with return

Blue skies from Los Angeles to Seattle with return. Stepping into my apartment (it was still there) for the first time since the course I was struck at how luxurious it seemed. I thought I was living quite modestly. I  still have more than I need.

As of today I even have heat. I turned it on only to be greeted by a cloud of smoke - the burning of at least a year's worth of dust. I was, of course, already in the shower when this happened, smoke alarm and all. Curses. I am now at the considerably less warm Cow's End for coffee and clean(er) air.

Though my apartment remains intact everything has changed. I'm resisting the urge to revert to the same habits which made it the place it was before. I have a choice now I didn't when I left to try something different. I'd like to take advantage of that. Today I decide what form these efforts will take.

I am happy to report ...

... that I'm happy. But don't tell anyone. It's a secret.

Drunks on the peninsula

All think that they're the Mayor.

Baja, Cabo Cantina, The Whaler,

Hinano, Mercedes, The Terrace -

What a menace. Be thankful if

You're not one of them;

These guys are a dime a dozen.

twice I've woken

in bed

from earthquakes

only to realize

it was

my own body

shaking

a day in the life

Today I did my sitting, practiced guitar and Chi Kung, worked, updated my website, struggled with my blinds, framed and hung several prints and a few of Paul's drawings. Dave from New Zealand (with the red Moto Guzzi) helped me with my TV and took me out for a bite. I went home, showered and walked out to the pier. A clear night in Venice. The stars are out and the sky is dotted with airplanes on their way to and from LAX.

I like being alone and resist the urge (which I believe is mostly social) to feel as though I'm missing out on something by enjoying my own company instead of someone else's. If it is our desires which veil the truth from us, I'm tired of being shrouded in lust and longing. Tonight I wore a dress in which I can feel everything. There was a breeze off the ocean. It touched me gently. Discipline and curiosity may not be able to do this, but I plan to fill the man-gap with these anyway.

On my way home I was forced to choose between the lesser of two evils: walking down the dark alleyway I live on and where a bum and his shopping-cart full of belongings has taken up residence or take Catamaran and go in the back way. For those of you who don't know I recently vacated a life (and love) on that street. Walking it makes me feel awkward and ghost-like, tonight especially in my white dress.

I shunned the bum, deciding at the same time I need not be ashamed of my incredible ability to move on.

venice birdman

somebody else's trash

I smoked a cigarette by the water today and thought about what I wrote last night. Everybody comes here to visit the beach. They get oiled up, fight over off-street parking and leave trash everywhere. There are lots of little crabs on the bottom of the canal. Our filthy canal. Should I add my cigarette butt to it? These little niceties are a drop in the bucket. 

If you don't give a shit about your self, why should I? Every decision carries an exact weight and has a quality which acts on the soul either to tear it apart or build it slowly. This I know for sure. Me? I threw mine away. You can do whatever you want with yours. 

venice 2

It will never again be safe for you to leave the house. You might see me. (I am everywhere.) And if you did, your face would melt off. Or you would turn to stone. Or perhaps you are already stone.

I'm watching a man pick through the feathers of a blue Macaw - who may or may not be watching me back with his black eye. He edges onto the man's shoulder as a big dog nears. The dog (a Great Dane?) still has its balls. The Macaw's name is Rocky. Rocky's owner enjoys, as I do, the reactions of passerby's. I like seeing children reach out to touch the giant bird. They're so brave. He likes pretty women. Rocky is 21. Rocky may bury his owner. Macaws have a rather long life-expectancy. This one will live forever. Like Bunnicula. Or he'll die only to rise up again like a Phoenix. Like my heart in a blaze of fire and fury. You should be there the moment it happens. The fireworks. The color. Everything awash with love. It will be beautiful. When I'm ready and not until then.

Until then I amuse myself with other people's stories and try to fulfill my obligations honorably. I look down on a small patch of sidewalk from a table in a dirty cafe on Washington and pretend I don't see you there.

venice 1

I saw a homeless man a few nights ago

palms upturned, arms outstretched under a beam

of fluorescent light behind a convenient store in Venice.

He spoke softly to himself as we drove by.

It was the light of God, of knowledge,

and he was Jesus, Muhammad or Moses.

birdhouses

The electrical wires in this city crackle. The way a microphone might or speakers in a car which are blown out. I haven’t been here so long yet that I don’t pause to look up. I wait for them to fall on my head. Like twigs I expect them to snap. I’ve already been brought to trial. I sent a head-shot and a photo in my bathing suit ahead of me. It was enough. 

Everyone wants to know how I am. Only I can see the lines in my knuckles. Like dried earth. Andy Goldsworthy's garden of red leaves slide down my legs a cunt of thorns.

All girls draw their bodies as trees. And get tattoos of roses. There’s a birdhouse in the back yard I left unfilled. There is nothing here to eat.