In which she discusses her past-present-future on Friday, May 22nd, 2009.

Currently I stand in the airport, where DCD imagined I would be. He said, “I picture you waiting in the terminal reading a magazine, maybe surrounded by family.” I imagined him sucking a cigarette in the corner of a press room, drumming his fingers against a sheaf of papers. So I guess I imagined where he was, and he imagined where I am: here.

When I enter the security line I am told to remove my flats. I stand five foot seven in socks, no wider than the security guard’s thigh. Our heads are the same size. Three nights from now DCD will tell me his head is bigger than mine, but I will disagree. His hair is bigger width-wise, mine is bigger depth-wise.

Standing in socks in the airport is degrading. No more degradation than I fed myself two Christmases ago. I went to the bar across from gate four, twenty feet from where I stand. I ordered a double gin and tonic. I spilled the glass and I spilled the bowl of nuts, timber-timber, one after another. I asked the bartender for a napkin. I gulped twice, I swiped twice and the deed was done. The party was either over or just starting, but who knows these things in the moment?

I wish Dave Jones were here with me now. We could be watched by the people watchers. I am sitting cross-legged in front of the gate four window. I stare at the tarmac and I yearn for asphalt. I would like Dave Jones to hold my hand as we walk to the grass stripe cleaving the concrete. I would look in his eyes and see planes fly out of his ears. Maybe he could press his ear to my chest and listen to my heart beat and pound and ring and jump.

I review my past and future in light of this feeling. "You are ignorant of what you do," I say - letting the words find places in my mouth.

::::

photo from voyager.

::::

silhouette masterpiece

185.905 miles of lonely pete.

first 1/2.

summer!

has begun.

I yesterday only began to love, to understand. 5/24/09

Second morning in Breckenridge.

I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. I listen to Dad concoct his tea in the kitchen. Red rose with half a teaspoon of milk. I can direct him from counter to counter. Before he sneezes I whisper "bless you."

Two sisters still sleep: Jackie sprawled like a star fish, blond hair splayed. Cassie buried beneath covers, snoring and dreaming of red eyed seagulls.

I am awake, always awake, I rise early.

Where is my mother? Ahh, the missing figure, "touche" she would mutter, disapproving. She could be running in place or painting a landscape or crouched beneath a closet shelf sipping chardonnay.

My family. My makeup, my insides.

If I were a fourth sister and describing myself I would write:

And the oldest is awake, always awake, writing in her room. I can hear her soft sighing through the wall. The occasional thump of pen against paper. She will appear in a minute and say "good morning, lovely girl, good morning - I just woke up." But I know she has been up for hours.

And then I kiss my youngest sister's cheeks and say, "you don't exist, which is just as well."

To think I almost missed it all!

Title quote from Franz Wright's Admission.

:::: colorado this weekend.

bienvenida a tijuana
bienvenida mi amor
de noche a la maana
bienvenida mi amor

bienvenida mi suerte
a mi me gusta el verte

de menos, amor.

slow burn.

corona del mar, ca.

long day.

costa mesa, ca.

A Spiritual Woman
D.H. Lawrence

Close your eyes, my love, let me make you blind;
They have taught you to see
Only a mean arithmetic on the face of things,
A cunning algebra in the faces of men,
And God like geometry
Completing his circles, and working cleverly.

I'll kiss you over the eyes till I kiss you blind;
If I can—if any one could.
Then perhaps in the dark you'll have got what you want to find.
You've discovered so many bits, with your clever eyes,
And I'm a kaleidoscope
That you shake and shake, and yet it won't come to your mind.
Now stop carping at me.—But God, how I hate you!
Do you fear I shall swindle you?
Do you think if you take me as I am, that that will abate you
Somehow?—so sad, so intrinsic, so spiritual, yet so cautious, you
Must have me all in your will and your consciousness—
I hate you.

vespers, louise gluck.

Vespers.

In your extended absence, you permit me 
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report 
failure in my assignment, principally 
regarding the tomato plants.
I think I should not be encouraged to grow 
tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold 
the heavy rains, the cold nights that come 
so often here, while other regions get 
twelve weeks of summer. All this 
belongs to you: on the other hand, 
I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots 
like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart 
broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly 
multiplying in the rows. I doubt
you have a heart, in our understanding of 
that term. You who do not discriminate 
between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence, 
immune to foreshadowing, you may not know 
how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf,
the red leaves of the maple falling
even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible 
for these vines.

Louise Gluck.

i must always, always! remember.

I wrote this in February 2008, while working at another office .

venice beach, ca.

from exactly a year ago:

every couple hours I take a deep breath, inform my lovely colleague Jodi that I need a bathroom break, walk into the ladies room and slump against the door. Not because I'm sad, or depressed, or moping - but because I am thoroughly exhausted. I steal a second or two to regroup. I close my eyes and visualize unzipping my spine - my tightly bound qualities tumble out - my niceness, my humor, my polite nodding and prim smiling - then I make some faces in the mirror, shake out my hands and feet - zip back up - and go on with the day.

Friday!

richard "i've been here a long time" alpert.

i wish he could give me eyeliner tips

Froda

text removed.


#1: Mrs. Roboto


Vanessa inhabits the cublet* beside me. Her car's license plate reads V-Vans. I will be referring to her as V, Vanessa , or Vanny.


We both began on the same day. 08/08/08. I remember stretching out my freshly tanned arm and shaking my boss’s hand, flashing her my crest whitened smile. I was full of hope and devoid of sense. Ten minutes later she shuffled V and I into the back storage room, ushering us to computers placed side by side.


And thus began the unnatural and somewhat terrifying twinship.


In the offices of WV, Vanny and I come as a set. We work in tandem on everything, completing one mundane task after another. We collaborate on grammar & text & changes & technicalities. When I take a swig of my tap water, she swallows. When I get up to pee, she follows.


Inevitably the old socks brand of comfort offered by this symbiotic relationship wears thin. It comes down to this: old V has more stamina than I... or any other human on this planet.


Whereas I leave not a minute past five, she stays for ten, twenty minutes extra to “check her changes.” She takes shorter breaks than I do, she doesn’t leave the office for lunch. I suspect she never leaves at all, and parks in a nearby parking lot to sleep in flashy V-Vans. She chats with duller than dirt coworkers and tries her best to hang with them outside the professional environment. I avoid eye contact and dodge facebook requests. She grins and nods and spouts positive statements. I say, “really?”


I am starting to suspect that Vanessa has a plug. This is the only explanation for her Olympian endurance. She keeps her generator in V-Vans and during one of her many bathroom breaks she heads outside for a recharging sesh. Or maybe she just eats batteries the way I scarf down candy from the secretary's jar. When I leave tonight, in 32 minutes, 20 seconds, I will scope out her car for evidence.


**not a typo. On my first day I erroneously referred to the grey cubicles as “cubes.” My boss informed me of my mistake: “Oh, you been the cublets? The creative development ghetto?” Her words, not mine.