I wrote and published a sex poem on Mother’s Day.
At first, I wasn’t going to post it, but then I figured, if it weren’t for sex, we wouldn’t be mothers – biologically and figuratively – and none of us would be here. Somebodies, somewhere, had to get it on for there to be a baby to call us Mama.
Many years ago, I saw something about artificial wombs – the perfect external environment for growing a baby. We won’t get into the ethics. I guess when sex becomes joyless, or so dangerous that rubbers can’t protect us and people still want to be “mothers,” everyone will have an external womb.
I think people will want to carry/wear it like a forward-facing backpack and all the babies will have built-in receivers to detect if you’d be a good parent. And if they suspect the living environment will still be toxic once they are “delivered,” the baby-to-be can send a distress signal to head office. After that, it can choose to self-terminate, or a drone will rush in to pick it up and drop it off to a suitable family. Suitability? Well, that’s a discussion for another time.
The Boys wished me Happy Mother’s Day at ~ 2:00 am and then, in the next heartbeat, asked me to order food. Dee sent me a funny YouTube video and stopped by to drop off an orchid.
I’ve never gotten orchids to rebloom – Time to try again?
I have six of those polka-dot bottles. No thanks to Bossman for the introduction. I thought they’d come in different colours but thems don’t. I’m planning to colour them or maybe I will get Washi tape and cover them. Do you ever feel more artsy than usual? BTW: I stopped taking my pills again. And all of a sudden I am allergic to Zoey. Did you know that rabbits shed?
I told Zo they are going to build an off-leash dog park and she was pissed. Her and all the other small neighborhood animals are protesting – Small Animal Parks Matter! I can see it, but I cannot draw it for you yet.
In the last two weeks, I been feeling like I wanna create music for some of my poems – when I read them out loud, I can sorta hear the music that would compliment them. There are songs I listen to where the beat is simple, yet beautiful.
The more sonnets I write, the easier they become. I wonder if it was the same for Shakespeare. Will Practice make my sonnet writing Perfect? Perfectionistic Strivings Is What Me Does! (And when did perfect get a bad name anyway!)
Perfect is as You are!Sam
I go explore music-making stuff and eat – last night I couldn’t sleep, but I think it’s cause I was hungry! BTW: My weight is moving in the right direction!