Firetruck Left Turn

Stop pile up in lines, miles of lines, dotted lines and straight yellow pairs
Hilled driveways lined with perennials and ivy
to the pit of the arm and the rib
and summer carpet
Berber with sand and sweat on your feet
woven underneath the toe-prints
feeling the granules
The smell of iodine on skin, on tee shirt fabric, sleeping, burning eyes,
tasseled hair.
My favorite tank top, wet skin, bikini top pressing my sides underneath the salted weight of the day.
No caffeine, no water, but thirst in the fold.

My Birthday Poem

Desk jobs make me suicidal and homicidal.
I wanna be a flo-jo, yoga-instructor, jet-setter novelist.
I wanna be on the Nobel List.

I want hot pink and magenta rays to come out of my eyes. I want hi-definition thought bubbles to pop out of my head like I am a cartoon super-hero.

I want all the junkies to nod out when I walk past them; cuz' I'm that dope.

I want clothes that fit right.
( I want my boobs back, except I don't want the extra 50 pounds I lost back. )

I want a birthday balloon ascension with 331 turquoise and yellow spheres of color bursting up into the sky. A hundred and sixty five of each color and
ONE black balloon to
represent the Catholic original sin they said I was born with.

I want all the colored balloons to drift into the distance, while the black one lingers.

I want the black balloon to burst and out of it, I want there to fly a cherub dusted in gold, wielding an arrow that shoots right into my heart and makes me re-born.

Complacent Adjacent

Moving to the top sideways

Forward neck, head first, trying to figure it out.

Push the scapula on the right toward the scapula on the left.

Jinx button is locked like a safety on a gun, so I tilt my head to the side and talk with my hands.

Exaggerate for the comedy routine like nature steps through the woods,
pretending the sewer stream storm drain is a creek,
where magic and graffiti cover the walls of the echo tunnel under the apartments
where there used to be a swim club.
And now there is a laundromat in the McDonald's mansion.

Steadily scanning the news is not the best way to relax and fall asleep on a damp, dank night like tonight. I blog to stay in touch with dearest Jeremy, and to voice the opinion of the inner-me. To review, I am sick and I have taken my "active kids gummie vitamin" because I believe it helps my immune system.
I read everything on the internet this weekend. The whole thing. I read the entire internet. I was stuck inside being sick and it was raining, so I went with it.
If I believed everything I read, I would believe the whole world is in some kind of crisis, but I think there are too many people talking about their feelings and getting 'up in arms' about politics... and as cheesey as it is when my hippie-type friends tell me " it starts within you " I actually believe this.

I really do believe that my perspective is skewed by whatever is going on within me.

I went to my acupuncture doctor the other day and he asked me how I liked my job. I said, " I think they like me...??!!"

He chuckled and responded that of course they like me because I am gentle and kind and they are... basically mirroring me.

When I heard him say that, it was a lightbulb epiphany because I KNEW THAT ONCE and so easily FORGOT!

Whenever I hear or say the word "skewed" I think of skewers and kababs. I can't help it, I just picture red peppers on a skewer.

Either way, these are the ramblings of a sick lady who just spent too much time on twitter and went down the internet rabbit hole yet again. And it's time for sleep.
And this is my diary, today, I suppose.

Cupid Bullshit

Fetal position this morning instead of a job orientation makes a snowstorm seem easy. I have been reading the news and feeling uninspired to jump into Capitalism. Catapultism.

I want a lovin' spoonful. A catapult of sugar cubes.

The cubicle is not calling,
I want to live in Turkey on the beach with palm trees and I will weave rugs all day to pay for my shack to live in.
I want to live in the ocean on a rock covered in seaweed. I want a crown made of tropical flowers.
I want cinnamon scent to wake me up every morning and cupid to sit on my pillow while I sleep. I want cupid to drink my blood from a syphon.

Cutting Edge Fashion and Being Out West

A few years ago, a psychic told me that I should go to Austen, Texas.
She also said that I wouldn't be ready to get married until I was about 34 years old.

It makes sense to me. I am keeping my eyes open for cheap travel to Texas because what she said is there for me is something I have wanted for a while.
No secret-- it's money. She said there is money 'for me' there.

It would be even cooler if there were some kind of buried treasure or a long lost relative there. I know there were most certainly some relatives of mine who 'went west' back in the day. And the slutty side of the family probably made some babies during the Spanish American war. Slutty, or rapy, whatever you wanna call it. Conception doesn't care.

While I was walking in San Francisco, I couldn't help but notice a store called "The Rapy." Regardless of how many times locals corrected my mispronunciation of the storefront sign, I summoned the power of my English degree and told all of them that the capital 'R' seals the deal on the name. We should all just go with it. Rapy fashion is something in between skater, homo-chic, trust fund-hipster, and just plain old cool.

Gotta stay on the cutting edge, my friends.

The Suffi, The Pastor, the Lawyer and the Chinese lady speaking Russian Going to DC for Work''

I was all excited to write a blog 'from the sky' while flying in an airplane, but I couldn't bring myself to pay for it, or become inspired enough to do a live blog from a cramped space where who knows who could read it over my shoulder.
Yes, writing is personal.

Presently, I am stuck in Milwaukee all night in the airport with a Sufi healer, a pastor, and a lawyer. On my way back from the west coast, where the weather was almost absolute shit, and my host demanded that I shower in front of an open window. By this, I mean, she kept her windows open at night with the lights on to keep the moisture out of the bathroom, and I exaggerate, like always.
And I combated the situation by my personality quirk of turning the heat up to 80 degrees whenever I could get away with it.

God bless anyone who has to be roommates with either of us, but, that's beside the point.

Okay, I just laughed out loud in the airplane concourse because a bird just flew down from the ceiling and landed next to the Sufi from St. Paul's School for Girls.
It's a long story, but one day it will all make sense.

The pastor talked to me while the plane took off from San Francisco. She lives a few doors down from my friend Michael and his dog Fenya. It's the same block the Almighty Senators lived on back in the day. For all I know, they still do.
Both of us, the Pastor and I, had heard that there was a blizzard happening back east. I am certain the snow in inconsequential to most, since it's like Saturday and only people who work at the mall have to get up early on Sunday; and they don't matter much.

( Except the people at Sephora who give me samples, they count, but no one else does. )

Well, it's me and the mall people this snow storm effects. I am sitting on the ground in this airport somewhere in the middle of the country and I have joined a group.

I forgot, approaching is the fifth woman who doesn't speak much English. She was taking a walk. She's been quiet.
There are five of us. We know basics about each other, we have a sense of personality, and for all I know each and every one of us could be full of shit, but,
the important thing is, I am pretty sure we are not going to rob each other.

I might try to nap in a while, but this situation is weird and all I want is a shower and a delousing. You know that movie where the guy has that super-high-tech shower stall that exfoliates him and rubs his finger-prints off everyday because he is impersonating someone else? I want one of those.
My phobias get bigger in circumstances like this and then melt away in an ebb and flow.

I am not self-conscious at all right now. It's me, god, and my desire for creature comforts.

I probably need a cigarette soon. It's weird that they don't sell them here. The sufi was helping me sort of time-out the duration I would need to stretch to make the last three last until 6 am when we leave.

Right now, it's between me and the Pastor to watch out for the sleeping ladies. We'll see what happens. ( who is going to fall asleep first? )