I'm addicted to questions.
I know because I really wanted to write---why am I addicted to questions.

last night's walk

last night's walk

later

now

this morning's mood

I love you.
But, I'm in love with my love for you.

tonight's walk

Over the last year or so I've seen this guy with his dog.

He pulls her in a wagon for nearly a mile and they take a post on the pier and watch the people, the waves, the birds. She's covered in little tumors but doesn't seem in pain, she has that calm presence of an old lab. They both watch things, the eyes look out and then go back in...they are at once observers and participants. I always maintained a respectful distance, but one day I approached them and asked if I could take a picture.

Me: Excuse me, I just wanted you to know how nice it is to see the love between you too.
Him: (very quietly) um, thankyou.
Me: Would you mind if I took a picture?
Him: No, of course not. (then he proceeded to gently step to the side)
Me: No, I wanted a picture of the two of you.
Him: Oh, okay.

click.....

This was the picture.

I thanked him and went on my way. He reached down and laid his head on her head and she closed her eyes.

Today he was on the pier wagonless, and I knew she was gone.

last night's walk

its all relative

There are these skinny palm trees along my block (and all over LA) that stretch up to the sky, impossibly tall, and all that height on such a spindly base.

When I first moved here they reminded me of starlets from the 30's--- skinny, slouchy, women wearing feather boas poised to walk a pair of Borzois or Harlequin Great Danes.

Now they seem a perfect metaphor for the stereotypical "modern" LA person.


LA PERSON----------------------- THE QUEEN PALM
----------------------------------------------------------------

impossibly thin...................................impossibly thin
pretty.................................................pretty
self-absorbed.....................................offers no shade
useless...............................................can't build house w/ the wood
doesn't read.......................................can't make paper from pulp
needs to be "worshiped" ......................"Queen" palm
highlighted hair..................................fronds very glisteny in sun
not originally from LA.........................non-native species
shallow...............................................shallow root systems

Did whales always get lost?

I'm so adjective,
I verb nouns!

ode to the cute guy who works in the Whole Foods deli department

Everytime you tell me a story,
I'm reminded why our love is in purgatory.

was I in a relationship?
and was he in a needle exchange program. - ? - .

from an NPR piece by Adam Burke

"It can get to be 127 degrees farenheit in the Australian Town of Coober Pedy - and that's in the shade. With opal mines that look like giant ant hills and a network of underground dwellings where residents live, this is the kind of place where searing heat warps perspectives, and yet somehow clarifies them."

sometimes it's like the blind shouting at the deaf
and the deaf signing to the blind.

You are not surprised at the force of the storm-
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
it whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing it, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees' blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit;
now it becomes a riddle again,
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you knew
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.
The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
it is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that who began it all
can feel you when it reaches for you


- Ranier Maria Rilke

mistakes have a biology - erasing a mistake never returns the slate to blank.

momversation #11391103339

Me: Hi Mom.

Mom: Hi Honey.

Me: Your voice is dragging a little, are you okay?

Mom: I'm fine I just didn't sleep very well, I was up really late trying to figure out a problem.

Me: Well, maybe I can help. What is it?

Mom: I just can't do math, I dont understand numbers. Everytime I add it all up it's wrong.

Me: Ok, what are you trying to add.

Mom: Well, Cindy Eitlejorg spent $360 on catering, and Edna van Riper spent $160 on Eddie the bartender and drinks, and I spent $266.84 on invitations.

Me: What 's this for?

Mom: The Strickland boy is getting married. It was a shower for his bride.

Me: Ok, so what's the problem, are you trying to split things evenly?

Mom: Yes. But I keep paying more than Edna! I just don't understand it.

Me: Did you add everything up and divide it by 3?

Mom: Yes, but it's different every time.

Me: Ok, well 360 + 160 + 266 = 786. Divide that by 3 and you get 262. So everyone owes 262.

Mom: No that's not right, I think Edna owes me 53.

Me: Are you getting that from adding 266 and 160 and dividing it by 2?

Mom: Yes, but that's still not right. If I paid 266 and she paid 160 and then she pays me 53 that makes her contribution only 213 and I still paid 266!

Me: Yes, but you now also have a check for 53 which is like you only spent 213.

Mom: But we still have to pay for the catering!

Me: The 360? Why dont you and Edna each just write Cindy a check for 120?

Mom: NO! You're not listening. The bill is sitting over at Edna's. She has to pay the $360!

Me: ^#%&&%@??? Huh? I thought Cindy paid for the catering.

Mom: NO! Edna and I are splitting the catering, we're splitting the cost of the whole shower!

Me: Wait, where does Cindy Eitlejorg come in?

Mom: She just arranged for the caterer, Edna and I are paying for it.

Me: Ok. I think I understand now. So we're just splitting this 2 ways.

Mom: Right.

Me: Ok. (deep breath) So, at the end of the day, you will each have spent $393.

Mom: Wait, how did you get that number?

Me: I added the cost of everything and divided it by 2. 786 divided by 2 is 393.

Mom: Talk slower, I'm writing this down.

Me: Mom, you don't need ...ok I'll talk slower. So the easiest solution is to have Edna pay for the catering (since the check is at her house) and you send her a check for $127.

Mom: But then aren't I paying more than Edna? No, wait, she's paying more than me. Now, I'm confused who's paying more.

Me: (#@@##&^&**+_^%^##$^$%$) NO ONE, it's an even split!

Mom: Now dont get all huffy! You have me writing Edna a check, remember.

Me: I KNOW, BUT EDNA IS PAYING FOR THE CATERING SO YOU ARE REIMBURSING HER!

Mom: NO WERE SPLITTING THE CATERING!

Me: (Silence, pause, deep breath) Mom, I'm going to need to hang up now and call you back in a little bit.

Mom: You really have no patience and temper control problems, you always have.

Me: Goodbye Mom.

an entire life in 43 seconds

It's 1977, I'm at the USA roller rink. I am buzzing from watermelon now-and-laters and fresh hormones. The scent of sugar and musk come off of everyone as they whiz around the floor. I am focused on Richie Boyle. He's tall, freckled and has shiny red-brown hair. It sits on his head like thick squirts from a tube of burnt sienna paint. His body is long and lean with a jutting roundness, a bubble butt and swelling adolescent boy pecs. I stand on the side watching him lunge around the rink, his hair yielding to the breeze. It's all action, pulsating lights, disco beats, video game sound effects, bodies zooming around like loud colored molecules. The sound of the wheels on the wood floor play against all of it like a good base line. Everytime he whizzes by me I fill up with fluids and theres a tightening just below my navel. It's pleasure with a deep suffering built into it, the early version of something I will revisit over and over as an adult. But I don't understand it yet, it's all instinct. I'm wide open and my senses completely merge with the surroundings. I have never felt so alive. I am buzzing and at the center of this new universe is Richie Boyle. It's pulls me away from my friends, I can't talk or listen.

Moving away from this feeling seems like moving towards death.
I never approach Richie.

It's 2007 and he has never known my name.

The old are kind
The young are hot
Love may be blind
Desire is not

Holy Bat Shit!

La Vie En Black

Mom: So. Have you seen any movies lately?

Me: Um, well I saw Sicko last week, but I already talked to you about that.

Mom: Oh, Sicko? I heard I wasn't supposed to see that, it's supposed to be awful. Isn't that a horror movie?

Me: Not in the classic sense, but some of the information is pretty scary. It's a documentary, Mom, about the healthcare industry in America.

Mom: Who stars in it?

Me: No, Mom, it's a documentary it doesn't have any stars.

Mom: Oh. Well have you seen that movie about Eartha Kitt? It's supposed to be wonderful.

Me: A documentary?

Mom: No I think it's a movie about her life.

Me: No, I didn't realize there was a movie out about her.

Mom: Oh, yes. She was black, right.

Me: Yes, I think she still is.

Mom: Well I think the person who's playing her isn't even black.

Me: Really? I can't believe I haven't heard more about this. Are you sure?

Mom: Wait, maybe it was Billie Holliday. Was she black?

Me: Yes. This is a new movie?

Mom: Yes, Oh wait. I think she's played by Catherine Zeta Jones!

Me: Catherine Zeta Jones as Billie Holliday? Really?

Mom: Well, wait. Billie Holliday took paris by storm and had drug problems, right?

Me: Oh wait a minute, are you sure you don't mean La Vie En Rose? You know, the movie about Edith Piaf?

Mom: Oh yes! That's what I mean. Now, was she black?