How I became the Bitter Knitter....

I was going to write this great blog about how so many people came to the market & how I made this amazing fortune. Unfortunately, only 4 people came to see me at the market, & only 1 of them actually purchased anything. Of the remaining 3, one was my ride home, Matty Whips. Thanks so much to my fave straight couple (insofar as my heterophobia will permit), Paul von Munchausen & Sassy Kelsey for keeping my spirits up!

I made one other sale & that (plus the previous sale) covered the cost of my new tent, if not the booth rental fee, so by the time I was riding home, the bitterness pretty much grabbed hold. I couldn't even make it out of the house for a free Katey Redd show at the Healing Center! Now you know that is bad.

The bitterness kinda had me by the throat thru the weekend. I was angry & resentful & depressed & just feeling all crossed up until I finally let it just explode all over the blog.

Working with kids is bringing up all sorts of stuff from my tragic childhood & it is dangerous to combine this with 2 dismal Art Market failures...

Today, however, a NORTA mishap brought back my joy. I missed 1 Magazine bus & so didn't arrive at Canal St until 4:10 (leaving me 4 minutes to get from Magazine St to N. Rampart to catch the Franklin bus home. Needless to say, I saw the bus from about 2 blocks away & when I made it to N. Rampart, it was long gone. Ever resourceful, I took the Canal Streetcar to catch the Broad St Bus. Well, after I got off the streetcar I sat down at the bench at the Broad bus stop & struck up a conversation with an older black lady sitting next to me, the way you do. Well, the way I do. We shared stories of NORTA glam, frustration with dealing with City Hall, and realized we were both going the same way, for the same reason. We just had a lovely chat. Then the bus came. It was PACKED. Someone was kind enough to give up their seat to my newfound friend & she offered to hold my bag while I was standing. Right after that, some1 got off & offered me their seat, so I sat behind Miss Lady and we chatted a bit more & then she started to walk up to the front of the bus (we were in the back) & I realized that we were both getting off at the same stop. Well, lo & behold, my new friend, Miss Lorraine, lives right at the corner of Painters St & Gentilly Blvd (AKA less that 1.5 blox from my house). We chatted a bit more as I walked her to her door, that's when we introduced ourselves.

I couldn't stop smiling as I walked away. Writing this makes me realize that life is like this sometimes, even though you think you are having to take a big detour & go out of your way, along the way you find treasures that have been at your feet the whole time.

I hope that sounds profound...I feel profoundly grateful. Hopeful once more. Glad I just paid the entry fees for the Bayou Road Brewhaha this weekend & feeling confident that things will turn up, just as long as I keep moving & finding new ways to solve problems.

Thanks for reading!

I hope none of the kids at my school ever has to write something like this.

My Glossary of Curse Words
by: sAm RaY, age 8

Ass: is where he hits you, with the belt or his hands, if you are lucky & he is not too mad.

Asshole: the taste of coke cans with cigarette butts inside of them on  the morning after their friends come by.

Bitch: the light from the living room shining in your eye & the sound of a slap & a sob from your mother.

Cocksucker: a punch in the guts while blood runs in your eye, the smoke curling off the end of the inevitable roach clip laying in the ashtray.

Cunt: his workmen, telling you to save the smell of the secretaries if they let them put your fingers in there, as they laugh and take off on some job or another with him.

Dick: the feel of his hands around your red raw aching throat, as he spits the word and his own spit all over your teary face and he bangs the wall behind you with your own head.

Faggot: the feel of Dana Gair’s slap on the back of your neck as it turns red at the same time as your cheeks and you burst out crying in front of the entire second grade class.

Fairy: your mother’s face all screwed up, talking about an elementary school teacher of hers and how mean all the kids were to him.

Goddammit: the pillow over your face, him screaming “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP” until you can’t get enough air in to scream, the smell and taste of head sweat clogging up your throat until you pass out.

Motherfucker: the feel of the car swerving around in those few seconds’ right before the glass breaks and the whole world is thrown around for a loop, and you bite your tongue and just for a second everything goes slow & you can just see, just for a second, a perfect round bubble of spit and blood hover in the air of the backseat of the Karmen Ghia before everything speeds up again and the bubble bursts all over your face.

Nigger-lover: running thru the house as he chases you around when he finds out your imaginary friend is named “Lakeida” before you change it into something more acceptable & gender neutral like “Akka & Bock”

Puss, Puss, Pusssssy: sitting around the dinner table with your aunt saying she can’t hear him saying it over & over again under his breath as he sits between you and her and her calling you a liar.

Son of a bitch: waiting for the train to pass at the second set of railroad tracks on Paul Mallard Road, coming from the river; the feel of his rough calloused hands grabbing your hair from the front seat of the car and just popping your head off the back of your mother’s head rest.