
It was lesbian blasphemy and that's exactly what I told the postmaster. (okay this is a lie.)
He (the post master) (see, the similarities) listened, but apparently could reach no decision on how to handle the matter
because later that evening only gray smoke was visible from the chimney across the street. (this is a lie too.)
But there are other clues:
Stamps are offered like communion. We wait in single-file lines and most of us are filled
with gratitude when it is our turn to receive the wafer-like stamps. It is a huge vatican re-enactment
that really gets very little attention from the non-lesbians. (it alone deserves the full sixty
minutes on 60 minutes, in my opinion.)
And every-time I visit my p.o. I always find little pieces of paper folded up into little squares.
These paper bits are all over every post office across this country. I think it is because they are voting all the time.
Practicing for the next big one. No lie.

2.
Just to test my theory that the post office is an outpost of the vatican
I went up to the window and asked for a birth control prescription.
and then fifteen minutes and a brunette-shag wig later i went up to the same window (control group)
and asked for an abortion referral while putting twenty bucks on the
counter with a polite request for a sheet of lesbian-rights stamps.
white smoke poured from the chimney that night.
i won't be going back.
this has been a difficult piece of work and research.
i hope to publish my findings in mother jones and scientific lesbian.
thank you for your support.

3.
There was a limo parked at Perry's in Belfast this weekend.
It was, of course, long and very white and because I read the Bangor Daily
that morning, I knew that Stephen King was in California doing
a workshop. Laura from General Hospital was taping a commercial
for Jenny Craig. A limo in Belfast could be confusing for the non-lesbians,
but I knew it was the pope.

The P.O. numbers are bad in Belfast. Oh hell everyone knows it's true, the candles
in the front are never lit and leaving a dollar in the box isn't bringing in the
big bucks anymore. Used to be the big box could be counted on for kick-around
(women) cash. Even with the price increase, a dollar seventy-five to light the match,
the money hasn't added up in the coffers.

I only lit a candle one time. It was for Martina. She wasn't doing so well on the courts back then,
and I was using the post office regularly. I put my dollar in the big box and then kindof pushed a picture of
her I'd torn from the New York Times against the wall. I had kissed it so my chapstick left a greasy lip-print on her face,
and then I put it a good four inches away from the flame.
They said I was playing with fire.

Perry's sells nuts and fudge and trinkets from Maine right on Route One. On Main Street
downtown, the po offers a variety of commercial products and the man up front always
asks if you would like a commercial product at the end of your turn. What commercial
products I have asked. "Grape juice, large fish, tampax?" I figured tampax was probably a sure bet.
Though I must confess, I can get confused. Are we allowed to bleed or only die?
The big Court (the same organizational team as the po, and the vatican of course) seems
to favor an order of bleeding and then dying and I am pretty sure they always have believed this way.

I figure the pope was checking out Perry's for marketing ideas. They make a killing in the summer.