@[email protected]

Whole Foods, Trader Joes, and Aldi

WF: Whole Foods fucked up when they joined up with Jeff Bezos and Amazon. I did use it. I did love it. Who wouldn’t!? Awesome prices plus to-the-door delivery and immediate refunds for spoiled fruit, or whatever. I miss it. But I canceled it because first of all, *moderate intensity, fuck Jeff and hope he and his wife overdose together somewhere, really hate Amazon, and because while the prices were great for a professional, they are out of reach for a nursing aide paraprofessional type (to which I have descended by choice and fate), so, no more Whole Foods. I learned about WF in NY and BK, when I lived there and Michelle was my girl. Her friend, Gerlinde. Unlike any other person alive, so happy! Gerlinde radiates joy, health, love, goodwill. She eats a raw food diet, vegetarian. She works at Whole Foods. I go to the one in Manhattan for the first of a few times. Two floors in Chelsea. I get my cookie ingredients and walk back up to West 34th. I limped the whole way, though, because of the Ledderhose activation. I was JUST starting to seek help for my foot. Got my first cortisone shot. Whole foods was air conditioned and smelled like flowers, a better life, an organically beautiful face and skin, higher class living.

Trader Joes TRADER JOES IS THE BEST STORE THAT EXISTS. They are trained to chat you up in the most healing way during checkout. They have LIKE 7 CHECKOUT PEOPLE. (Whole foods also has checkout people).

Does Giant Eagle have checkout people? NO! Does Kuhns have checkout people? SOMETIMES!

There are enough checkout people, and they TALK TO YOU, WHILE BAGGING YOUR FOOD. You don’t have to tip them for it, it’s FREE. The lady today asked me at least four questions about my day/life. And they know how to group and bag items, cold with cold, etc. And they have a NEWSPAPER. And their prices are SIMPLE AND REASONABLE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO GET A CALCULATOR OUR TO MAKE SURE A SALE IS ACTUALLY WORTH BUYING 5 OF THIS OR THAT FOR 30% OFF. The things always cost the same. All of their “copies” of “name brand” foods are on point. THEY SELL FLOWERS and AT A REASONABLE PRICE. Their choice of organic produce is unparalleled. God Bless Trader Joes. Trader Giotto.

Aldi: We call it “Aldi’s.” Aldi is one of the only company that makes NO POLITICAL DONATIONS. Trader Joes might be the same, but Whole Foods sided with big tech/data by getting in bed with Amazon. Hopefully they’ll “pull out.” God Bless Aldi, with your quarter slots on the shopping carts, with your free cardboard boxes everywhere, with your stunning cost cutting setup. Your produce is GOOD ENOUGH, unless I don’t mind paying a LITTLE MORE for Trader Joes. Your produce is often good, and sometimes bland, and your orange juice selection kind of a deal breaker, but the cauliflower crust uncured pepperoni pizza is— sometimes sold out. The “random shit” isle is fun for a broke ab like me. Finally to see stuff I could buy if I want to. I could “splurge” on a new welcome mat or something. I love Aldi, too.

Aldi is the most moral, practical company around. But they do have some self-checkout lanes now, for which the punishment by the public is (even more) shoplifting.

Consent

Consent isn’t as hard as we think. It’s a matter of asking the questions. After yesterday with Renzo, I was nervous about bathing him today. He didn’t seem mad or upset about the previous day’s bath, where I quickly gently washed his penis (less than 2 seconds), wearing a plastic glove and using shower gel, and he did this little, “unhuh unhuh,” unhappy cry. He made the cry sound again, looking at me with a scared, confused expression a couple more times, while toweling off, and getting dressed. I feel now like I did it wrong, because I rushed. I know he needs to learn to clean his penis or have someone clean it. All the medical sources say that. There’s gotta be soap, not just sitting in bubble bath water in the bath. The soap needs to be directly applied and reach the tiny crevices. It’s definitely true for myself, granted female parts have more folds and crevices. There’s kids at the orphanage who are uncircumcised, kids from muslim families, so they train us we need to pull back the skin when washing them. You don’t wanna get an infection. I decided to give Lorenzo the most basic rinsy-rinse bath (nothing scrubbed more than armpits) and I said to him, I saw that he was sad after wash the penis, the thing that was different, and we won’t do that, we’ll just do it the old way, would that be better? He said yes, and I sang him through bath time. A 7 hour day with him totally tires me out.
But I almost thought that he smelled like body odor for the first time today. I’ve never smelled that from him. No odor output, not feet, not armpits, not bits and such. Always smells clean, neutral, like moldy laundry (the clothes). Baby skin, rashes. Today, I also noticed new acne on his butt. Are his hormones shifting? Is the washing brush dirty? Sigh. Can’t keep up with so many things to clean. But I want to.

Giving Lorenzo a Bath

In his life, nobody ever washed his crevices, bits, and parts I got to some of the crevices with soap, and a long-handled loofah The first time I washed between the butt cheeks, he said, Oh! and Whoa! and seemed happy. Lorenzo communicates using scripts and by pulling you toward what he needs. When Lorenzo talks freely, it is an semi-word salad Lorenzo is 22. I’ve been caring for him for a couple years, but lately I started to feel about not getting the soap to the hidden areas. That’s how the family showed me to do it, but I’ve bathed and I bathe other people, and we’re supposed to wash the private parts. Lorenzo is used to someone wiping his butt with wet wipes after he poops. Lorenzo sits down to pee. Lorenzo doesn’t not express any sexuality, which is likely due to the intensity and schedule of medications he’s on, to manage anxiety, seizures, and self injurious behavior that looks like a tantrum Lorenzo used to show humping behavior as a young teen (he violated his pillows), but not any more. Lots of people with low IQ and non-verbal Autism are still sexual. On the unit and in classes, there’s always one or two students that regularly take it out and get the “that’s a private thing” talk. You don’t do it in public, my friend. Lorenzo doesn’t do it at all. Judging from the odd way he washes his hands, I don’t think he could help himself in that way. So I’ve been washing everything but the penis, but I felt bad, because I’m pretty sure they need to be washed. I asked a nurse friend and she said You have to do it. You just tell them, and go slow, be gentle. I think I was gentle, but Lorenzo let out an immature sob, not a happy sound, like boo hoo hoo. And the rest of the day he looked at me differently, like YOU’RE THE ONE WHO did that thing.
Was something different? I asked. I did something different, right? Are you okay? Is it okay? I dried him all the way off with the towel. His family would dress him still dripping wet, which is uncomfortable, right? Dry them off. I’ve been running the towel along the inner thigh, pushing the boundaries of what has been done, for weeks. But today I decided to wash the penis, and I feel like I broke his heart. He looked forlorn and anxious afterwards, and couldn’t settle on an activity. Then he said to me, I’m SORRY! Which is a prompt for me to say it back, so I did. I’m sorry! I AM sorry if I destroyed his world by washing his penis with soap. And now I don’t know what to do.

Giving Lorenzo a Bath

In his life, nobody ever washed his crevices, bits, and parts I got to some of the crevices with soap, and a long-handled loofah The first time I washed between the butt cheeks, he said, Oh! and Whoa! and seemed happy. Lorenzo communicates using scripts and by pulling you toward what he needs. When Lorenzo talks freely, it is an actual word salad Lorenzo is 22. I’ve been bathing him for a few months, and started to feel about not getting the soap to the hidden areas, but that’s how they showed me to do it But I’ve bathed other people, and we’re supposed to wash the hidden parts Lorenzo is used to someone wiping his butt with wet wipes after he poops. Lorenzo sits down to pee. Lorenzo doesn’t not express any sexuality, which is likely due to the intensity and schedule of medications he’s on, to manage anxiety, seizures, and self injurious behavior that looks like a tantrum Lorenzo used to show humping behavior as a young teen (he violated his pillows), but not any more. Lots of people with low IQ and non-verbal Autism are still sexual. On the unit and in classes, there’s always one or two students that regularly take it out and get the “that’s a private thing” talk. You don’t do it in public, my friend. Lorenzo doesn’t do it at all. Judging from the ritual, odd way he washes his hands, I don’t think he could help himself in that way. So I’ve been washing everything but the penis, but I felt bad, because I’m pretty sure they need to be washed. I asked a nurse friend and she said You have to do it. You just tell them, and go slow, be gentle. I think I was gentle, but Lorenzo let out an immature sob, not a happy sound, like boo hoo hoo. And the rest of the day he looked at me differently, like YOU’RE THE ONE WHO did that thing.
Was something different? I asked. I did something different, right? Are you okay? Is it okay? I dried him all the way off with the towel. His family would dress him still dripping wet, which is uncomfortable, right? Dry them off. I’ve been running the towel along the inner thigh, pushing the boundaries of what has been done, for weeks. But today I decided to wash the penis, and I feel like I broke his heart. He looked forlorn and anxious afterwards, and couldn’t settle on an activity. Then he said to me, I’m SORRY! Which is a prompt for me to say it back, so I did. I’m sorry! I AM sorry if I destroyed his world by washing his penis with soap. And now I don’t know what to do.

William Leon, Leon William Last name, lost Mama said one time we took him to Las Vegas and there was this game where you had to say how many tickets were flying in the air. And we played it a couple times, and we asked Leon, (and I was ready to pack up everything and move to Vegas), How many tickets, Leon? How many tickets? And he watched them all flying in the air, in the enclosure, and after minutes of suspense, responded, “Three.”

This happened to him, and his mom told me the story, and I don’t judge her, or anyone who spends more time than they can handle with people with severe support needs (everyone burns out here and there), but this story haunts me a little bit. When I walk and talk and play and sing with William, Will. None of that is his real name.

She told me the story in front of him, as he rocked and flapped. People think if they can’t formulate a response to their behavior, no response or reaction exists. I think humans yes we are foolish to use WORDS as a primary resource. SOMETHING AND EVERYTHING happens before the words. Silence is a cage for life that can’t write and sign treaties, make formal requests, not to mention how they’re at the mercy of caregivers.

Last night I had my least favorite dream where I’m teaching a big class (3 classes combined) and my supervisor is doing a random formal observation, and I had nothing planned, but now I’m ducking my head searching shelves and drawers and my brain for normal “make it up” lessons, but she’s dogging me (my supervisor), and I tell her, “Sorry, what I had planned didn’t work out.” But I had nothing planned, and she knows it. She’s only there to record and prove that I’m an incompetent teacher. Five minutes, Fifteen minutes pass, and I’m still trying to print things with computers that won’t work, my partner in the room can’t save me, or doesn’t want to, and I’ll next get fired, (woke up to relieve my water, and sadly realize the cinema being self-created for August 4th sleepy time replay). Not restful, (and is it necessary!?)

Katabasis and The Dialethica

Imagine a spiral parking ramp, if you’re familiar with those abominations, a floor at every spiral, and the hospital in the center of the spiral, dimensions defying measurement, where each floor represents a category of sins, (or of disease/wound type) with pride being the lowest, most petty, and with oath breakers, violence, and tyranny at the top. Cars enter from infinity in 3D space to entrances at all floors. (and they take a ticket to open the gate) I arrived at pride, because I drove straight here. I came in through the bottom. But it’s not hell, it’s life. The river stix bounds the “hospital.” The hospital is where you meet the fire of cleansing and redemption The river washes clean your memories, as soon as you wade in to the knees. You float towards the center, the ER receives you. We’re clean, they declare, and vaporize your essence into a tiny package, then use a holy knife to slice you in half, and send each half to a random mortal. Hopefully this time you master the journey more masterfully. Realize what’s what— what’s real. Pride is silly, once you realize it. Oh look at this smart thing I realized (please like my status) Everybody listen to me, I’m smart and funny (great, people like me) Let’s write a book so we can prove we knew things first Let’s get degrees from namebrand colleges Let’s prove we’re more cool than everyone else, and hotter, And fly to the sun, and burn like wax, then fall into a bipolar depression. Pride is insidious, and fundamental to individualism. What a stupid way to fight through hell. For attention, not even pay. The good news is (no, not “Jesus”)— the good news (that Jesus maybe knew), is that anyone can give up the game (or the sin) at any time, and float in the river stix toward god, the hospital, for a new life. Or you can hang out in hell as long as you want to. I’m interested in leaving pride. The river might take me all the way upstairs to oath breakers, I fear, but either way, I’m alive, with sensory evidence of that. The Dialethica means while we’re in hell, anything is still possible. We can wake up. We can stop the evil magic. When there is new life in hell/where we are now, in a way, together (could be a pomegranate tree, or simply a sprout of a little weed to smoke), which occurs when despite all forces against life, we grow— You bring it to bargain for miracles.

Katabasis and The Dialethica

Imagine a spiral parking ramp, if you’re familiar with those abominations, a floor at every spiral, and the hospital in the center of the spiral, dimensions defying measurement, where each floor represents a category of sins, with pride being the lowest, and violence and tyranny at the top. Cars enter from infinity to entrances at all floors. I arrived at pride, because I drove there. I came in through pride. But it’s not hell, it’s life. The river stix bounds the “hospital.” The hospital is where you meet the fire of cleansing and redemption The river washes clean your memories, as soon as you wade in to the knees. You float towards the center, the ER receives you. We’re clean, they declare, and vaporize your essence into a tiny package, then use a holy knife to slice you in half, and send each half to a random mortal. Hopefully this time you master the journey more masterfully. Realize what’s what— what’s real. Pride is silly, once you realize it. Oh look at this smart thing I realized (please like my status) Everybody listen to me, I’m smart and funny (great, people like me) Let’s write a book so we can prove we knew things first Let’s get degrees from namebrand colleges Let’s prove we’re more cool than everyone else, and hotter, And fly to the sun, and burn like wax, then fall into a bipolar depression. Pride is insidious, and fundamental to individualism. What a stupid way to fight through hell. For attention, not even pay. The good news is (no, not “Jesus”)— the good news (that Jesus maybe knew), is that anyone can give up the game (or the sin) at any time, and float in the river stix toward god, the hospital, for a new life. Or you can hang out in hell as long as you want to. I’m interested in leaving pride. The river might take me all the way upstairs to oath breakers, I fear, but either way, I’m alive, with sensory evidence of that.

Every Nanny is a Spider on the Wall

I’m basically a nanny. In my care, it’s Leon. Leon is almost 22, but he usually cannot remember his age. He often says he’s 16. Leon has Autism and an Intellectual Disability. I like, love him. Not sexually, but almost romantically, I love him so much. People like this are special, and you know if you love someone who’s like this. They aren’t stupid. They aren’t dumb. They know exactly wtf is going on. Leon doesn’t use “novel speech” very often. Almost everything he says is from a script on a TV show, or a reference to a song he likes. I know all the shows and songs, so I speak “Leon.” Lately, Leon has been utterly long phrases with sounds that sound like words, and I swear, he’s gaining increased comprehension (of wtf is going on). And how to talk about it. He’s been able to make requests about where he wants to be, which room, and what he wants to do. My life is richer with Leon. He used to say I love you all the time, but then I went away for a few years to teach at schools, and when I came back, he was a little more sad, a little less likely to exclaim I love you. Something happened in the family. Someone tried to kill their self, and lost their pregnancy, the baby died. She left the country, but the mom and dad never got their groove back. Grief can be like that. What can we do, but turn on each other. Your pain mirrors and exacerbates my pain, please get over it, you depress me, etc. Do they still love each other? Maybe. There’s a new girlfriend now, though, which will complicate things. I whisper the truth about Leon’s family to him when they’re not around. Your sister is sad. Mom and Tim are fighting. Something happened. I don’t know if I could ever explain how much Leon is my friend. We hold hands for at least 4 hours per day. I do everything for him. In the way the caretaker cares for a baby. I feed him food. I play games with him. I take him on walks. I wipe his butt. I bathe him. I dry and dress him. He does some of it, but I facilitate everything— so that things like when you try to put your shirt on and it gets caught on your head— things like that don’t happen. Can’t just go into blind fury because your shirt is covering your eyes and start crying. I help you. Did you forget why you’re sitting down and even where you are? You’re going pee. Let’s help with shorts and sitting down. No illusions here, not going to stand. Sometimes, he gives me this hard stare, a challenge, muted horrific looking rage, with a little eye squint, having memories of not being understood, and he makes a gesture to strike himself in the face (it’s just a gesture), and then I get his parent and suggest the PRN. That level of anxiety is not necessary or natural. Give the PRN. He takes it. He doesn’t want to be a monster. His eyes glaze over. He can’t remember why he was mad. He agrees to do whatever was next, versus the impossible request (he doesn’t understand when or why things are impossible, or even simply not a choice). Let’s take a nap. He doesn’t take naps. He powers up for more. He has the strength and energy of a team of oxen! He could’ve sired 50 children, but he’s fixed. He’s starting to lose top of the head hair, and I know his mom will be sad. She wishes he’d stay small and cute forever. Nope.

Every Nanny is a Spider on the Wall

I’m basically a nanny. In my care, it’s Leon. Leon is almost 22, but he usually cannot remember his age. He often says he’s 16. Leon has Autism and an Intellectual Disability. I like, love him. Not sexually, but almost romantically, I love him so much. People like this are special, and you know if you love someone who’s like this. They aren’t stupid. They aren’t dumb. They know exactly wtf is going on. Leon doesn’t use “novel speech” very often. Almost everything he says is from a script on a TV show, or a reference to a song he likes. I know all the shows and songs, so I speak “Leon.” Lately, Leon has been utterly long phrases with sounds that sound like words, and I swear, he’s gaining increased comprehension (of wtf is going on). And how to talk about it. He’s been able to make requests about where he wants to be, which room, and what he wants to do. My life is richer with Leon. He used to say I love you all the time, but then I went away for a few years to teach at schools, and when I came back, he was a little more sad, a little less likely to exclaim I love you. Something happened in the family. Someone tried to kill their self, and lost their pregnancy, the baby died. She left the country, but the mom and dad never got their groove back. Grief can be like that. What can we do, but turn on each other. Your pain mirrors and exacerbates my pain, please get over it, you depress me, etc. Do they still love each other? Maybe. There’s a new girlfriend now, though, which will complicate things. I whisper the truth about Leon’s family to him when they’re not around. Your sister is sad. Mom and Tim are fighting. Something happened. I don’t know if I could ever explain how much Leon is my friend. We hold hands for at least 4 hours per day. I do everything for him.

The significator card in position one is the three of cops. Position one indicates position one reflects the situation in an outer in which one finds oneself. The three of cups shows Eros and psyche’s wedding so an initial completion or milestone related to love. The crossing card is the five of pentacles. The story in this position indicates the issues that are preventing the three of cups from being fully expressed. The five of pentacles shows Daedalus running away from home because he killed his professional rival in a fit of jealousy. The card in position for, the base of the matter, is the ace of cups. The ace of cups shows Aphrodite in the waves and represents the essence of love the core of it the beginning of it. This could mean that the raw life force of love is what’s underlying the situation or basically my life. The card and position for, the rowing card, I got the three of swords. Like the three of cups, threes represent in initial completion or achievement. Of course, in this case it’s swords and it’s sort of an initial slaying of an idea or following through and doing the damn thing. Like Clytemnestra and her lover killed Agamenone. Things have been leading up to it and now they’ve done it. That’s the atmosphere of my life. The card in position five, previous influences, I got the ace of swords. Aces represent an corruption of raw energy, like the ace of cups, but the swords represent intellect. Craft and cunning. Future influences. I also got the three of swords that’s position number six. Here I again got the three of swords with this deck shows the murder in the bath. Position seven is where one finds oneself sort of an extension of the first card. I got judgment represented by Athena judgment sort of speaks for itself. And is paired with intellect in general. For the eighth card, which is views of others, I got the four of cups where Aphrodite‘s friends fill her mind with doubts so that she stops trusting Eros. this makes me think if I should trust people even less right now. Or maybe I’m the one whispering and other people’s ears. The ninth card represents hopes and fears, and I got eight of pentacles. That’s perfect for me because I want professional success, but I might not get it because I don’t work hard enough. For the final outcome, sort of terrifying, I got the two of ones which is the immediately polarized energy of pure intellect and a newly conceived plan to retake my rightful throne. This is a pretty strange spread overall. So many aces two and threes. Only one wand card. And a lot of swords. 🗡️ it’s also unusual or significant that the base of the matter is an outpouring of love, including passion, but the three of swords how it appears or the energy surrounding the matter is devoid of emotion and moderate completion of an intellectual goal that may involve vengeance.