Showing posts from 2014

2014 Three Ways

This year was a ride-along.A sidecar.It was also mine. Alone.
It was both.
There are three things I will remember most about this year.One of them is how it feels to be hooked to a comet.How it feels to ride alongside an ascension.Here, let me tell you:the ride ecstatic, full of thrill and pride.Full of I Knew This All Along and Here It Is.It is the most special with a light shined upon it and relishing how it stuns, this accolade avalanche you had anticipated like an apocalypse.But nothing can prepare you for being backstage, the applause on the wider side of the curtain.Behind the red you see its seams, its patches.There are men sweated with rigging, a wire-split palm silk-soaked in blood against it, the boiling chaos of too many duties, needs.All of it wearing on the performer.It’s that yin-yang symbol, an embrace fit of both.The ride is joy and it is helplessness, but you are glad to take it as you could never be anywhere else.
Another thing I will remember about this year is ho…

No, I Will NOT Take a Shit-Selfie For You

You are not a viper but you play one
in my heart

ive not known many men. In theory ive known hundreds, thousands, all grossed, rotten and boored. All vile. All of my choosing, so vulgar.How I become what I believe myself to be
with them
the thrill of their ugly: how they grasp.So desperate.Like my skin can grant them peace, my tits and cunt able to quiet the echo of their father’s endless insults.Such intensity. That’s how they come at me.That’s how I love.
There’s a change but
there is not.
It’s a wavering.Handholds appear and I climb.So much promise up top.A shouting down. “You can do it!”The crevasse is black and the voice encouraging.A glimpse of warm sunlight so I climb.
If your feet fill with jiggers, I will be there to scrape them.Pull over on the highway when the screams get too loud.Send me a beacon and I will come with my scalpel.If you give permission I will drag you from the car and lay you down on wet grass.I will call the villagers to watch.They must learn how to s…

Grub Hub

Do you know the heat off me?I want a rubbing.There is a clandestine.It shimmers inside me.I can fill a vase with it. A cabinet.
This week, a warp.I don’t know where it went. How it got swallowed.All I know is that it happened and it was real.Tangible in the meat of my thighs.The cripple of my walk.  The new waitings.  A giant bottle of wine losing its full.
This is how you come down.
This is how you shade things away.A hand covering eyes.
I am not sure where I am, where I want to be. Nor do you.It’s a guessing game.Who put me in the circle?I am in the circle. Where and why the circle?
Momma, be proud of me? You proud of me momma?Yer daughter. Here she is.There she’s going.Love me momma.Prouda me momma.

New Interview/Storything

Hello People of Earth.
A lovely person named Allegra Frazier interviewed me for the new Origins Literary Journal.
She says nice things.
I probably say dumb things.
There is also a story thing in there.
Shout out thanks to Lisa Mecham for hooking me up with these lovely folks.

Literary Orphans Interview

A super nice person interviewed me for Literary Orphans.  I am humbled by their kind words at the end.


It’s hard moving your life.  Sticking things that long-lived in one place into boxes that will be brought to another.  Sometimes you tell those things, “See you in Sacramento!” before you close the box.  You aren’t actually moving to Sacramento, but the phrasing seems sing-songy and silly and you need as much of those two things right now because moving to a new city is nucking futs.
So, yeah, I’ve been busy.
Sometimes two days isn’t enough but it’s all you have so oh well.  When you succumb to time limits and rub up against them, warmly, like they’re your grandpa and you are his “best gal” only good things happen because you know every moment counts and so you make lots of those moments.  Or you make a blur of those moments that when you try to think back you can only see a pink smear across the sky in front of you that has some dark brown behind it and a feeling like floating.
I’m so tired but it’s good. I’m sinking into my bones.  A deflation.  I want to say right now, “albatross”…
Juliet Escoria Summer reads me over at HTML Giant!
I have a story in Sprung Formal #9  You can read it here if you want to.

The Story of The Amazing Thing I Put In My Mouth Today


I know it’s just going to be a let down. There’s really no way to make this what it needs to be.  I am apologizing in advance.  Words are shit-stains.  This is my underwear.  You are a pair of pants.There is too much between us that separates.

Sorry.  Put wax on the sharp parts of your braces so you don’t cut the inside of your lips.
Back, again:
There I was, just minding my own business in Venice, CA. Minding my own business just like the sun does.  That crazy, private sun who keeps everything on the DL.  (I have a feeling he doesn’t know we all can see him)  I was just strolling along and I’m in a farmer’s market! Look! A farmer’s market!  It’s all around me!  All turbulent with hummus and papusas and woven shopping bags!  There’s fragrance!  I want to spin around with my arms spread out but I refrain.  It’s what I do…refrain.
The farmer’s market is a bulletin board.  Every booth a business card.  Okay.  Okay, fine. I’ll partake.…

Cool Interview

with Simon Jacobs about Safety Pin Review and he gives me a nice shout out. 

Here is my SPR piece if you want to spend 3 seconds reading something.


Juliet Escoria asked me to be a part of an awesome little project called, "Girls In White Dresses."

So many amazing female writers hanging out alongside me.  So honored.

Today I Am A Summer Field

Today I am a summer field.  Put yourself inside me.  Watch what I do when the wind blows.  Thread through the stems that stream me.  Feel my skin from the sun.  Put your face against mine.  Let them melt-stick together.  Let them become one giant face.  A four-eyed, two-mouthed, mass of wrong.  An outside reflecting my in but at least that means we’re forever together.
In the summer field of me we can entwine; our freak-face head atop our bodies now forced to know one another as their own.  The warm dirt dusting our forms in blessing.

The field spreads wide, singing of childhood.  That’s why it is me.  That’s why I want you there.  You are the hand dropped down for me to hold.  To hold on to.
Oh, to be lifted apart from this field!

When we are together in the summer field, you will be bigger than me.  It’s your duty.  It’s my prayer. For once, a blockade comes for me.  Your mass of stone surrounding me as arms of a protective father might. 
There are those that don’t.  There are fa…

Flash Fiction Chronicles

Bonnie Zobell asked me my thoughts on how to organize a chapbook and I told her my thoughts and they are here along with some other wonderful people's thoughts.
They say you should put the stuff on your face so i do. A "nightly regimen."  I don't know about all that. All I know is I'm old and the stuff smells like warm B.O.  
I don't look any different.
I'm sick. Feels like I've chinked open a vault in my chest that houses the world's supply of blood-mucus.  My eyebrows feel sagged.  I'm a walking drowning.
I need more money.
I need people who feel the same way.
I need to get excited about masturbation again.
So many needs. I can't list them all here.

First Post Of 2014

It can outrun me.  I’m slow.  Blah. So very slow.  I’m wet jeans, no belt, sag city shuffle.  Throw cream pies at my face. I’ll just have to take it and cry because…slow. So, so slow.
I’m slow so it paces.  I get lots of spit in my face.  Mucus at first, then just clear bubbly.  He hits my tits like scolding.  Slaps them red.  He calls me fat, lazy, ugly, useless, pathetic.  All I can do is agree.  It’s true anyway.  Spits and hits, spits and hits, spits and hits.  I want him to fuck me into full depression.  Just be a big fat guy that gives me all that I deserve which is destruction.  Shame. 
So cool, right?
If you’re in the car with me and Led Zeppelin, we’ll go hard.  I’ll turn the knob to the right and my head will move forward and back, forward and back, forward and back.  A grin will grow on my face and my eyes will slit a little while my head turns to look at you.  If you don’t feel what I’m feeling in that moment, we have no reason to be together from that point forward.
My stoma…