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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
sick

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.

I Think We're Scared Again

The house is as quiet as it wants to be and it wants to be very quiet.It mimics the outside where the zombie apocalypse has taken place.Nothing out there but dead people and dead leaves.Everything wet and gray but shellacked with a fine, crystal finish.There’s a shine to it that reflects the sun.The silent outside makes the inside that much quieter.I am a bull inside its china shop.I stomp around in my slippers.
I cannot make breakfast in the quiet.After many phone calls they arrive.I buzz them in; singularly and in groups.I show them into the living room, kitchen, dining room and ask them to get comfortable.They begin their warm-ups.Guitars, harmonicas, and horns fill the house.I sigh, relieved there is noise.
I tell them to begin when they are ready.Show them the corner they can play in.I set up a few chairs so they can play sitting down if they want.I tell them to work out amongst themselves who will play first and who will play next and so on.One of the men tells me, “The Blues a…

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.

Title

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

WAIT FOR IT!





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.

I WANT TO CRUNCH THE NUMBERS IN YOUR HEADGEAR!
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.…