Rats and censorship

I wave the rats away, * yeh yoo…. move it move it…. DO IT DO IT DO IT' ben stiller style in hutch and

starsky.

i am the master equivocator

Every now and then I have to stop what I'm doing to wave the rats away from my kitchen. Shameless little buggers, I usually just tap on the desk, and the formidable sound that this makes is enough to scare them away. It's weird that I am getting used to their prescence, in fact, I think I am starting to think of them as pets… no stop that. that's horrible, who would want a pet rat? Strange to think, but rats have families too, a dad rat & a mom rat…and little kiddy rats….just like us, except we are people. But who's to say that in a different planetary dimension that we are not the rats, and the actual rats are the people, think Monterey Jack & Gadget from the Chip and Dale rescue rangers. I wonder if animals love? When we see a couple of chimpanzees grooming each other, I wonder if this is a sign of affection? Or it this part of their mechanism/ function of daily survival? "I scratch your back you scratch mine". Where have I heard this before, I think in a gangster movie. I've never had a pet, so the animal kingdom is a total mystery to me. We almost had a dog once when I was little, but my dad sent him away, for whatever reason, he belonged to one of our relatives, I never saw him again, his name was Peachy, white furry, docile, little puppy. I didn't even get to touch him, I was afraid of dogs at the time, I still am…a little.
Anyway, I wanted to talk about censhorship in arts, personal censhorship that is…That's when you take a hankerchief from your drawer and roll it into a polka- dots suman, and then you stuff it in your mouth. GRrrrUUHHMMYY… Do you ever feel the need to stop your thoughts whenever it borders into a territory that's too sensitive. I have a lot of poems that someday I'd love to share with the world, on that faithful day my Vogon spaceship comes back to pick me up, and I leave this planet forever. I figure that that would be my time to shine, so I'm wiping the dust off my giant megaphone now, & saving it for later. GO OUT WITH A BANG BABY…that's my motto in life. But seriously it kinda sucks to think that you might have to store away some of your most beloved poems simply because their presence might hurt some people that you love. I don' know what sucks more, that or that POEMS CAN actually HURT the people that you love. I find writing therapeutic, as indicative of the way I write, I need a lot of help. Spaceships and rats and polka-dotted sumans…oh my!! Wasn't it Billy Holiday who said that " If I didn't laugh I'd cry". I don't know what question was asked during that interview that drove her to come up with that response, but I think, if you have any idea who Billy Holiday is, you wouldn't need to ask. Context is not important here, I don't think.Those poignant words defy interpretation. I mean, anybody who's ever felt pain, would know, she wasn't kidding, so go ahead you can have this line. I've been munching on it all day long. Anyway back to what I was saying… Hurt is a strong word. I don't write I hate you poems or semi death threats, not even the occasional squeezed in vitriolic remark, disguised as a metaphor.I just simply write what's in my heart. There are certain things that happen to us childhood that are so painful to discuss you can't say it out loud. Like the first time somebody stole your lunch when you weren't looking during recess in kindergarten; or the time you found yourself mysterious locked up inside your very own locker, trying to pick your way out of the darkness; or the first time your dog went away to take a long walk and never came back. Except I'm not really talking about these things, not really.
Speaking of things, I think, things are only a keepsake for a certain amount of love that occupies our hearts that we project to the outside world, I guess that's why when some of our things break or become loss, you feel that a little part of you also gets taken away & you are devastated. I guess this would explain why some people can't part with their things no matter how old, or rusty.This would also explain why some people, without naming names, become trash collector, because of their sentimental value. Now I don't mean to imply people are like things. Because we are not, WE ARE HUMANS & WE CAN RECIPROCATE LOVE, animals too, and I've heard some very special breeds of pokemons, but understand this is very rare. And also, you don't really project love towards the people you care about, 'cause you actually feel it; it's an invisible truth that makes itself known in you heart. I mean, but if you have to project.....................then you're really in trouble.
Where am I going with this play-by-play account of a brain surgery, good thing nobody reads my blog, or else they'll be more confused than I am, except maybe fo Del, which I prefer to call branwell. It's his idea that I start blogging in the first place.Look what you've started!!!! I hope this doesn't give him a headache, but if it does, well then, you deserve it. *evol grin* This is how my brain works, it just can't stick to the plan & my writing reflects… I hate..i hate…I hate… I guess what I'm trying to say is, we share our history-lives with others, and like it or not when you write about certain things that are happening to you, sometimes it can't be helped, you also indirectly write about the people that populate your landscape, and I'm not even talking about the poems that specifically address people, cause I have those too.
It took me forever to spew that out, but still I didn't really get to the essence of what I wanted to say. typical. what can I say, I am the master equivocator . I even fool myself.