predatory features

i should write another novel. another sad one. ah, but fuck. no one read the last one. plus there are all these other stories i want to tell. but, the time. and the notion that my best might involve people skills. ah, but fuck. i am not running. she said i was running.

ok. i am running. but it's not from something, like she was implying. i am running simply to run

ah, but fuck. new york, that jaywalker's paradise. volcano national park and the noise the black crater made scraping and crunching beneath my wet boots. mexico, and that drug dealer's circle spinning eyes. the angry way the small guy snorted his own product next to the marina. then tennessee, the shark's restlessness

zeus

the big guy, Trinidad, we made a short film with him. cuz he looked like a gangster. and he was out of his head but a softie. and i looked him up awhile back and he had died of a heart attack, on valentine's day. i don't know what made me think of him

the after party

https://vimeo.com/159534500

times square times square times square

I wish I was better with faces, so I could remember yours

pao de queijo

when people smoke cigs here it makes more sense than i'm used to. it's not that the buildings and density block out the eyes of the sky on them so much as they already insulate the lives in death.

i said there are no periods in the sentences of life only commas, so,

but this is neither. this is my cheekbones in a storefront window reflected back at me. this is my cheekbones on display in a skeleton exhibit. these are my organs donated to science. an aquarium of knowledge swimming in fluid. a sandwich with butter, cucumber, cheese, salt and pepper. a young woman who says her mom was in africa in the '80's backpacking and making sure her moments were interesting even if they didn't add up. how much more beautiful then, to not do it for the math, but the moments and

he came he saw he loved life dearly dearly

little skips

two women with pink hair
one cut short
one up in a bun
go walk dude
go walk

hey i haven't seen u around

Once in awhile it works out for the good guy. That's what he thought w/ a smirk on his face getting onto the airplane. They gave him a better seat for being patient about having to late check his carry on luggage. They gave him a better seat for being less meddlesome than the woman who was trying to steal a seat in first class. He became their confidante, in a way, waiting for his seat.

I met a girl outside a bagel truck in Silver Lake. She never texted back. I met a girl at the airport in Dallas-Fort Worth. She offered me a bite of her food. I once told someone I got fucked up to dim the staggering brightness of my pain. And I've been sober for a couple months. That was before this one little painkiller, I'd been sober for two months.

But I get it, the little slip between the pain. Where humor & death is found. Cuz pain, the truth is that pain anesthetizes us to death. Pain is an immunity to death even though it physically draws us nearer. It is still different than the drunk sadness of this never happening again.

She was eating Asian food. Tofu, rice, broccoli, drenched in what was surely a thick sweet gooey sauce. I'd had a turkey burger and that one little pill cuz I was bored and my face hurt, like I had a bunch of pressure in my cheekbones & my nose & it is anxiety like a brick. And I'd just been bravely been dealing w/ it.

I thought we were in the air but we hadn't even taken off. She said in high school she wrote a play about two pencils falling in love. She looks like my ex-girlfriend did.

two women

one light, one dark. tone. not lovers, just something else. extremes. new friends. my therapist says i'm about to find clarity and it's going to be large and a lot to handle. and i remembered my friend isabelle walking me through a meditation for clarity weeks earlier. it came up twice. and the two women, we both visited that same park where she did that. and one was light. one was dark. two extremes. and dark is not always bad, the yogi in puna told us we should stop using it that way. just as light is not always good. but then in westwood a woman in our circle said she was grateful for both the light and the dark. and then i brought the dark to the light and realized it's not that dark. and the light has already shown me her shadows and admirations of the absence and what a relief. and i wanna be the light and the dark, but more than that i wanna find myself tolerable and brilliant with life within this eclipse and tolerance

in my prius

what did i listen to????

i listened to a song by feist called the park. like an obsessive

" a sadness so real that it populates the city and leaves you homeless again"

i listened to it on the way over there, that morning.

i listened to it after for awhile too but i haven't in awhile.

"steam from the cup and snow on the path, the seasons have changed from the present to past"

i wrote my newest script in shock. and now that i'm not. it's tough to dig into it. but i have to get it done. it's about all that

"the past"

anyway, now i'm listening to all kinds of things, i'm listening, i'm listening, i'm listening, i have to or else i'll go crazy

so i'm listening and getting all kinds of peace in all kinds of dazzling pieces

methane noir

My publisher commissioned a piece of erotica centered around the Porter Ranch disaster. The whole thing gave me a headache. It were too early to forgive the SoCalGasCo just like it were too soon to forgive myself for banging on the cracks until they became holes. Shit, my publisher would probably like that last part.

Porter Ranch, El Coyote closing its doors, I thought of those mythical margaritas we soaked up that fiery hot day, damn, it was all over.

I brung a metal detector up to Porter Ranch. I knew it were stupid. I knew it were an excuse to make something of nothing, treasure of dust.

It sucks missing a place that the other person doesn't even know is gone