yes...it’s true, I am a liar.
My Dog Just Died...
my dog just died. I'm feeling sick to my stomach. I guess I'm not as prepared for finality of the ‘end' as I thought I'd be. Just a foreigner in the land of emotion. It’s been so long since anyone I've truly cared about has passed away and I seem to have become desensitized to the whole experience. The news, in movies or the world in general has left me flippant. People die every day, but I didn't know any of them personally so how can I be expected to mourn. I feel like a robot most of the time, but we all get reminders that we are human, and man do they hurt.
day at the beach
Slept in the sand ‘til the moon wakes to tease Covered in honey a treasure for bees Memories I made up, I pray for warm rain
MY MORNING STARTED AT MIDNIGHT SO WHY MUST I (NOW) PICK ONE? HOW CAN ONE COLOR/WORD SAY IT ALL?
Question The Exercise
how dare you! to ask me to define myself with painted up pronouns. a black heart, a yellow streak, green with envy or blood red (I could go on, but I don't wanna)
Big sur, California. April 2000 Stories always get better with time. Embarrassing ones more than any other. We change little details to shine/emphasize certain dramatic tropes. To add tiny dots in the painting to that adds a bit of color, to bring out the background and give it more of a sense of being whole. Sharpen the knives and plunge them a little deeper with each stab, so to speak. So given 20 years of space between then and today I’d like to claim that my memory is as bright with the same details of the day just as it happened. But I’ll admit I’ve shaped this story, consciously or somewhere else in my mind like a clay cup I made and gave to my smoker mother as a child. So here I go, trying to empty the ashtray of my mind by telling this story.
Life is a series of dogs. My parent’s dogs, the dogs of my childhood, that were always just there and some that one day were just gone. I hadn’t picked them but we were together just the same. Then Dogs of my own. My cost, my concern, my responsibility. More dogs than girlfriends.
I stood across the street looking back at the bar door. She stood there for a second and Then turned and went back inside. I had a cut over my eye and a glass of merlot staining my shirt in the shape of an archipelago. I smiled and took a drink from the bottle I grabbed from the table. I couldn’t have planned it any better. I wiped the blood from my lip and walked away.
to late for the contest
The whole place was a dump. the town. the people. the weather. ‘what Am I doing here?’ My ego wondered. even the stray dogs look depressed, So did everyone standing around me. We all waited patiently for something or someone. An earthquake or a Spanish explorer. Something to move us from the spot we were standing. Even near death would be welcomed. everyone here knew it too but didn’t care to or couldn’t change it. Circumstances don’t change. Some souls are just built to pain. all the faces around me wore the same 'maybe next life' look. Wrinkled skin plus broken teeth, cherry noses and empty wallets.