Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Pagan Fairytales

I remember being wavy in a bar in San Francisco texting Jeff, that intoxication was all about getting to the smile. One of the old men at the cafe said today, "so often our very first memory, seems to be initiated by a traumatic recollection." He read me my horoscope and told me, I am.

I am.

That's my statement. I am hewed of anything that I am unable to carry. I am imagining a malarial jungle. An orange juice factory teeming with exotic spiders. The keeper of a time capsule buried in an unproduced script I once wrote.