my cryptic week

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Sam puts his paw on death’s door, removes it, turns around and comes back, purring, having decided at the last minute to trade in who knows how many of his nine lives.

Amnesia. I had it but don’t remember it.

I establish a new relationship with dead fish. Dead birds under consideration.

I reconsider contra dance based on the urging of someone I met who must keep her violin warm.

Maggie’s breath–clarinet, singing, forgiveness, sparks, survival.

their needs are simple

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A local theater group posted this request for props for an upcoming fundraiser:

>SIX sets of handcuffs (with keys, please)
>At least FOUR 1970’s pornstar wigs (male and female)
>TWENTY-FIVE eye patches