giggles in Los Angeles.

This is lobster boy. he makes me smile. He is one of the most creative and good natured people on the planet. We both crawled out of the same cesspool otherwise known as the central valley. We re-connected after 15 years while we were both in limbo. I was in the earliest phases of my present assignment, and he was in between homesteading and clown college.

did I say that he makes me smile?

oh, and he loves puppeteering.

www.breadandpuppet.org

connecting the dots...

I was going through my pack this week and I found the keys to my house in Memphis.

My house. My bed. My dogs and my big back yard. The keys that open the doors to what was my life.

Problem is, by the time I packed my bags, my life wasn't mine anymore.

The drugs and booze had sucked all the light out and left a black hole.

I had given up.

but when I found those keys, I just broke down...

I haven't dealt with my feelings about my time in Memphis.

I had a friend in town and he sort of attacked me verbally, about my self destructive behaviour. That was like another key, opening the door to where all this hurt was hiding.

I just cried and cried.

How can I miss someone, or something that hurt me so much? Do I go back to Memphis and face what I left or do I wait until I am stronger? Will I be stronger if I don't deal with these feelings? Can I do this on my own? Should I see a therapist?

I want all the hurt to stop. I want to be free.

Lost
In this desert
Tiny little stones
My hands
held
for years
Pechanga,
Morongo,
Barona
you.

you
left
my love
left
me sleeping
with ghosts
Found
HERE
In this desert
you.

And from this dust
rebuilt-
you
A maze
me
still
finding my way
HERE
I am
scared, strong
I am
Ocotillo,underbrush
fire,burning
out of control
this passion
HERE
with you.

Sleeping for years
consumed
In a summer
bed
where
still
I lay,
remains,
The image
your body,
traced
In gesso
for years
men,fingers
bent to fit
those invisible lines
crossed
somewhere in L.A.
you knew.

My loves
just
tiny little stones
thrown at the sun
begging orbit
begging among
tiny little stars
that hold
my big big dreams
and you.

In this desert
you
left
me
waiting
for you
I am
still
HERE
waiting
to forget
that
it is still
just
you.

5:10 pm may 12th 2007

smooth jazz

I hate smooth jazz...no, hate isn't a strong enough word. It grates on my soul until I want to poke ice picks through my eardrums. My roommates boyfriend, who owns the house that I am staying in, is cracked out on smooth jazz.He has a system that pumps that shite into every orafice of the home and head. And to top it off the guy is a door slammer. He doesn't walk, he charges. The combo of bad tunes and door slamming has left my nerves frazzled. Yesterday when I saw him with his bags I felt a wave of relief. The reign of terror was coming to an end.

I have been wearing ear plugs just to dull the pain. until yesterday, when he left for Alaska for 6 months.

I love music. I love music that makes me think,music that makes me move, music that is pretty...smooth jazz takes all of that out and adds Kenny G. I mean, a Celine Dion soundtrack hit is marginal to begin with, but as annoying as that woman's warbling is, some fucknut's jazz stylings of "My Heart Will Go On" is infinitely more sinister.It is aural terrorism.

A smooth jazz station is a concentration camp for the art and beauty and music.

and now in the house...Prime time in the daytime-the way god intended it.