Further Entanglements with She-Yeti: Tickles

Hello glorious buttery readership! here again we find ourselves at the outskirts of something ephemeral and quicksilvery, not unlike an herb glaze over a pot roast, and that is, no surprise: another of my blog posts! There are so many lovely things to begin to address but I don't know where to begin.

Let's begin here, with a sentence that will befoul and besmirch your sense of what's possible in this land: I am now friends with She-Yeti on facebook. That is mother-effing correct. I don't know how on earth she found me but she did. Now I will confess here to a slight internal adjument to my inner feelings, call them my micro-sensors, because the She-Yeti in reality (ie Facebook) is a different beast than in my fantasy (ie, dreams/fantasy).

Don't misinterpret me here, she is no less beautiful because she is most definitely still not like anything that I've seen. Ever. But her tone is very playful and aggressive, almost angry-agressive not quite the tender and gentle person (do I say person for a yeti?) that I mated with in my dreams. For a spell I considered that it might not even be her but one of her sisters, cousins, or friends (do all female yeti go by the handle She-Yeti? It can't be answered) but then I came to finally understand this: her public persona had to be coarser so that she could hide the very nature of what occured between us. When two people come together and don't want to announce it to the world they use trickery to pretend like they aren't madly in love. That is what she's doing.

Oh bliss!!! Can I tell you that I am soaring again? I am like the ostrich, flapping wings madly through puffy clouds, squawking and chirping at the fullest capacity of my wing-span, and if you held a translator chip up to my beak you would hear this: I am so mother-effing in love America! So in love am I!!!!

I Mate With Yeti

you'll do well to remember that the dream I had about the she-yeti found me mating with the she-yeti. This is a sonic exploration (read: song) of that blissful co-mingling. I have breached my normal etiquette and have included the lyrics of the song so you can enjoy them alongside one another. so, enjoy them!

morning w/ the she-yeti
I hope she ain’t forgettin me
we mated by the fire however briefly

hairy fingered sweet caress
she-yeti’s one who I love best, the rest
aren’t worth conquest at all, just she-yeti

a roaring fire she snores awake
our eyes they meet and then they break, they take
my breath my aching heart, my she-yeti

we dine on squirrels and birds and such
and then ingest hugs and heartfelt touch, so much
is happening now, and then we’re mating.

when two are one, then one shall be
a furry yeti reverie, we
roar so loud I wake up in my lonely bed.

at the window in this world
of cement and no yeti-girls, I hurl
my cereal bowl against these dirty walls

where is she now, those ears those hands
those lips, those hips not in these lands, the plans
of she and I smolder with the end of my dreamtime mind

and I recall, I always will recall

morning w/ the she-yeti
I hope she ain’t forgettin me
we mated by the fire however briefly

What a Whisper Whistles: Love-Beats!

In this fractured cosmos of time and space we here on the planet earth, like so many homo erectus creatures that came before, find the fragmentary and illusory nature of existing put on our doorstep. As you are aware I am an artist and the concerns of the artist lay mainly with issues of the heart, of love, and with the heart of love but how then can the artist address the necessity of living, which is to say, paying bills. Further, and this is my main point, I don't like paying bills. The necessity of bills is a further means of diminishment available to the establishment to put the screws to the little guy. Put another way, if I'm sitting in my apartment playing guitar in nothing but a soiled bathrobe, it's my proprietary right. If said bathrobe is wide open and a neighbor happens to look in the window as she passes, that an entirely different concern (but at bottom, it cannot be my fault but hers for letting her errant eye-scape wander curiously to the happenings of one Taffy McKittrick). Do you see what I'm saying here? Is it as clear as a sun-swept sky to you? The artist is allowed to do whatever he needs and wants, and this is my bigger point, paying bills interferes with artistic natures and undertakings. If I'm lost in a reverie of songcraft and bill collectors call constantly, then it disturbs my mind, which may have been exploding with a series of deep thoughts, set to music.
Ahh, this life!

I Dream of Yeti

This morning I awoke to find my body shuddering and my throat squealing with little yaps of what I can only call delight. There is much hesitation in me admitting this out loud, much less in a public forum like the blogosphere (of which I am a noble participant) but here it is: I was dreaming of Yeti. I'll pause a moment to let it seep into your thought process. And then I'll say it again: I dreamt of Yeti. The beautiful hirsute creature that roams the tundras and forests, eating a mostly omnivorous menu of nuts, berries and small rodents, running and leaping off boulders, bathing in fresh mountain streams, occasionally growling at the sky and above all, proving elusive to all photographers except the ones with telephoto lenses.

Now, this is a little hard for me to say but I am going to man up and say it: in the dream I was a male Yeti and I was cuddling with a gorgeous she-Yeti in a cave. It was early morning so the sky was still blue-black. Birds whistled. We lay by a roaring fireplace and I listened to she-Yeti as she snored ferociously, shaking in her sleep, as she dreamt of god-knows-what. Suddenly her eyes opened and she drank me in as if to say "my love, there you are, my handsome Yeti". I will exclude the details of what occurred next for the sake of the faint of heart or the puritanical or the shy but the general gist of it is this: I mated with the she-Yeti. And it was glorious.

I woke up face down on the futon in my grimy apartment. Crumbs of an unspecified previous meal lay beside me. Tear rivulets were wet on my face. I did my daily regimen of 2-3 pushups and walked to the window, looking out at the world, this world of concrete and cement and failed promise. My heart was soaring and broken all at once. Where is she now, I thought. Is she waking up in the woods somewhere in Canada or upstate Michigan, somewhere above the treeline, in a cave? Is she cold and lonely and wondering where I am? I pictured her walking out into her world, eating her breakfast of pigeon or squirrel all alone, remembering the intimacy we shared, however briefly. Ah, here come the tears again reader. As I type this out. Here come the tears...

C'mon and Celebrate: The New Year!

Dear Lovelies - how nice to find you again, all cozied up with a mug of mulled cider, reading my blog, like a kitten in the arm of a sleeping man! It's that time of year again, which is to say, Happy New Year! I trust that the close of 2009 was as spectacular and explosive for you as it was for yours truly (read: me). In the early hours of the evening I strummed my guitar and googled ex-lovers to see if they were lonely or now tethered to lesser men. Sad to report that none were available any longer. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not with those ex-lovers for a reason and the reason is that we were not "a good fit" (at least that's how they put it) but my heart despaired to find that my best hope at reconnection - Rhonda Gumm - has now apparently wed an orthodonist from Milwaukie, WI who specializes in "reconstructive and adaptive dentistry" and who has the unfortunate last name Spanker. Meaning Rhonda (while no longer attractive in the least) is now known as Rhonda Gumm-Spanker. Why should this depress me, while I am still young and vibrant? I'll answer you: It should not!

Hence, my young and vibrant unattached self wandered into the night, to drink down the last of 2009 with a bunch of friendly strangers in a bar near the edge of town. There was pool playing and bear hugs and raucous merriment! There was communal vomiting and unwarranted (but accidental) touches! At the end of it all was me, Taffy McKittrick, raising a glass up toward the spider-web strewn rafters and howling at the peak of my lung capacity: Okay Universe, this is my year!!!