liar liar pants on fire, wrap me in white and call the warden.

mess. i'm tired of the mess. not the physical. the emotional. somewhere there must be a repellant for the shit that clings to you when you are the most down. close my eyes and dissapear. close my eyes and float away. getting pulled in a thousand directions. directional tears, and blame. directional lies and false promises. directional laser beams of sex and candy swimming in the sun of the hottest summer heat i've ever known in my life. in the cyclone of wasted people, wasted time and wasted things. cut the lines of habit down the middle. waste away and colour me purple like a bruise. there is too much ugly reality in this surreal wasteland. bodies washing up on my shore to my bare and worn out feet. too much drama and hilarity. there are lies and ugliness..i've got to find my way home. home to my crazy home. home to my safeness. home to my happiness. because no one loves anyone but themselves. or thier offsprings. and you come to me with wasted eyeliner smudged eyes and tell me its because of ME that you didn't kill yourself. no one needs to hear that. walk my way in oblivion and drunkeness down your hallway. i'll open the door that is open for me. i don't even knock. welcome to the den of inequity. sit right up and roll one, pop one and melt into the floor. i used to think i knew everything. then these stupid kids came along and ruined everything. too old to question, too old to evolve. if i don't leave soon i'm done for. if i don't pack up and go i'm sure to ruin everything i've worked hard for, and for what? a whole bunch of lies i keep telling myself. that its all going to be ok.

Lists

Pushing it all away
One swift morning plagued with regret and finality.
Wiping off the counters and cutting up the chicken
For dinner
Cracking the bones from the joints
Swiftly as easily as
Methodically pushing away
The people in my life again

Making lists

Pedalling bike hard in the 100 degree morning.
Spokes in motion spreading out the water waves of heat
Sweat trickles down my legs
There is no poetry to the list that grows
In my head
Of those
I won’t talk to again


I’ve lived

2 weeks in complete surrealist structure
Hardwood floors and uneven mattresses
Sleeping in soaking wet hair
And grabbing onto thin air
Where he once slept
Swept up in the love we had once
Now dormant in the moaning air vents
Or up in the tree outside our window

And touch is like paper
And touch is like marble
And touch is like onion skin
And touch is like four corners of your hand
Falling into my body like a stone
To find my pumping heart
And resurrect the rhythm again

I want you to touch me
And until it happens
I won’t be whole
I’ll keep erasing the world around me
One name
One place
One beer
At a time

I’m making lists in my head as you sleep
Of the places we laughed
And the times you touched me tenderly
In the open with no shame
Of the tears I’ve cried in vain
Of the answers that won’t come
The long talk that won’t happen
And all the things that must be done

Packing boxes and moving into sadness
Making lists of everything to come
And somehow by January I’ll know
If you still love me
Somehow I think It will snow and we’ll be clean
And we’ll hold hands and laugh and remember the way
Lovers live

I’m counting on January.
I’m counting on you.
I’m counting on love.
Because I’ve let go of everything and everyone else.
I’ve made my lists
And I’ve let it all go
I made my phonecalls
And I’ve cancelled all my subscriptions
To other people’s faith
And smiles
And welcoming arms..
I’ve set them
Floating on the winds of the prayer flags
Frayed and outwished

I blow my words into asunder
My final blunder
To make it all right again
One last time again
Make it right again.

into the dark.

battling depression is exhausting, especially when you can't get any sleep. i'm knocking on the notted wood of unconsciousness and it won't let me in. carefull. carefull. the wind turns the keys and leaves and the circadas don't stop thier whimpering, wavering the still in decibles of shrillness..nestled between the rain ripe leaves they murmur thier screams cutting the night open like a knife, crystaline the stars wave in twinkle corners exhale and they all fall down like a connect four game of tumbling checker pieces..sinking into the invisible line of horizon.

on these wicked nights i turn my body like a cork in the tossing sea of sheets. me. alone with the dark mocking all my thoughts. shake your head yes and no, yes and no, stuck in never ending now of terror..deep breathing leaves my chest and stomach sore with its labored rhythm, hope that any minute i will fall out of the fight to and of sleep, the terror.. the terror of darkness..alone..

no sympathy from the world, with day masks of smiles and ignorance. you can't stop this madness when it becomes a part of you, it gets into your blood like poisen, tainting everything good and pure and real. steals the precious moments of joy and paints them rolling stone black... i'm pissed at all this. i hate feeling this way and I hate that no one understands. nothing makes me feel normal anymore.

moon are you full or are you playing tricks on me again?

cloud hidden the moon peeks out its bright round stomach of light
grey puddles of sharp cut silhouette wearing thin like moth eaten robe
rises high up above the city sky scapes, brighter than any beacon
mysterious as a new lover disrobing for the first time
moon moon
are you full or are you playing tricks on me again?
barely a scrape or scrapple of stone flesh missing from your shoulder
turning like nakedness down a dark hall
you grin and more light streaks out of your beat and beshelveled garments
we're turning corners fast under you, highway momentum building under our tires
like night fires and sparks
lit the dusty joints and cigarettes
we bathe under your clean shower of white in the dark of night
nursing sunflowers that frown when the sun is down
chasing the cats that suffer from your madness
pouncing on imaginary prey
burrowing under blankets of ivy and discarded beer cans
playing melodies on windchimes and the circular blasts of wind that shake the trees
tremble shaking of your light like raindrops
moon moon
how you rattle the tides and blow the gusty blows of low
moon moon
too beautiful too beat-iful to call my own
or to gaze upon for longer than a fleeting glance
i fear your moon sickness will swallow me under your directional tides
of beauty
oh moon, tell me soon
whats inside of your greysilver skin
will you unravel like a ball of yarn, or an exposed golf ball of wirey rubber bands propelled synergry slowly exploding into the stardust sky?
moon,
could I grab your crescent ankle and hold on while the world goes assunder
my toes dipped in the ansid inkle of time?

and the mind breaks wild speed on keyboard clicks

i started this blog because I had alot to get off my chest. i started it because daily writing had become cumbersome and I wasn't really getting any joy out of it all. just working. I also started this blog because I have recently been attacked (boy that is a strong word) by a former friend and sadly mentally ill person who pulled me, my husband, my friends and my livelyhood over the coals for his own personal enjoyment. He did it publicly, he did it obnoxiously and he did it hurtfully. I was somehow expected to allow this behavior and forgive it. As far as I know, I don't think that this forgiveness would do anything to better that person, and would only benefit myself. So I work on it. I mull it over and roll it back and forth. I think about what I may be holding on to if I still refuse to forgive him. The thing is, I don't need friends like that. Can I forgive someone in my heart and not in thier face? My mind crawls to our last face to face encounter. I didn't bat an eye, in fact i fell back on my own childish ways and ignored him. I think it was easier than explaining to him the pain he had caused me. I don't think he cares. I don't think he is capable of understanding what he has done or would even think it was bad. But it was. Why am I rehashing this? Well he attacked my writing. He attacked my technical skills. I keep thinking about this when I type along, ingnoring my spellling and punctuation and capitalization and so on. I never give a shit, and as long as you can read this and understand it, i think that is ok. But I still feel very hurt by it. I let it creep into me, I let it keep me from writing on some days, and some days i feel like it's a chore. How to lose the spontenaity and beauty of something is to beat it down. Rights and wrongs and rules and regulations that build a mountian for the mighty to smite you from. Poor lonely old man building a mountain of punctuations and participles and whateverthefucks to punish the low unexperienced from. How sad. i loved him as a friend. and just like that. betrayal. but enough. There is too much to be gained from letting go. And i have but some days it's harder than others.

So explains the lack in posting. I got hung up on this for a while. It was impacted by many days of too much to do, too much to think and not enough time for it all. We are in total motion at the store. Everything seems to be swinging uncontrollably and I like it. Thus in this quite morning of the beginning of the week I try and sort out all that has happened.

First of all...

i saw the Dalai Lama. I guess there are no words that I can adequately use to describe the feeling of love and peace I have in my heart. And better yet, I have no words for what it felt like to have the honor of having my family with me, and my daughter with me, who had an experience like no other. At the age of 13 having this opportunity is monumental at best. We are so blessed.

Second, Poets on X+ and Storytime were amazing this weekend. By far the most well attended and the greatest fun.


Third, P has less than two weeks till her last day of Jr High, and less than one week till she turns 14. Forth, We have our second booksigning at the store on Thursday, and Saturday is Deep Ellum Market where i will be featured along with 6 other poets. I don't know how I am going to do all of this. Add in yoga, dinners and general house and bookstore running..and I'm exhausted. Sunday we go to Ft Worth for P's bday party. Monday I will colapse!

Yoga update: Getting harder, getting discouraged, but feeling the strength growing in my arms and legs and even abs. I will continue to attend at least 3x a week for the remainder of the summer if I can afford it. The Dr. took me off anti-anxiety pills and now I'm anxious about getting anxious. Back to square one. Getting a shrink is first on the list. Can't go back to sleepless nights and emotional breakdowns. I was doing too well.

FB weirdness.. Meeting cousins and family members. Friend or not friend? We are all adults here. Why am I still afraid of being who I am? Being judged and held accountable for whatever anyone does not deem as acceptable. Would my mother be appauled by my fierce need for weirdness and independence? Ultimately no, she knew i was a weirdo from a long way back. Dress me in polyester and give me chilli bowl haircuts, mom. I love you. It's ok.

Our Bookstore!

Sweet Independent Bookstore in Beat-iful Oak Cliff

it's allright doll

poets. we get deep. we get deep in our wine glasses and deep in our souls. we swirl around like the wine in the bottom of the bowl and we swish the words around our mouth and pucker our lips, and open our throats wide. i'm a mad swirler, yes I am. and last night the air was thick with some kind of wonderfull/mystery/joy/melancoly. I wonder why it sneaks up on us the most. I still feel that deep inside us we are living under this collective consciensness. things get kinda bleak. things get kinda low. ahh. but there is so much joy. there is so much to be in love with and in. I meet kids in tight jeans and ear plugs, and tattoos. I meet beautiful brown women with tight curls in thier hair and lungs full of song. I meet hip hop boys and self professed genuises with self published books to push. I meet friends on deeper political levels, I meet friends on deeper personal levels. I see sadness slumped over in chairs. I meet sex kittens and know there are predators in the shadows that want to devour the words out of poets by the swallow. There are kissing bandits on the loose. There are wild drinkers and deep deep thinkers. Theres the host with the most and his beauty to toast. Theres swinging, flinging and wringing out of words sublime. Drum kits and skiddly bop. Last call and drinking it all, saving the best part for last. And then it's done, and we skatter, chatter and flatter ourselves into cars and closed bars for one last drink to wash it all down. And a thank you, friend, and close call with ends to mend. I and drive my car with all the saints, sinners and bodhisattvas floating in my dreams that come fast as I embrace him close and kiss his nakedness against cool sheets. I have forgotten from where I came but I know where I'm going.. and it's allright doll. it's allright.

Dang. Yoga is Hard.

Yoga was brutal yesterday. I had to drop to my knees about 4 times in the hour, but something kept me going, as vain as it sounds, i'm beginning to love to look at my reflection in the mirror..it almost doesn't look like me anymore..I can the waist under all of it coming out, my arms slimming down, my legs leaning out and my yoga bootie (!) forming. So I keep going. I also know when I hit that mat for the final position its all worth it. My body can do so much that I never knew was possible. My body MOVES! YES!

Fell like a stone to sleep last night, and couldn't wake up on time this morning. I'm going to have to do some jogging at the house today because tonight is Mad Swirl and I want to get thier early and have a martini before I read! hah! I'm really looking forward to my new pieces tonight. Yes. It's going to be a good day!

Short post. Waiting for Uncle Steve to show up so we can eat some lockhart! Hell yes I love bar b que.

breakthrus and nothing but love.

I haven't been myself for days. And as strange as it may sound, it's actually been good this way. I mean, I think I'm finding a new me under all these layers i've been peeling back for what it seems like to be for years. And something happened to me last night that had been dieing to get out of me.

We were drinking some beers and listening to my ipod. I just recently updated my music to include the top played songs and the top rated songs, 5 and 4 star tracks. It's been interesting to hear it all. Sometime I wonder what day and what mood I was in to say, yes! thats 5 freaking stars! It says something intimately about a person, and ipod. I say when I die, just plug it in and play it and it will tell you everything about me. But anyway, a song by Marchell Ivery came on, who was dear friends with Richard.. and it was melancholy and good and all of the sudden it hit me, that I think about Richard everyday. It isn't conscience, but something reminds me of him everyday. It also is because that without him, I wouldn't have this bookstore. My life has changed so dramatically from his passing. I don't know why I never took the time to aknowlege this in the way it needs to be honored. I say and closed my eyes and saw his face and hear his laugh and I said so sadly to C that I missed Richard, and that he was a very good friend to me. And he was. I can't think of any other friend I have every had that was a good and fair and kind and loving and human as he was. And then it hit me like a freightrain. I cleaned out his apartment the day after he passed. I played Marchell on the broken down CD player while i went thru his things, touched his clothes, went thru stacks of papers and writings and little things. Placemats and salt shakers. Table by the sun, his thin pancake matress on his floor, his books stacked in places ready to be fisnished with his torn paper place markers in them. His favorite chair next to his box of flutes. It hit me hard. I was important to him. I was one of the people that cleaned up his house. This is big. It's a big thing. Why did I not see that what he was to me was so much more that a friend. I used to tell him that I wished he was my Dad. He told me he wished I was his daughter. And the tears came hard.. and I let them wash over me.. feeling this big solid rock float off of my chest.. I think it's been there since he died.. I covered up the hole that was left when my heart broke in two and the other half floated away with him.. we used to swim every week. float in the sun on our backs and talk about important things. He told me about his youth, about his parents and family that he was estranged from. He told me about New York and taxi driving and jounalism and newspaper work, and the unions and the communist party and when he worked for Head Start, and how he taught the kids, and what Central Park was like, and on and on and on.. and we'd float and talk all day until we were hungry and then we'd go eat vegan lunch or chinese food and be refreshed and happy.

RICHARD YOU WERE SO BIG TO ME. RICHARD YOU WERE SO IMPORTANT TO ME. RICHARD I WILL ALWAYS AND FOREVER CARRY THE MEMORIES WE SHARED AND I WILL NEVER FORGET HOW LARGE AND IMPORTANT YOU ARE TO MY LIFE. even now, in the still of the day, years after you pass, i can feel your love, and most of all I can accept it and own it for myself. I wish you were here, my friend. My life is forever changed for knowing you. Now i'm going to cry again. But i'm not sad.. i'm so so very happy that I knew you.

menudon't

DREAM

I'm working in the store, the old one in irving.. same old dream again, it's night and it's time to close shop but outside it seems so late, too late, like a 3am moonlight late. I screw up something and we have to stay late. I remember this night. I made it all worse for everyone. I've had this dream before. I set off the alarm and we all have to stay. The boss is mad at me. Finally I make it out and go to the airport.
At the airport the light is white and clean. It's empty.. I'm walking to the baggage carosel and on my way back from it, my hands are empty I have no bags to claim, I see Russell Brand standing in black by the door.. I quickly say as I pass.. 'Russell Brand.. you are amazing..' and I walk thru the doors only to trip and fall to the floor. He comes to me and pulls me up.. then we talk in garbled dream speak, his face is caring and kind.. and I tell him about the job and the fuck ups that follow me around like a plague..he says 'love' alot and seems generally concerned for my well being.. in his tight black pants and eyeliner and crazy hair.. I get on my plane, only to see he is on the same flight.. he has a bottle of whiskey at his lap and our chairs are facing eachother. I curl up into the two seats that I have and he watches me as I fall asleep.

Booksigning was good. Not spectacular and not a disaster. Thats all you can ask for. Today only 2 kids showed up for storytime. I'm exhausted. I stayed up too late after a full day yesterday, and today I intend to do the same. I have a dance I want to go tonight, but tomorrow I will rest and be in my home.

LIFE! There is something missing lately. Nothing is filling the void like I want it to. I want yoga to fill me. I want the bookstore success to fill me. I want the community support to fill me. I want the art and the poetry and music to fill me. I can't find the full feeling anymore. I don't fill myself up with food anymore and now I feel so empty. Always trying to fill in the extra spaces with something. Distractions. Lonliness. Spirituality. Next week i will know if this is what my soul is craving. I will be seeing the Dalai Lama on the 9th. I can hardly believe it. What will happen?

aye aye aye

crazy days. it's just a little store. what if they don't like it. what if it is too mom and pop, not slick enough. my handmade signs y todo. sometimes i get to feeling very small. i was on my knees polishing the floor at 9am this morning. I was dusting the shelves and moving things around. i lost my table that i needed and the AC is still out. Nothing every comes easy. I haven't eaten breakfast or lunch, but on the up side I can see my arms slimming down from all the downward dog. I needed someone to rescue my today, but he doesn't get off of work till 3:30. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I'm a mess. I'm excited. I'm hoping someone will be impressed. I'm hoping we sell all these books we bought. i'm hoping everyone is nice and that the night is over soon so I can stand in my living room and do downward dog and the corpse pose till I fall asleep. These things.. wreck my ocd and my anxiety disorder. the medication keeps me from totally wigging out, but it's still there. its still there.. and where would it go? its always been there. today we just have to get thru each hour and make it to the end of the night. deep breath. here we go.

a poem for my yoga girl friend

girl friend i tried to tell you again
when the phone rings and time stings and
brings those old emotion backed lens
everything is clearer, fiercer, and fine
our life divine in lotus
and mudras the spine exhales like a cobra
bent over and skull ragdoll exhale
unto the wood floor
girl friend theres more
than this daily exsistance resistance
to truth in hourglass speed
we do in good deed the love that we need
pasting parts of ideals over the real
marking faces with dreams of gracefull esteem
roll over it, make it to place that is deemed
fantastical, spastical lucid and concrete
the growth of woman will not be discrete
our hair grows like branches our arms
know the motion
wave like the ocean theses hips have the notion
inside is the potion
girl friend girl friend
our ties never bend
come dance with me
at last lets be
entirely to the end.

catching up, slowing down.

swirling emotions, and bad dreams. good vibes and strange nights. losing myself in distractions lately. Yoga makes you breathe and slow down. All the thoughts rolling around in my head so hard to quiet. Even with medications and mindfull awareness.. the slow comes hard to me. had a good talk with friends on Sunday after Bills. Sometimes it's good not to have a timeline to return to. I forget what that feels like. It feels so good that I want C to feel that way soon. Maybe we can forget our troubles in a night that never ends. Maybe i'm just thinking fairytale dreams again. Maybe i'll never learn.

Yoga makes me feel stronger than I am. Now I can push up on my toes and flip myself into a number of positions in seamless succession. Still there are lots of things I cannot do. The bathroom scale keeps mocking me. It stays the same place. I at this point have given up and given in to the yoga, zumba, long walks and feeling terrific no matter what that fucker says. Today is overall day. Overall and 75208 t shirt day, baby doll hair clip and pony tail. Flip Flops. Red lipstick. Dj Shadow. I ran into an old friend in Xpo last night. He asked me what I hadn't done in a long time for fun and I said go dancing. It's been a long time, but I dance everyday in the store, in the house, in the supermarkets, in the car. Especially in the store. Everyday when my back is tight and the streets are ignoring my little windows I just turn it up and dance. I asked him and he said swimming. He grew up by the coast. I can't imagine feeling so lonesome for something that is in your blood like that. It's almost like breathing. I miss the beach. I miss the feeling that no one is missing me if I am there. I like the feeling of not having to answer to anything but the ocean and the sky. Sunburn and all, it's worth it. Not this year, maybe next. I've written countless poems about the ocean. I am a fish, I will always long to be there. And yet I respect its power. Jazz jazz and open mic guitars. Cigarettes and trainspotting. My old friend and I try to figure out life over a few puffs and musings. Our train will never come. Not the one we are waiting for. He is broken right now. I'm a fixer upper always in transition. We are both beautiful, happy and sad at the same time. We laugh and think people think we are talking about serious things. It's just life, on a monday night in xpo park. Everything has changed in 20 years. No more bookstore, no more deli on the corner, no more retro shops. Bars and bikes and gastropubs. Is that what will happen to X+? It seems like it could be. I walk back to the jazz bar and let the music hit my back and the wind hit my face. i drive home and he is sleeping. coze up to his warm familiar body. the day holds so much for us. Sometimes I lay for hours listening to him sleep. What will tomorrow bring?

and another note, just ran into a regular that has been coming around. looking for work now, and yes, he knows A.P. and it just proves that everyone in the world knows AP. You probably do to. Crazy wild mad man on the piano and typewriter. Suitcases full of jewels of poetry. Stream of consciousness word play from another world. I love him. He hates me for now, but soon we'll be ok. Things happen and people say and do hurtfull things to each other. We are only human. I had a tall pedastal for him and his words, and well I always do for poets. Genius poets. So hard to contain in your life for more than fleeting moments. I will always love the mad ones. Always have and always will. I breathe in compassion and self love. I breathe out negative thoughts and paranoia and fear. I breathe into the positions that life is put me into and try to go deeper into them to understand thier signifigance in my life. In all life. I breathe in the understanding and knowledge to accept its lessons, but most of all I breathe out the fear. Namaste.

real deal

Oh oh my cranial bones ache at you
Shake for you
Waking mornings more blessed
Distressed undressed and
Mind pressed
Flies fly by the naked sky arounding
Astounding, the menial mess
That you left
Shorn cheeks of red weakness
And peakness, obliqueness
Bobbed in my shoulder nest of you
Knew, blew and screw
Tenacious of the heartbreaker
In two
Falling wicked, who’s sicker
And thicker the hero or shero
In this 33 1/3 world rounding about
Stout and loud
We call a crowd with you and the voo doo that doo
Do you like me like a poet
Or flim flam me like a sullen gullet of now
See I wanna know the real deal phil
Arch nemesis be well with us in the chains of the pains
That a lonely heart creates
Take my
Bandages, my baggages, my handbags of pre marital mercury
And call me a good girl
Meet me in church with this broken mouth
These rotating lips and shorn hips
I’d hide the bounty of my bootie
Tied up in straps, chaps, betting craps
And loose like a noose
To hang infidels like us by
Real real I wann know the real deal gangster
Lay it down heavy on the levy between the gleam of your
Rival teams
Lets break this, reshape this, rewind and find that familiar grind
Who’s played this record today
Let em say
They knew it would happen
As soon as we met.

rain of emoticons.

Saw Austin High Screening last night at The Kessler. Had a great time.. it's a perfect movie that embodies the weird wonderful strangeness that is Austin TX. You know everyone in Dallas secretly wishes they were in Austin, right? Or is that just me? Anyway, see this movie, wherever and however you can. It's gold. Get yourself in the right mood before hand and it's even better. I particularly liked the animation, and 'fantasy scenes'. All the characters were rich and developed and I liked all of them, even if I was suppossed to hate them. Thats always the best!

Had Dr appointment yesterday, and I am ALL GOOD. False negatives retested, blah blah blah, and I am all good! The Dr. is proud of my achievments, the yoga and zumba and walking and biking have paid off in bringing down my glucose levels. Hasn't done much for my weight loss, but I must argue, along with Felicia that I must have grown some muscles... so there! oh yeah and there's a yoga bootie just fighting to get out! Amazing!

Finding myself alone again today at the shop. It's been good here lately the store looks full and beautiful, in the works to getting the air back on, and just keep on keeping on. Last night we ran into a couple that were so happy we were here, and excited to have a bookstore in their neighborhood. It just makes it worth it for a while, after you've been discussing, planning, suffering at the hands of this wicked fate of being what is considered an obsolete type of business, being broke, working long hours and planting a smile on your face to show the world that everything is ok, even if its not. It gets exhausting. Then someone tells you how they've been turned on to something or someone, or has met the amazing group of poets or artists that we have the pleasure of knowing.. and it all fits together. Small moments. We'll never have that huge moment here.. it will always be the little sweet things. The faces of the kids we read to at storytime, the friends we make who find that book they've been looking for for years, the voracious readers who will talk to you and share thier love, the musicians who can sell thier work here that are so appreciative but it US that appreciate all of them, all of you and everyone. I'm going off on this tangent, because this life is so fleeting. I know I am so lucky to be doing this, however crazy and unwise my business decisions are, I will be here until I just cant do it anymore. I guess you'll have to drag my body out of here. Because I love this store so much. I do. I really do.

Been writing volumes on Forrest Fest. Couldn't have imagined that it would inspire me so, and it was the entire experience from leaving Dallas to traveling all the way to and from Lamesa. It was the fire I needed to get me back. To those of you who read me, thanks. It's good to know you are out there. More poetry to come. Stay tuned. and love love love.

mending fences

i've been having to do more talking than i usually like to do. i like to muse on things, I like to sit back and nod my head and take in the millions of details for words for later poems. i don't like serious. i don't like it one on one baby, but i do it because I have to, and because no one really digs the cryptic jazz all the time. Theres the delight in the cryptic, the taking from one part and melding into the second and third and then you have a group of things that form a puzzle and the picture comes thru. but with us, I can't find all the pieces and i think some of them have been missing for a long time, probably swept up in a rush trying to clean all the messes up. and yes theres been alot of messes, baby. I clean up good. But on the inside its all barbwire and broken thistle flowers and red clay dirt and dust mites. Maybe we can build a fence around us instead of between. Maybe we can finally start this life again clean. i'll need a hammer and maybe some glue. i'll leave it up to you.

no more premeditations

giving up premeditation,

str8 into life with no mind to hold me by,

head to the sky i clicked my heels to they rythem of lust,

wanted to catch your breath like a baby in my wilful lungs

but just kept tapping high heels like

loaded guns of skin on steel

on the asphalt

an imaginary line of will

that keeps us from floating up,

im giving up premeditation

and going down with meditation,

maybe this will clear my mind,

maybe someday i'll forget your shaking lines

and come clean with the answers you demand in time

never love a poet

I'm free.
Sometime cum and amuse me
Poetry hangover blues/dancing shoes parading west
down vest and cockatoo
My thread is red and will be missed turned to ashes by wildfires lips

Rusty alligator tooth windmill moaning free
dead tree
holes full of ragamuffin ruts and imaginary hands.
Snap the lens like a strobe globe of time.
We'll shoot down the fool moon and start new.
Now I know where to find you/(me) too.

A body cannot fill me like your poetry can
teeth pulled back,
jaw slack,
inhale and the spirit must come thru
quarter
nickel
cigarettes for two
tin can
earth kablam
only weeks until judgement day come what may
let's SWING it PROPER
beat daddies, laddies, stone cold fatties ,
exhale poetry into naked ears like erect sighs
thighs and gibberish lies...

Let's not get tripped up on this all traditional shit,honey,
dont get hysterical,
get small
Neal and Jack got things to do /n all
spinning words like birds into the beat blanket of stars
shooting verbs l-l-l-Ike mars
all stone sweet and majestic to
stomp my flesh heart yearnings stout
like a smoked out cigarette
no next chances on horse blankets and shalls
we exchanged it all
with the weight of my breasts in your hands

Oooooooooh...
and the carcrashes of disappointment!!
covered in dew,
each one like broken confetti eggs of dreams
You've made a glitter filled omelet of me
less than the sum, more than the making
breakfast alone in a room full of eyes shaking heads
marking my face with whisker burn telltale poetry of your consumed art
Just a swallow and now
I'm less than hollow
hallowed be thy seeded game

Gordon Thornton at Ruta Maya

eyes open, ears open, jaw dropped. just one of the many i had the pleasure to hear and meet this weekend. holy yes.

beret baby be beat

I met Neal Cassady in West Texas, playing guitar and babbling ba ba bas in his strumming lines of stream of consiousness in the last patch of green left standing in the arid smoke filled sky. I met Carlo Marx softspoken shuffling steps in the red dirt. I drank wine on ice with Gary Snyder, and smoked ciggarettes with a young Sylvia Plath. The swingset squeals make heaven music with the train track tracks cracking and bumping in sex rythem cars, under the stars, all eyes for the beatnicks being swallowed by the forrest sky at night. Red threads bit and stick and salt innuendo, parachutes and wind to catch us on our descent, cat in the hat on speed, laughing in cars, child eyes wide cautiously optimistic, STRUM STRUM STRUM, Torso to the side and chin down, STRUM STRUM STRUM, torso down and lips open, STRUM STRUM STRUM and gear shifting is difficult on the way back home, desexed and closed to the house with christmas lights and poets sleeping on the floor. spitfire or southern belle left twisting in the sheets dreambean in cotton coocoon, will return again soon and we'll sing this song to wake up our dorment dreams

this old paper pulp /n elementery notes
yes or no
maybe always everything such means so
much
school boy crush what a rushin
tulips (two lips) blusin' mentaly hoden hands
and lavender kisses tumble over the
not so full/fool moon spoon
yikes conapsis!colapsis verbal relapsis lax and dreamy
schoogirl creamy
flower bubbles sprout and bow
little cockatoo namedd REDY early to BED y#
he;s no funny chirpness clap and pluck
bequeathed to fuck
to be guitar string and STRUM and not be STRUNG can EYE s/pend the night
leave that one eYES n/ the AM win this has been done.

colab by g.t and e.o.s.

and theres fire on the roadways bringing us back home. blood spilt and beer shits, fast food wrappers and guilty cigarettes, skeleton wakes up, bones grinding in thier zippers, beat filled jeans, string beans, forever calavera hands, shifting grins and shrugging shoulders, walking back to georgia on the train tracks

mango chili overdrive or how i stopped worring and learned to love the blog

Zumba was a riot. My body is getting used to this activity, the trouble is I'm eating ravenously. I'm trying my best to eat better things but i feel like a black hole of emptiness swallowing everything in site, but damn my legs and ass are looking goood!!!

Everything fell into place thanks to my good friend Rosie, we'll be leaving at noon tomorrow for Lamesa, TX where I will be at my first(!!!) poetry festival. Good friends, some poetry, some new faces and friends will be the order of the weekend, and I'll get to hang out with my favorite person, who I never get to see, Rosie. Hopefully she won't get too sick of me!

Saturday C will be in charge of the store, the storytime, and the record store day sale. Woop. I got out of alot of work, huh?

This morning I had a horrible nightmare. It involved alot of people I know and love, but mostly it involved C, and his dissapearance. I was so heartbroken in my dream that I cried for him and even cried for my mom. I woke up crying from this strange but very realistic dream, and the cat was sniffing my face and licking my nose as I felt the hot tears from my eyes. I don't know what brought this on. But I felt so afraid and the house was empty I instantly for a second felt that the dream was real and I texted Carlos who responded quickly.. I don't know, I usually don't get so caught up in my dreams that I forget reality.. and why was I crying out for my mom? And why was everyone from the poetry scene there? Why was Clebo there? Why were people walking on water? I've seen that pool before, I remember we were all walking on its surface once and that the water turned to glass under our feet.. and in the bedroom there were strangers having intercourse and I was disgusted by the open windows, Clebo was in the hottub wearing his hat and drinking whiskey, Jason Edwards was swimming in green swim trunks, all these people i haven't seen in years.. and then the note from C, telling me he tried his best to be a family with me, but that it just didn't work, and his cell phone sat on the motel bed, our family picture on its screen and I knew he was gone and I couldn't call him..wandering in and out of the hotel rooms hoping that one of these people weren't him but hoping it kind of was so I could grab him and bring him back home.. hot, thick blankets and dry mouth, i cried out to the only person I thought could help me, my mom, who is dead but in my dreams she is only a call away,, she didn't answer this time,, and i cried and cried till i woke up in a state.

I got to work 10 minutes late, i had overslept and had a list of things I had to do before I leave tomorrow. Mary came in and could tell I was sad. She understands missing people, but like a mother she reassures me that C isn't going anywhere..she gave me a breakfast taco. I ate it. I think it made me feel better.

and on and on.. this day full of questions plans and excitement. he told me last night that he'll miss me. not half as much as i will him. I think the nightmare was from the mango chili paleta I ate last night, along with the chicken wings and carrot sticks. Or maybe I just worry too much.

oogie boogie self sabotage monster on the loose! no worries, it's just me.

I had my first session of Yoga with the Tranquillo owner last night. I was told he was intense..and he really was! I have never been so challenged in my life, and once again, I'm still in disbelief that I can even do this. At moments I could feel streams of sweat pouring down like rivers in my eyes and face and down my body and I think.. this is what it feels like to be alive. To someone who has never felt this it is a strange and facinating sensation. Yeah it was hard, but it didn't hurt, it just challenged me. I had to stand back a few times and let it wash over me..but I DID IT..and again..I thank the universe for this new found health and power, and pray that i can continue down this path. I feel so fortunate.

This weekend I will be in Lamesa Tx for my first poetry festival. I don't know how to behave, and I don't even know if I have a proper ride and if I will get there on time! Oh so disjointed, and self sabotaging! How old and unrefined of me. Scared. I'm scared to be around all these new people. I'm scared to be judged and at the same time I want to be anonymous.It's all so dramatic. It's all so real. What the hell am I? An a actual poet?? I guess so. Damn. Here she goes, now how am I going to screw this one up?

The store is slow. It has been now going on for two weeks. Maybe it will be good to get away. Maybe. I really have to do this. God, I'm scared.

poetry, you've got me where you want me, on the sofa unrequited again

Photo by Rosie Lindsey

Poets on X+ was great, laid back, fun, funny, entertaining, happy, loving, sharing, and amazing. I'm so glad to know such wonderful people who just happen to be the most talented poets, artists, photographers in the OC ! What a life!

Nice short list of strong poets, followed by Lilly Penhall who took the spotlight and spread her energy all around. She was brilliant! I'm so glad she agreed to do our feature. Carlos and I stayed late at the gallery cleaned up a little and locked up and went out for a late supper. When we got home we collapsed. It was a sound sleep.

I didn't go to yoga yesterday, and I am already regretting it, as I won't be able to go today either since I am in charge of the store today. Tomorrow I'm going to slow flow and give it a try out. My muscles are not sore anymore, and I kind of miss that. I want to stretch them out again.

The AC is out in the shop. This has almost surpassed the slowest week of my life at Tyler/Davis. It's been dead, and today it's Saturday and I can't get a bite. I know there are alot of events going on in Dallas this weekend, but DAMN, can't I catch a break? The AC keeps anyone from staying long enough to linger, the door open with all the car exhaust and the annoying music from across the street.. and damn.. nobody wants to read anymore. I'm slipping into my negative cycle here. I know I need to stop, but sometimes, I just want to scream. Everyone sees on the outside what a dream it is to have your own business, when in actuality, its a nightmare most of the time. We had to close early yesterday because it was just too fucking hot to stay. I'm frustrated. lets move on.

Sweet P is with me at the store today. She's reading Gaiman short stories. We ate gorditas for lunch and were having a great little conversation till I asked about boys and then she crushed her coke can like the hulk and sulked for the rest of the meal. I have no idea how to talk to her. She is some other kind of beast. I guess I sometimes forget we are not friends, we are mom and daughter. It kinda makes me sad in a way, but I understand. i just wish I could have it both ways sometimes, but that is MY affliction. I just want a good friend, and I need to not put that on my daughter. I need my own friend.

But last night. Sitting in the gallery with uncle steve.. telling him that sometimes i want to pinch myself when we are there having the reading. it's really all I ever really wanted. I just wanted to host a reading that takes its own personality and movement and growth. i like to sit back and just take it all in. All these great people. all these great spontaneous moments..with my arms out ready to fly.. the words give me wings..it's just like me to feel that way.. another way to escape.
got drunk, jack would have been proud,rambling down the alleyways to the greasy diner and in the last red vinyl booth the old timer in his cowboy hat and western suit talks and laughs to himself, all the waitresses and even the cook, who unfortunately looks like she may have hit the pipe one too many times, white face, skeletal features, hollowed out eyes, well she moves like a dancer in front of the grill, breaking eggs into silver bowls with panache, flipping burgers and sprinklling cheese, toasting bread and slathering butter, turning pirouettes as she flips pancakes, she almost has 8 arms, this skinny girl, in baggy skinny jeans with rhinestone designs on her pockets that are sagging over her skeletal body, while the other waitress cuts a huge slice of chocolate merange pie like a skyscraper and places it inbetween us with two forks and two white napkins..and his eyes are tired..and mine are rolling back with drink and smoke and all the words i wanted to say to everyone of the people i know and love, shake thier shoulders, hey, don't you know i love you? don't you know that even in your darkest hours im shooting love bows and arrows into your hearts? that i long to feel your embrace and see your smiles and hear your laughter at all hours of the day echoing in my mind..oh humanity, such and eggshell of delicacy and purity and pure potential..every moving onward..oh this life is so beautiful, with its pirouetting cooks and starlight, moonlight crooked smile peeking at me thru the chainlink fences of this suburbia dream..then i look up and like a cat he's sitting there smoking cigs in his boxer shorts, he listened to every word we said..and I wish I had said something more than my drunken rambling, and i wish i could have yelled up to him, hey you, don't you know that crooked smiling moon is seeing you in your boxers? and he'd laugh and break the serious in his face, his lines would melt and shoulders would bend low in relaxation..and the door of the gallery, the back door I mean, it was letting in ghosts all night man..dig.

lone

i'm ready for a best friend again. someone to drink with and talk shit with. someone to confide in and be there for. Someone to work out with, and play with. i want someone to thrift with and share clothes with and paint nails together and all the things I used to do with my best friend. i've let her go. Now i'm ready for a best friend again.
Emotional turmoils ok, as long as you are willing to work on yourself.
Baggage from other best friends, accepted but i will make you feel like a friend should.
i will bring you food when you are hungry and remember you birthday.
i will not be as flakey as i've been in the past.
I'm ready for a best friend again. Universe: answer my plea. It's getting pretty lonely being the 3rd wheel for everyone elese's BFF relationships. i don't know, maybe i'm kidding myself. Maybe all I can have is 'friends' and not a best friend. It's never worked for me.
But I'm so lonely. Only the blank pages listen to me anymore.

go with the flow, yo

Flow Yoga.

Terrifying and fierce. Gentle and reassuring. Deep and spiritual. Why am I the one that cries at the end of yoga sessions? I don't know why, but it is very triumphant for me to be in that class and challenge myself and make it to the end like everyone else. I've come so far and yet I still have so long to go. Laying in repose, after the stretching and challenging to myself, I thought about Richard. I thought about how I wish he was here to see the changes i've made in my life. And then I wept softly as the lights got dimmer and i dissapeared into myself. Breathing in and out like a mantra. Sending waves of sorrow and waves of joy into the unknown where he's sleeping, or swimming or writing poetry or sailing away in the clouds. Heaven is on earth, i think, when I look up into the sky, into that beautiful blue, or i look into my lovers eyes, or I hear my child laugh or just see her smile. Life is for living, growing, doing, and laying in repose and loving it all. 14 days. 2 days down, and I feel like a new person already.

After yoga, i was blissed out. We went out for dinner then to the Suite art show at the Belmont. It was supercool. P was really excited to be there and I saw a print I want so BADLY that is just like my bike! Pink and white and it even has doves around it. We are going to go back and get it next week at the 1976. I can't wait to hang it on my wall! We also ran into CJ and jabbed about thangs. Love him. Ran into Suzi and jawwed it up too. We finally made our way home and I'm un my jammies and ready to hit the sack. Sleep will be so good tonight, and tomorrow I will be trying Flow Yoga again. Take 2.
Namaste

dirty martinis and red lipstick

Yesterday I went to Zumba for the first time in about a year. It was a blast. I went with my 2 new friends, and although i'm the largest person in the room I felt happy and free and enjoyed the way my body moved so much easier than it used to. It was hard to be faced with all of me, wobbling and out of place, but there was laughter, and acceptance. i accept you body. fat and all. You've gotten me far and I'm making sure that i take care of you so that I can still keep going. So I have a 14 day pass, and I'm going to make the most of it. I think it will be a joy to spend 1 hour a day on myself.

After the workout we walked to the car, thru the neighborhoods at night, smelling elotes, and all the good stuff thats always cooking down in the Bishops. Fel dropped me off and I hit the shower and put on my dress and got down to the Swirl. It seemed pretty quiet and then all of the sudden it was well, madness! I had one glourious dirty martini with four olives. It was like a taste of heaven. I felt so pretty last night, and I got alot of compliments. I am learning to accept them..it's always been hard for me..but now, I just feel so good sometimes about myself, it's like a suprise gift when I like who I am. Almost like a birthday, or a suprise kiss or hug from someone you love. I'm always at my best when I feel like i'm taking care of myself. Anyway, the swirl was great, by the time I read it was pretty thinned out, and I was glad, cause I read a new rewrite that I'm still not satisfied with, but at least it sounded ok. The best part of the Swirl is talking with other poets about thier craft. Oh I can talk all day about writing! I love to hear how other people work, and what they think about the craft, and discussing other writers. The construction of art amazes me. I went to sleep last night dreaming about russian nesting dolls in the shape of all my friends..and we were all fitting inside each other happily, it moved in unending circles, and everyone was fitting into everyone and i smiled myself to sleep thinking, no one gave me this idea..what a wonderful thing imagination is! what a gift to be a writer, even if I don't capitalize everything or write things in proper form. what a gift it is to just want to write and to do it so freely without care of what anyone else thinks. I feel blessed for that. And friends. And zumba. And dirty martinis, and men who stand up when you walk into a room and make you feel beautiful. Thank you, you know who you are. <3

ride like the wind, petticoats and broken sidewalks

What is there to say? Bike rides and broken rusted pipes and crushed cans of energy drink on the sides of the road. i bought my summerdress, it's still very tight, but it looks ok. i found it at the thrift for 10$ with the tags still on. I wore it and out on eyeliner and lipstick and i wore my crazy hair tied back tight. I'm beginning to wear it away from my face.. its intersting to see my face now, really look up close at it and see whats been under the layers for so long. I once weighed 320 pounds. No one believes me, and i don't have any pictures really because i refused to be in them at all. there is one, its blurry and I can scan it. I will do that tomorrow. Anyway. I wore my dress and everything was fine, until i opened up my fat insecure mouth and got myself in trouble. I hate fights. My mind gets mixed up and I can't remember why I was mad in the first place so I just cry. And i get on my bike and go..crying all the way up the streets with my dress flying up around me, and my eyeliner running and I think about all the horrible things I say and the way I treat the people I love. Sometimes I can feel the crazy rising up in me. For years pushing it down and away and plastering a smile on my face. I'm a mess. I ride to my friends house and I feel like an intruder but the fan feels good and there is bottle water and I wash my face in the sink and I stop crying about things I can't change.

Today, the doctor tells me nothing, just draws more blood and tells me he will call me with the answer, if there is any. I rode my bike to the office and back, and I notice how much greener all the green is when its up close..i mean you can smell the green of spring in the grass and trees, and when it's hot the shade you roll by refreshes you for the moment with its lush blanket.. I ride slow on the way back, I ride steady and look at every detail of each manicured lawn, half open window with curtains fluttering in and out of the windows. I cut through the park, and a lonely duck cusses at me as I whirl by, I quack back and he flips around and shows me his duck tail ass and dissapears under the lagoon water. The park is desolate, and the streets are being torn apart by big machines and men with hard hats. I wish myself invisible as by now I am huffing and puffing like only a fat girl on a bike can. Finally I give up and hop off the bike and walk it up the incline to the main road. I'm glad that I have taken my time as I look up into the trees and see the squirrles following each other up and down the trunks in spiral staircase fashion, flipping from branch to branch in thier own symphony of movement..so graceful and quiet. The wind is torrential..at least it pushes on me and pulls my bandanna off my head with a great force.. i manage to grab it as it flys behind me..its funny that someone recognises me as i hop back on my bike on the main road..they are yelling from thier balcony.. 'Ohhhpalleeenaaahhh don't get blowwnnn awaaaaay!' and I wave and smile and pedal back home, thankful for water, a half carton of left over pad thai, and a warm sweater on my shoulders.

Last night a power breaker went off and we were out of light for hours. First we sat on the porch and talked to the neighbors that were in the same predicament, then we sat alone and silent, still akward from our argument from earlier that day. It always takes 24 hours before it seems normal again. 24 hours of going thru the motions. cleaning the house, and the dishes and the laundry and doing the things a woman is supposed to do. Subserviant pennance for being out of line, I do this to myself, not one expects it. Its what mom did. It's what I do, and if my daughter pays attention she'll inherit this same bullshit move. I don't know why. I stay out of the way, don't ask for anything. make a stellar meal or two, it makes me feel better. maybe i'm not that crazy, i think, afterall i can run a house ok. i can make a dinner and clean a dirty shirt. control. control. when i ride my bike, i am in control, if i cant pedal i get nowhere. if i pedal fast i can get there quicker. if I pedal slow i can be steady and take my time just for myself. no one leaves the argument before me. control. control. one day i'm going to give up. one day i'm going to let go..it gets so tiring to be in control. and then i end up at my friends house in tears drinking all thier water and slopping up thier sofa with all my snot and tears. This wind is my whirlwind. How would you feel with the wind slapping you around like this all the time? well thats how it feels.

i feel restless like the cat moving from one chair to the next. somehow its all suppossed to get better. i guess i just have to keep on moving in order to find it.

goodbye march, hello sexy

Goodbye March. I have the joy of sharing with you that I have got 3 more pieces published. I just found out last night after we rolled in after the Great Dan Savage experience at The Kessler. I can't imagine a nicer, more honest and frank person who give his advice so freely and unapologeticlly. I can't help but think that boy he had a hell of a mom. He is just a prince. I even asked him a question privately about talking about sex with my daughter.. and he gave me reassurance that i was doing it right (!!!!) and boy what a load off my shoulders. I come from an upbringing that NEVER talked about anything sexual. For my 12th birthday I was given a copy of ' Are you there god, it's me margaret' and that was the extent of my sexual teaching. I don't know how I got where I have, and I am lucky I didn't make any mistakes. But for the most part I was terrified of any kind of sexuality until I hit about 18, and then all bets were off. I'm glad and I thank the universe I didn't get myself killed somehow. AIDS was rampant, and so was Acid and X and all sorts of stuff that could get you preggo or killed. So if anything my parents made me terrified of sex, so I guess there is that! Today I returned to my new doctor only to find out that i GAINED 12 fucking pounds in 3 weeks. Red light. They ran all sorts of tests, and are asuming its the medication, which was changed today..but I just got a letter that they want to run MORE tests on me on Monday. I'm not worried, yet. But I def feel like something might be up. I had a pap, and a pregnancy test. (negatory.. thank goodness, but for 10 minutes I ran over the thought of holding a baby in my arms again, changing diapers, teaching it to walk, talk, read and getting it to the Presidency) About 7 years ago I went baby crazy and I just thought I'd die if I didn't have another one. I had some losses, and I gave up. It's not an issue for me anymore, because I meet young parents with little ones and I can just spoil them and coddle them all I want, buy them clothes and books and talk to them all day until they go home. It's like a surrogate granny. Oh I know I'm going to be a good granny someday, at least I hope I get a chance to be. Ok where is this blog going? oh yeah So more tests on monday. I dunno. I feel really good. I love my klonopin, in fact I feel more like my old self (we are talking way back in my 20s) again. I don't know if I could function on this level without something, but for safety sake i'm booking an appointment with a shrink, so maybe just maybe I can get all this worked out. I've got a lot of living to do and I'm ready to get this on the ball. Tonight, conjuntos at The Kessler. Hell Yeah. I may be dateless, but i'll dance my ass off. Gotta get this poundage lost somehow. And tomorrow the kids reading, so I have to go buy some clementines like the last time, the kids ate them up! I'm sure there is more I need to say, and in a more poetic way since this is National Poetry Month! (hooray) so I'll write this little one right now: wind rakes my hair with its whispiness i am a dandelion with a million wishes waiting to exhale pluck me from my concrete curb crack lay me on my back and let me tumble like a bob dylan song over the meadow and onto the rusted traintracks i breathe and i'm ready to swept away... eos.

but i'm still learning..

today today..wtf. it all started innocently enough and then bam, reality check and slam in my face. yes, it's that dramatic. but no, i can't tell you what happened, but it was fucked up. but somehow, its all going to be ok now. don't ask me how, but action (which i have to say I have never been good at ) got it all taken care of. I really know that now I am able to get off my ass and make something happen..as in the past, i just balled up like one of those roly poly bugs and had a crazy melt down. i even had time to laugh inbetween the crazy shit that was hitting the fan. but i tell you i couldn't have done it without my partner in crime. circles circles circles. you'll never know what we went thru today. but we survived. so far. and so tomorrow it's on again. who knows what madness will occur. a major event tomorrow night that i don't want to be a part of, possible former employers hanging out and checking out my store, snooty noses and all, fuck them. they dont even know the first thing of how terrifying, ridiculous and crazy it is to have thier own bookstore. by the seat of my pants. and someone today even asked me why I still do this even though i am TOTALLY in the hole at this point with almost no real way of making it out alive. And I just smiled. Because, it's what I'm suppossed to do. Don't be crazy. Let ME be crazy for you. you sit there in your button up shirt drinking you crappy watered down coffee in your cubical and your steady paycheck and never have this feeling i have right now.. what is it? well it feels like i just jumped off the empire state building and landed on a feather pillow held by Russel Brand who gives me a big beautiful toothy grin and calls me 'love'. you don't feel that when you play it safe. you don't feel anything the way I feel it... but.. i'm still learning. and hopefully the rush won't be so terrifying as it has been today. i'll turn the key to my front door of my little sweet, amazing, beautiful funky little shop that no one really believes in 'cept for all us crazies that jump off of buildings every day. amen.

my mondays are better than yours

Burlesque on Saturday. fun show. nice ladies that have real bodies make me feel good about myself. they have bigger boobs, but thick thighs and i think i can relate. most of all i want some new clothes, dresses that tear away and lots of feather boas and sexy underwear. I'll always be a girly girl. I wore a black pencil skirt, my beatnik stripes sleeveless turtleneck and black laceup corset belt, fishnets and patent leather heels and my black beret. Ooh la la. I felt way underdressed. But it was dark. Convinced C to go with and I think he had a good time too. It was a great show. I love the look in the ladies eyes when they perform. it's that look when you know you've got that audience eating out the palm of your hand. i love that feeling. Sunday spent the day going thru old journals back all the way to 99. That would have been when I had only been married for 2 years. It's crazy. There is some good work I can use, and last night at Bills I read some and it went over well. The only thing about the old journals that bothered me was that I feel like I can see the bipolar in writing. The manic love tones, and the very low lows. Too many lows. How much of my life have i spent in a funk of lowness? It's beginning to become very clear this is an issue and that it always has been. Time to find someone to help. All of that being said, last night was great. Desmene was great with Zim on background blues guitar. There were lots of old and new friends. We met at Lilly's new pad just up the street before the show and had a few drinks and talks. Love my friends. We made our way to Bill's and I said hello to Paul and talked to him a bit before the overwhelming depression in him kicked in. I told him I was sorry that I pushed him away so hard, but that I am still learning how to create boundries. It's true, I still am. Boundries that will let me keep friends without entirely pushing them away forever. It's a sticky thing. Well it was good to be near him, afterall we've been friends since before I even met C. It's a strange thing to go thru so much with someone but always be so removed, just due to all the mental instability (on both sides) I tell him about his kids. I tell him he needs to text them more often, and that they are beautiful when they are at the store eating all the candy and drinking all the water and touching everything gently with thier small hands. Always wearing thier bike helmets, always asking questions about everything, and always being so polite. I wish the world for them, but most of all I wish for a father that is well enought to spend more than a few hours a week with them at a time. So much amazing poetry out there. It was like being in some great beat room, drinking wine, snapping it up and couples making out between the tall aisles of records. This is my element. This is my place in life. I can't get enough of the way I feel around live performance. Screw the movies and screw the radio. i want real drama and music in my face. The energy that is exchanged is electric vibrations of positiveness. It makes me feel so good all over. The girls in thier pasties, the musicians bleeding onto thier guitars and microphones, the poets closing thier eyes and pointing thier fingers and swaying thier hips to thier own rythem.. on yeah, thats where I want to be. Always. And now today, slept like a stone till 11:30, now drinking water with lemon, washing clothes and watching the sun peek out like hide and seek. The dogs (wolves) next door and sleeping under the trees, and I think the wind must still be cool. The hardwood floors in the house are chilly. I could be doing so much more today than I am, but I love my time alone. Have I told you that? I really love my time alone. Sure sometimes I need to be around people, but mostly I want to be here in my home, stroking Mars the cat and listening to some music on the kitchen radio. For lunch I'm boiling eggs. My scale MUST be tripping. I can't be gaining so much weight on eating nothing. It's time to start writing it all down again. Wednesday Fel and I are going to zumba. Oh yeah. I can't wait. Maybe that's all that counts. Today I need to take a jog and do some bowflex. Cooking fish tonight. wish me fish me luck. Fish and veggies and brown rice. Oh boy I sound old. And then I banish my husband to the bedroom (to sleep) so that maybe later we can listen to some jazz at the Amsterdam, and if not then we'll stay in and watch MASH and sleep good night dreams. The rest of my day, transcribing some of this poetry, working on the fiction, wash clothes and bedsheets, eat boiled eggs, peeling them over the sink under running water watching the squirrels try and bother the wolfdogs..feed the cat milk since no one is watching, fold clothes that smell like spring and watch the tall stalks of wildflowers and dandelions sway in this cold wind. Jog, stretch, shower and daydream some more. I've got some hardcore daydreaming today, and I can't think of a better day to do it on.

lowdown bike riding blues

Low.

Feeling kinda low. Hang my head off the edge of my sofa and sigh. Why? I dunno. Run out of the rock show on my bike peddling for my life. Why? Turn down invitations and sit and smoke all the pall malls. Why? The world turns slow. The days go and go. And I'm so low.

Maybe friends with bottles and stories will help. Maybe a conversation that comes easily would bring some peace. Not tenmillionstories running thru my brain and the everpresent hum of the world that won't turn off its lights. Low.

I got 3 pieces into 'Every Reason' issue 6. I'm waiting on 2 more publishers. Will I be 1 for 3, 2 for 3, or make a home run? I miss my grouchy no poetry writing mentor. I miss his laugh. I miss his stories of hustling books and handywork. I miss his face. I can't call him because I don't have a phone, and if he reads this, he'll hate all my run on sentences and misspelled words. I love him.

Mary came by yesterday. I missed her too. I miss too many people. What's wrong with me? Low.

I'm starting Milan Kundera's the book of laughter and forgetting. This may or may not be a good idea. I've got to read up on horticulture, i'll be gardening soon. i miss uncle steve. he's in love and in his own world and he'll read this and shake his head. I miss my husband because he works and sleeps and asks me all the time whats wrong with me. I don't know. Low.

Someone help me lift the low. Bend down over with me and pick it up. We'll tie to the broken kite and sail it away. I am mourning the death of something. I don't want to tell you what, but after this weekend it may be inevitable. Low. It's such a beautiful thing we've made. Why won't they just come and see it. Appreciate it. Love it like I do.

I've got to stop listening to these bike riding blues. Spokes turning like prayerwheels with empty dreams and lost intentions. All the people in cars are driving off to live thier lives. I watch them when they have apathy in thier eyes, glazed over on autopilot with the lists of chores or people eating them up inside. I see freewheeling teenagers behind sunglasses roaring like thier death will never come. I see women in tears in thier SUVs. I see men in cowboy hats with mardi gras beads dangling from thier rear view mirrors looking for a party everywhere, honking at every bare leg. Kids staring out the windows, driven to thier next experience.

I ride my bike at night and sometimes i want to ride off into forever. dark quiet and unnoticed. I could just dissapear like Enid on the imaginary bus out of town.

I miss my best friend. Fuck her. Fuck her life without me.

this blather don't matter

Raul Midon killed me last night. I'm still on a mutha effin high. Just saying.

Its been a good productive day. Visits with babies and guitars and musicians and friends. Thursday always brings out my favorite people. I submitted 6 poems today to 2 different publishers. I've been holding some stuff back from my usual postings so that I could take this leap. Most of these places won't let you simultaneously submit, so I have to keep my mind on what may work for each place. One of the zines I'm really excited by..but who am i kidding. I am so small town right now and I guess i'm doing it just to get the rejection slips! I can start tacking them up around the walls of the bookstore, make us all feel at home.

Planning on a movie tonight with the infamous Texaho. Videodrome at the Texas. But before that I plan on eating massive amounts of dinner as my sugardaddy got paid today. I want to eat like a queen! I've been eating sour pickes and smoking cigs all day. Yuck. I'm so hungry this laptop is looking mighty tasty.

and the blahs? they are blahing away. i'm trying. i'm trying. 2 more weeks and if this doesn't get any better i'm trying some new meds. I hear theres some cheap yoga on sunday that I really need to do. Where's my ballance today? Somewhere out the window and flying like a broken kite. i've never been good at ballance, i can't even walk down a line. It's all or everything.
never nothing. that reminds me, i need to go to costco.

late nights on davis street

Something possesed me to stay late tonight. Some kind of inking that maybe something interesting might happen. I was wrong. Most of the day spent pricing moving things around, chasing kids around the displays like ticklemonsters, peeling clementines, eating peanut butter out of the jar. Oh i'm so bored. I don't know what I expect from this world. Everything dull and lusterless, everything on the bring of orgasmic release only to be left panting and unsatisfied. World what do you owe me? What do I owe you? Some days passed like diamond raindrops and frightening bright sunshowers that I swore I'd hold on to forever. Now forever seems like an evil prospect. I know I shouldn't complain. I have so much. What do I do with it all now?

Stark Naked Reality on the jeep's interceptor midnight radio waves

Here it is now days have passed and so many things to write about. First and foremost, my glucose levels are back to norms. Of course I probably shouldn't be drinking Blue Moons but they are so good. Second, Weir is out of jail, for now and hopefully will stay out of there forevermore. He sat on my futon cleanshaven and holding a beer when i walked in. That was the best thing in the world to see. Mags and he drove over and we held it down on the porch with delicious wind and all. Even uncle Steve was there. We asked all sorts of questions about the clink, took shots and drank beers and shot the shit all night. I love my porch meetings. Weir read 2 new pieces he wrote inside and they were a-fucking-mazing. Sober writing. His talent has no bounds and his work just keeps getting better and better. I perpetually feel humbled in his pressence. He has such a finger on the poetry of human condition.

When the night broke up after listening to music off the jeep's radio, and watching Steve spin off on his borrowed bike, we holed up in the house eating popcorn and sour pickles and watching the tube. I sank like a stone on a feather when i fell asleep. I really love sleeping now. I sleep uninterupted and fully for probably the first time in my life.

Well thats the good stuff. The bad stuff well.. should I even go there. I mean, 2 days ago I was pissed to the world, then one day ago I was depressed as hell, and now today, I just don't know how to feel anymore. Gordon Hilgers is continuing to attack me online. There, I said his damn name. I'm so tired of this passive agressive shit. I'm so tired of waking up everyday to some other gaggle of lies he's fabricated in order to smear my name. i shouldn't have to be dealing with his fucked up shit. He's being vindictive and cruel. And yes, we were friends for over 15 years. Not just 2 weeks. That hurts. And no, I'm not going to forgive him for the things he said about my business, my life, my family, my RELIGION, my RACE and my CLASS. So everyone out there, just forget about it. Mental issues aside, he seems perfectly capable to function in the manner he chooses when he chooses to. And no I will never shake his hand. Something has been going on for a while now that makes people thing that its OK to attack me. It isn't. I don't know who you think I am, but i'm not a wilting flower anymore. I've effectively kicked away all the shitheads in my life, and Gordon is the last of that bunch. He's been a user, and abuser, and I'm over it. I am protecting myself. There must be some grand perception that my life is so much better than everyone elese. I'm just as broke, broken and confused as anyone else. Leave me alone and I promise I will never look in your direction again. Oh and another thing, please call me a bitch. I consider that a compliment. I was never your Yoko. I've always been Opal.

So now thats out of the way, and we shall never speak of it again.

on another note The meds have normalized me. NORMAL. It's itching at me, so I'm probably going to be working at crazy ideas to help me feel well, more normal for me. I want to paint. Or sculpt. Or streak down Davis st. I'm just warning you. :)

But for today, more bookselling, more LastFM on Tears for Fears Radio. Not in the nude, yet.

Supermoonjunespoonschooner.

The words are coming back. Sometime last night between the ride to MH and the end of the night watching tv and eating a delicious greasy not good for me moved to the darkside hamburger I found myself swirling in the thoughts and words again that had been gone for so long. I even had to take notes on the little notebook that Judy bought me for my birthday. I am actually beginning to feel normal again.

The night was perfectly strange and wonderful. First of all, yesterday at the store was amazing. A full fledged day of goodness. Lots of customers, beautiful weather and Ray Wylie Hubbard stopped by the shop the last few minutes of our day and bought a book! (picture up there^)

We closed shop and headed over to MH to make an appearance. I ate a cookie in the car. It was delicious. I wore my ridiculous 4 inch wedges and we had to walk a block to the house because the parking around those condos are ridiculous. We knew 'the nemesis' was going to be there. And he was. He made a beeline to C and stuck his hand out as some kind of stupid truce. Mind you, I was the one who was personally attacked and called names, etc. But he goes to C. C told him to fuck off. It was getting heated very quickly, and I just turned my head and said 'not the time or the place' and it broke up. Unfortunately, he continued to badger C all night and we cut out after only being around for an hour or so. Now I tell you I can understand he is mentally ill, but he seems to be well enough to be civil to everyone else around there. To cut it short, let me just say, he has a lot of work to do. He has a lot of work to do. On himself mostly.

But to describe the scene, well, lots of food, booze, gracious hosts and a whole lot of people I don't know. The poets stick near the food and the booze or on the deck smoking cigs of both hand varieties. I guess I knew it was time when I ran into the 'help' who looked a whole lot like me. But man, he has some great art, and everyone is really nice. I just can't help but feel I've dropped out of the sky into some other land. This is purely my affliction. One day it will feel ok. I think i'm getting there at least. I lasted longer last night than I ever had before without completely falling apart on the inside and feeling inferior.

Then we left that scene, snuck out under the radar while wine glasses still clinked and the scent of grilled shrimp wafted down the stairs. We made our way back to OC, and hit the club we were going to meet our friends at. I LOVED IT! What a great little dive. Little stage up front, lots of beer neon lights, a good bar with really nice help, and 2$ shooners of beer. Are you kidding me? In one night I went to imported to bud light and I was happy for it. C and I cut a rug a few songs, but mostly gabbed it up with our new friends. The Cliff Blues band sure know how to rock it. I was thinking about all the other little clubs everywhere in world that were partying it up on a Saturday night. Little bars all tucked away full of regulars having the time of thier life. All us working class people drinking beers at our Lobo, (like on Roseanne) and living it up for a bit before we have to get back up on Monday and do it all over again. Our exsistance is meager but real. Why can't I help but feel happier knowing that I'm never going to be more than what I am now. Even if things change and I do win that lottery, i'm never going to be happier than I am now, living this life in my little town where the bar tenders know my name, and the house band plays songs about the streets I live on.

Tonight is Supercute at MFA, and then Bills. Happy Sunday.

My fortune cookie today.

I took a 3 hour nap. Totally unheard of. But I feel amazing. This morning we celebrated our second Storytime at Cliff Notes. It was a success. Karen was amazing.

South by Ghetto

Everybody is at SXSW. Blah. If I could count how many times I actually planned on going to SXSW only to realise that 1. I don't have enough money, and 2. I would probably die of anxiety if I had to be around that many people at one time, I'd be exhausted. Today I am actually well rested despite a minor migrane attack. C opened the store and rearranged everything today. It was good to have a day off, but I am still learning how to get away from here even when I'm not here. I find myself staring out of my windows at home wondering what I could be doing if I was at the shop. Probably playing Cityville or something lame like that. Anyway, I just sat down to the counter at this hour, and will be closing in 57 minutes for the night. The Kessler turns one tonight and James Hall is going to rock it. I'm broke, (as usual) so I plan on sucking up the free water or pulling some bread together and get a six pack before I walk over. I HATE being broke. Today I had to go to a store and buy something and I saw signs all over the place for spring clothes sales. How girly and dissapointing for me. I really want some new clothes, shoes, bras, jeans, blouses, vests, everything everything everything!!! money money money~

Today I found a blouse I've never worn, and an old blazer that fits like a brand new outfit. I am also rocking some 4 inch wedges that I bought eons ago at the thrift store on a whim. Tight jeans. yes. i look good. Its a shame to look this hot and to be so broke.

Somehow i am suppossed to be learning something about this whole phase in life. but really at this point i'm almost 40 and I never thought i'd be scratchin' and survivin' like the Evans family. C'mon now, lottery hit me!

Bless my Asana

Last night was my first Yoga class. I was so excited about going that I came home, dragged out my workout clothes (that fit oh so much better than they used to!) got my fresh unused yoga pad and threw it over my shoulder and jumped on my bike, Roxie, and peddled down the steep hill to the rec center across the main road. Boy, did I fly!

Well, I got there almost 2 hours early! The park was filled with families and kids and ducks overstuffed with stale bread. I decided to cycle back to the store and wait it out there. All uphill. In traffic. I tell you, I have really become quite a fearless commuter on my little cruiser. I never thought I'd even consider riding outside my little neighborhood when I first got it a few years ago and look at me now. Can't help but feel a little proud these days.

I waited at the store for a few minutes then peddled back with my new bike lock I got at the dollar. It was windy!! When I got there I went to the small community room overlooking the pond and all the park. It really is a beautiful spot. The class remained small, there were only 5 of us including the instructor. She was really amazing. Just like you'd expect a yoga teacher to be: Small, quiet, ethereal, soft spoken and kind. We went thru poses seamlessly while learning what is called a 3 part breathing. It felt good to breathe so deep but with control and peace. She played gently sitar music. I felt my muscles at first tense become long and stretched luxuriously, my breath became easier although still deep and cleansing. At one point near the end of the session we laid on our backs completely relaxed and I felt such peace that when she explained that we could feel this way at all times and that 'life is good' i felt warm tears form in the corners of my eyes. There is respite in a chaotic world. And we hold the key to that peace. It was very comforting.

Well, I am hooked! Thanks Felicia!

After the lesson and wrestling with my new lock, I peddled back home in the dark and the wind was delicious on my sweaty skin and scalp. I always love riding at night the most. It's so quiet and I feel like a mosquito skating on the surface of a still pond when I ride so quietly. When I got home I had 2 small tacos of beans and brown rice and felt so energetic. I checked my calories for the day and realised I still had over 600 calories left for the day due to all the cycling and yoga I did that day! amazing. So I splurged on a big bowl of popcorn and slept soundly a few hours later.

This is now day 4 on the new meds. I don't even notice a thing now. I just don't have those horrifying jolts anymore. Thoughts come and pass thru me. The hard part has been not having a beer. I can see that I may have one or two this weekend, so I hope this doesn't mess me up. Also unfortunately my glucose level is stubbornly at the same level. It lingers between 240-275. If I don't see a change by next week I'm going to make a plea for insulin. The stress of being so high is the only downer of this week so far. Eating so little, working out so much, I feel like this has been the hardest series of maintanece i've ever had. Keep me in your thoughts.

This weekend is a good show at the Kess. Also saturday is our storytime. And MH's bday is somewhere around there too. I would like to make an appearance but not stay too long, I think the urge to drink would be too great. I find when I feel anxious I grab a drink. But who knows maybe I will feel ok without it.

And today? Dead. It's too pretty outside to go book shopping. I think i'll stay open till 8 and see if I catch anyone. Today I should be working on these taxes.. but it's too pretty outside to look at numbers.. bah.

sleeping in the blank of charlotte gainsbourgh's breathy pause

so tired. I read that a drawback to this medication would be drowsiness. They weren't kidding. Of course, it could be this weather or the Charlotte Gainsbourgh that I'm listening to. I fell asleep at 10:30 which is unheard of. But oh, darlings, what tapioca pudding of a sleep. I truly forgot what a sensation it is to be dead to the world for a stretch of time. No jumping up in complete terror, no weird noises in the hallway, cat mewing or partner snoring. Just black deep coffee sleep, warm and smooth. Only problem: wanting to wake up. I could have easily drempt this day away.

Yesterday a few regulars and friends came by to chat, smoke and laugh. Copasetic. Sold some books, made some plans, heard about vacation scenes, debauchery, and jail cells. Right now I'm laying my head on a paperback translation of a Chinese fable about an enchanted stone that was a cast off from building the sky. It is beautiful and has poetry quatrains thruout. I picked up as a whim while waiting for the webseries to be filmed in the store. Sat outside in the chairs and listened to the ocean of cars rumble by while i walked barefoot with Taoists and Monks and enchanted stones. I haven't left there yet. I'm still walking in the hills listening to enchanted voices.

I'm yawning. My jaw hasn't had this much action in a while. Translate that as you will.

I just ran into my friends Karen and Steve as I was outside reading a little more of the book. It is CAO XUEQIN, THE STORY OF THE STONE. It's over 500 pages and I just realised it's only Volume 1! This may very well be an epic. I may be reading this for years. I am having trouble keeping the names of the characters right, as they all have Chinese names and well there are already tons of charachters that I'm getting confused about. Probably not the best book to read as a bi-polar, ADD stricken soul. But I know if I skip ahead or something stupid like that i'll be lost. Slow and steady. That's not my style. Fast and erratic! I love to read books in one sitting and move on to more. oh well.

Eating day 7, lots of fruit, raw veggies with lemon and pepper to jazz em up. Almonds, peanuts, water, beans, rice and a little meat. Oh and peanut butter on really seeded hippy bread. Erik game me a blood orange yesterday and it was sublime. cottage cheese with cut up apples and cinnamon and half a yeast roll (yes half, damn it was so good) for breakfast. 1/2 apple, and 1 orange and a handful of raw almonds for lunch. Tonight bean burritos with whatever raw vegetable iI can fit in there. i've lost 5 pounds this week. thats including the vodka shots (2) i had at the party and the snowball i ate for my birthday cake. I'm shooting to lose 30 pounds by end of the summer. Tonight I hit the bowflex, which for the past year or so has been a really expensive clothes hanger in the laundry room. i'm wearing my overalls from 1997 right now. yesssssssssssssss. I may never take them off. Is it in poor taste to wear overalls everyday even if you change your shirt and accessories? I'm trying the Todd Ator look. Amy, you know what I mean.

Karen X has agreed to do the kids reading on Saturday morning! Fab a roo ness.

It's ALIVE, It's DEAD, it's a stranger, killing a kindle.

I sit in the beast of my creation. I do this 5 to 6 days a week and do it mostly alone. It's a beast on the inside and a princess of light on the outside. It's metaphorical and it is true. I spend all my time physically and mentally here. I plan for it, nurture it, avoid it and hate it all the same. It's my bookstore and I don't know what to do about it.

It was a life long dream to have a bookstore to call my own. From the time I was really small I was always surrounded by books, either at home, the library or the local litte bookshop in my hometown. Book equals freedom to me. These were the place I was always free to explore and move around without being held back. I could open any book I could reach on the shelf. I could read any book that I wanted. I began reading at the age of 3 I am told. I would pick words out of Reader's Digest magazines, moved by the charactures and cartoons on the short story pages. As long as I remember I've always been working on one book or two or three. Reading is my life and books are my passsion. They opened me up to the reality of writing and reciting poetry, and that is what I do. That is what I am.

So now we are coming up on 2 years of being business owners. We've survived floods, community apathy, bad deals, loan rejections, broken pipes, debt, rotton landlords, and the most miserable thing of all.. not being known. Still to this day we are stunned by how many people in our community don't know that we actually exsist. I know this is partially my fault, since I don't have the extra money to advertise on a large scale, but slowly and surely we seem to be gathering momentum. I just don't know how much longer I can stick with the 'slowly and surely'. I need some business now!

And our friends, well they have been our rock. But how many books can they buy? How many events can they come to only to see that no one else is there? Depressed. Yes. Anxious. Yes. Is this how I have gotten to this state? Probably. I don't think it is the only reason, I've been unballance for a long time, but it is a big reason nonetheless.

Why is it important to keep going? The community will miss us when we are gone. I will miss us when we are gone. If we give up how will that feel to me for the rest of my life thinking I was a quitter? Can I in good conscience leave and let a Christian bookstore or worse a big box bookstore come in and change the personality of my neighborhood again? Who are we benefitting now? What have we done that has been really good here? Why can't I think of these things when I am sitting here for hours all alone and my till is empty. I haven't paid myself in 2 years. Things are getting bad, if not already there.

Things are dire. Things must change and change quick otherwise I won't be able to sit here and try to decide what to do. The decision will be made for me.

We are working class people in an upper class surrounding. They can smell us from a mile away.
Of course, I am a bit paranoid about that kind of thing. Don't you think that what is going on now in our country is not so much of racism as it is a class war? Don't get me started on that! Just look at the attacks that are being made against the working class as we speak. Well sometimes I wonder just how much of this is going on *now* *here*.

I spend most nights thinking about these things. No wonder I need the wine.

So the question is, hold on or let go?

second day wild beast subdued with stack of cloud stone goodies or a promise of future pain.

Second day on Klonopin. Only silighty giddy in moments that I realise I may very well be feeling normal. Of course normality scares me. Last night I was faced yet again with the on going barage of nonsense and venom of my local nemesis via facebook and myspace postings. The difference this time was I felt as if I was on the outside looking in on the mess instead of feeling like I was knee deep in that mire. Then I laughed, shrugged and took a hot shower. The steam was delicious, and as I soaped up my legs I noticed the slight lines of muscle forming thanks to all the cycling and walking i've been doing lately. I'd like to try yoga again, but I don't think I can trust myself to STOP when the pain starts. It goes back to early recognition that pain was kinda pleasureable. That and the mantra of the 80's that you have to ' FEEL THE BURN' or 'NO PAIN NO GAIN' yeah, I take that shit to heart. In the 90's when I got my first of a few piercings, (my first was my tounge ring) my friends came with me for moral support. They said I never even flinched. So yeah, that's what you are dealing with. I'm not going to say childbirth wasn't the most fucked up pain i've ever known. I'd have to say that having broken molars coming in was. I could easily have picked up a gun and shot myself just to get a diversion from that! Anyway, I have to say that I am feeling No PAIN right now. I just ask my close friends to come to me on the day I stop being myself and tell me to stop taking these things. It's just that I got an almost disruptive free block of sleep last night and it was amazing. I have been going months with only a few hours here and there. Lots of late night tv, which is all actually poker, news or talk shows with people I've never heard about. Whats worse is the alcohol and other kind of consumption I've been used to doing just to get some kind of anxiety free sleep. It's been killing me inside. Warm wine in my underwear watching Wendy Williams. WINNING!

It's difficult to sit here and type. All I allow myself to think about is my nemesis somehow finding this and tearing it apart publicly on his 'blog of note' that no one reads. Sounds ridiculous, right? Well, I don't know where to put my commas. I don't spell anything right, I forget to capitalize 'I' most of the time, I create run-on sentances, I don't hold on to topics well, I just from idea to idea without any real flow. Well, let me tell you why.. because that's the way I think. That is the way I talk when you are right in front of me. I don't dream in typeset with semi colons and commas and exclamation points. I talk in whatever rambling noncoherent way I can. Sometime the words come so fast I feel muckle mouthed and clumsy, sometime I have to say something so fast and so loud I will grab you arm or your hand and look into your face and just SAY IT, even if it is out of context or if it is absurd or incoherent or pointless. Words so beautiful to see on the page, even more precious floating in the air between us, crashing into hearts and minds and smiles, words are so amazing,. I may never be able to master them, but I still love them..however unrefined I may be, I will always love words, and you need a dr. If you don't believe that I do.

Thanks Dez.