Oddly Private, Internally Voluble

Reading Saussure and finding a way to work that fact into practically every conversation, hence the ongoing difficulty with making friends. Replanted Azalea bushes blessed by a God who cares about my mother and daughter. Sunflowers at my shoulders now, loving the intermittent rain and sun. Plastic army soldiers and other props queered by my oddly private, internally voluble childhood. Who decided potato blossoms would be pink sometimes and sometimes white, the Gods of Cotton Candy? Scooby Doo reruns. Smoking pot after midnight, sitting quietly on the front porch, listening to peepers and owls, watching neighborhood cats strut like bosses across Main Street: small town New England. We were invited to be sacrifices at some grand cathedral with extra-pointy spires once and we said no, we had plans that included beaches and bonfires, weed and tie dye, and no suffering at all. Murderers becoming Buddhists in jail and other life sentences. Do Mormons moan when making love? Look at me, a "collection of paradoxes" remembering how to be happy in public.