idle hands are the devil's workshop or woody allen's living room...status pending

these are emails I have actually sent in the last couple of days.

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If love is a multi-faceted thing,we are all doomed.

The human experience that we call love is multifaceted, and human facets are personalities. so love is a mental illness.

if homosexuality was considered a form of crazy in the dsm until what? the 70s? why not love. It is chemical in a carnal animal way we can't understand in our homo sapien sapien grab...it is intellectual in a way we can't understand, because the mind can conceive or reach an understanding with anything but itself.

I love to love love but I have always failed to meets its challenged by its confines.Love leads to monogamy and monagamy leads to monotony and montony is why "Love is a Battlefield".

I think we should all take a lesson from Dante Algheri...who loved his Beatrice from a far...he watched her twitch on a balcony kitty corner to his, and we have poetry to show for it.

I don't know where I am going with this. I am in Vegas, I am desperately in love and it is like the plague but more painful and with less boils in my armpit

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okay, I know you have been patient and what not...andI thank you for it...but...okay here I go.even though we have some great conversations...I amworried that if I really relax with you that I will offend you and we will go back to how things were whenI first got to vegas.like I feel comfortable talking to you, but then assoon as I really feel comfortable I remind myself to not get too comfortable...because if i get flirty or say the wrong thing you'll close down.or maybe not. Idon't know but the not knowing is making me crazy. Ifeel out of control. generally I wouldn't let this kinda thing get to me,filing all things under "whats the worst that canhappen"..but overall I am emotional and thattranslates into a little crazy (:I feel guilty or uncomfortable when you make me feelgood. and that doesn't seem healthy.you get this thinghere in vegas and i like that we can talk and showthings to each other. I wish I could just relax aboutit.are you relaxed about it?my respect for you isn't nostalgic, it is very much inthe present. I get excited when I think about what youare building...I can't figure out if you are arsonistor a contractor...are you starting fires or creatingdoors that the union walks through? or both. whichmakes sense...you are bi. bi-social activist.when you talked about the steel town becoming a gamingtown...it made me swell with pride and excitement. Ihave looked at this time in history as beingdark...but you flipped it around and showed me thegood...how exciting this time is. all this stuff is so intense. I had trouble sleepinglast night just thinking about all the possibilities.There is so much beauty and humanity in this work. Iliterally feel, pardon the cliche, like I am waking upfrom a coma.I tried to talk to lynn about this and she looked atme like I was nuts and then offered me a cookie (noshit). I am going to say what I have said since thebeginning...it would be so much easier if we lived inthe same city. we could have the good without thecrazy. I think.

Self indulgent blog about nothing.

Since I have been in Vegas I have been spending most of my time alone. My job limits my interaction with people and what boundaries work doesn't present-I do. Still making sense of this place, I find myself taking on a very pedestrian role in my personal life. So I people watch, more than usual-which is borderline excessive to begin with. I have come to a very obvious conclusion about Vegas-it is full of freaks.

There are all these things that make this city more odd than others-and I don't think it stems from the obvious, ya know...hookers,the mafia etc.

Riding the bus here is an adventure that I can't even begin to share with you. people party at the bus stops...not people taking the bus,but just random folks..

I have seen people smoking meth from a glass dick, doing bumps off a switchblade, drinking beer until they vomit...people talking to cars, running down the street playing newspaper vending machines like bongos...I have met asian cooks named charlie...sat next to yacked out jesus freaks...I have watched a deaf sanitation man get really mad about....well...something...I had a man sit next next to me and I couldn't tell if he had the shakes or was jerking off, at any rate when he finished the twitching he held his hands as if they were paws and he was a dog begging...for the entire bus ride.

and then there is me...floating out there among the flotsam and jetsom. When I ride the bus to work sun shadows the mountains and the panorama seems like a watercolor rendering of the skyline...the only thing that makes it all come back to reality is the Stratosphere Hotel...which rides the skyline like a huge cock.

oh and I need cock. just throwing that out there.

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.