Friday, April 26, 2013


we get so used to seeing things as they aren't, that apparent change unsettles us. in coldwater canyon, laying down on familiar grass, it was significant because i'd been there before, so much lonelier then. time dies a slow death in beverly hills and now i could feel myself more alive. seven nights ago i sat watching a glass full of sparkling beer show itself off, beautiful in twisting candlelight, crisp color, senses surrounded by a bar full of voices climbing on top of one another in elevating volume. trendy stupid venice, i drank alone, oddly content with a swirl of feelings. both insecure and curious mind like silent king of the insects, when two butterflies floated my way, carolina blue bicycle, wobbly ride to rose, laughter, talk of life, genius, music, nestled on couch, adventurous bedroom, car ride smiling with heated seats, we kissed goodbye at separate times, coinciding in a moment which seemed fit for all of us, i'll never call them again.

on the grass, basking in the sun and a japanese author, finally able to read with novel done, better or worse, tired. the bark of the slender tree on the muscles of my bare feet, six mornings ago the kids and i almost caught the biggest bullfrog any of us had ever seen. they're wilder than i am, those brothers, but we're all hunters, survivors, hiking, catching blue-bellies, or western fence lizards as one of the women had told me the night before. the blue-bellies are called western fence lizards, i told the boys and they seemed to like that fact. awhile ago we had taken a scared friend of theirs on this same network of trails and we've since, on several occasions, made fun of the awkward way he was. but now, you should see him, the kid showed up again and this time he's climbing trees, shouting savage calls, leading the way, and all it took was getting him there once.

my novel is about exploring being in love and whether there's any spiritual progress in the attempt, infantile or skilled, that's what it's about.