lake lifeguards

the sun was so bright today that our heads ached. she told me her sins and I wondered if she'd been raised something like Catholic. he explained the practicality of suicide and I got it but my thoughts are moving either too slowly or too quickly to make my interesting any more than purely intellectual, besides he's only reciting anyway, he's never wanted sharp things against his skin. likewise his interest in the story of a girl selling her body for food is purely the study of a curiousity, rather than a serious considereation of tragedy or justice. how can she keep smiling like that? I have a hard time believe the truth of it for so long, it maybe only a social habit picked up in some circles I suppose. the one who returned thinks she is mad for him, but I know she is mad at him. she made him half drown her before she'd allow herself the indignity of be rescued by his pompus ass. the veggie-eater is curiousity unheard of. they ask, "are you? are you really?" and the southerners look at me saddly as if I had just explained that I have a large whole in my heart.

...well, if nothing else at least I have a ticket back East now. I kinda miss school, but there's so much to do & get done between here & there, so I guess I need the time. I want to be a Buddha without guidelines, an Ani Difranco song without tears or a Dar Williams song without the honkey tonk. I want to be a blue and silver fish and a bat like a fearless, flying mouse. I want to be a very thin glass cup that is absolutely unshatterable.

a mouse makes a very small stand on her own behalf

X has moved back. Fluffy told me two days ago. I saw him on the street and kept walking. He followed me to the bookstore. He said my name. I turned and looked at him unsurprised, "Yes?" "Oh...I didn't think you had recognized me." "No, I did." I walked into the bookstore. I am not afraid or sorry or weirded out. Whew.

the good stuff

shine on a soap bubble. butterfly wings, angel wings, bat wings. very small wrists. shoulders like the skulls of very small animals. sun-warmed apples. coffee with cream & sugar. sharp mustard on egg salad sandwiches. bright cobalt blue sweater. Fluffy playing Alice's Resterant into my voicemail. the way Banjo used to stay awake until he knew I was in the house, and woke up with me when I had to work the dead-of-morning shift, and how you could always hear him coming because his tags chimed together, and his shit-eat grin when we were chasing him when he lit his ear on fire while investigating the bottle rockets, the texture of his tongue on salty cheeks. big cocoa-powder-&-curry hands. the smell of Smack's hair on my hands after I brush it. Gale's laughter. Dad's I-am-so-proud-of-you smile. Mom's stern I-am-not-going-to-tell-you-again-but-I-don't-approve look. hand-written letters that look like the voice sounds. very-deep-red or sunset-colored roses. fuzzy white dandelions (& their wishes). robed monks (of preferablely eartern denominations) in airports who smile like good-natured children. very soft sweaters & old teddy bears. shards of mirror, or blue glass, or any glass found smoothed by it's enviorment (whether the street or the sea). yummy books. paper cranes. stars. art museums. open-air farmer/craft markets. hugs that are too ardent to worry about being polite. Indian techno mixes with heavy beats. bare feet in warm sand.

you made me think of this last night,

before things got ugly... your kisses couldn't decide between miso & vanilla how could I ever get enough your fingertips were rose petals they could not ever be too rough I want to come to you with the force of a hurricane and the passion of a thunderstorm but I come to you like the lightest rain only whispering you take my breath away I want to write you a book of songs -(6-9-03)

the ginger-soy-cucumber flavor of my rice rolls is the clever comeback I never thought I'd be brave enoughto say, with eyes sparkling like ice melting in hard lemonade on a too-hot night. I want to lick your lips and leaving you tasting lemon & ginger sweetness on your lips.

Tex's Pick-Ups

*wince* Tex is a lecherous old man who swims at the pool. He has become infamous for shamelessly hitting on sweet old women & the lifeguards, should they be distinguishably female. Tex's pick up line today; 'Let's go fishing!' When the weary female would question further, or try to ignore him, he'd add... 'at Fred Myer. It'll be fun!' He has also been known to leave large boxes of raw steak ("home made") around the pool, out of 'generousity.' Quite nauseating. Uggh.