in the dream last night
we walked to this place that takes a hundred years to get back from
where you face your greatest fears along the way
and the heads of those who fell along the trail
now line the path and spit as we walked past

and i was the only one who was concerned
walking at in the direction of the door
on the sheer confidence of my companions.

it occurs to me now that it was all imaginary
a dream within a dream
and i was taking
an amusement park ride as reality

there's this thing in my throat

an intangible ball of rage

and fire

made of fists

it's this thing

that causes me to raise my normally calm and controlled voice

in the face of

ignorance

and blind hatred

and i know it's wrong to scream and yell 

and throw a temper tantrum

but there's also a three year old in my chest

that doesn't really know how else to react

so

she stomps her feet instead

and holds her breath until her face is red

and i guess the problem is 

the other side often acts like a three year old

so

how else can you respond

when someone says it's dangerous 

that a prince can marry a prince

what else can you do but scream

when a little girl is expelled because she dressed up as a prince 

instead of a princess

how can you respond rationally 

to the irrational?

love is a constant three year old. 

today i woke up to the sound of waves from the alarm clock
crashing into my dream
and pearl was dead somewhere in southeast asia
literally a big white pearl, and also this girl i know
it was relieving to wake up beside a sweet sleeping body
even if it was a time reserved for careers that have long been canceled out for me

the moon was still casting its glow across the ocean

i drank tea
i packed
he said, "i have a line for one of your pieces"
and i said, "what is it"
and he said, "you come and go by moon light"
it was true
and very sweet

i looked at him a long time
trying to see his face in all the different ways i can sometimes see it
and catch a phase of my favorite version
i did
and breathed it in
this man with the child so near

i wished him happy birthday
and left as the sun began to crest into the day

i drove for hours
in the predawn the mountains were magenta and red from the fires of the back country
mixing with the fog and the smoke
the air was thick and smelled like winter nights
unusual for an autumn morning
and it felt like i was driving my little honda civic into the hills of hell
and hell looked a lot like i had always imagined heaven to be
just black and pink
instead of blue and green

then there was breakfast and passing all the tiny towns that sleep in the hills beside the ocean
the carwash that didn't work
the food i spilled on my clean shirt
my hair amess
i listened to dreamtime music and thought about dances with chairs
and i made it to work

got offered a job i barely want
took it
to take it
filled in the rows and columns and then ran to serve pizzas for the rest of the night

so i served pizzas all night

and the dirty air of la is bareable when i breathe it as a free woman
done with work
and only writing to do
so i won't complain
i love driving home at night
through miracle mile
just the name of it makes it worth it
miracle mile

late night drives to silverlake
through crisp air
and a hundred years of hollywood history
making my skin tingle

how far i am away from home (and him)
where the hills are on fire
where i come and go by moonlight

my roommates are up late playing cards
it feels like a school night

my eyes are tired
my hair is still wet from the shower before work
and the kids keep laughing in the living room
about things only they find funny

although this time of night everything gets funny
or tragic

my friend is paddling his boat down a river
to the ocean
to adventure

on the phone he tells me about seeing the constellations he loves
and how he feels like he has no home

all i want is a home
and to wander
that is my delicious limbo

today i watched a girl eat an 18 inch pizza
12 spicy chicken wings
and
two glasses of sprite
no ice

all by herself in the back booth of the restaurant

she just kept reading and reading and eating and eating until it was all gone
the whole thing

for some perspective

three guys can usually take on an 18 incher

so this tiny girl was impressive
and also called for some concern

i'm proud that the seams lined up perfectly
that it looked as beautiful underneath as it did on top
and that we didn't go to sleep until the blanket was done
you used to joke in high school that i was the brains and you were the brawn
and while my brawn is fine and your brains strong
we really do make a fine pair you and i
things have a way of coming out beautifully
whenever we are together.

i'm proud that something i made out of paint and glitter and cardboard
looks like a magical thing
you might find in a hidden toy store
and it might just be the key to a mythical land
as i write this, the light from my desk lamp refects off its back
and i wonder if it might come alive tonight
after i have gone to sleep
i think you would agree

it is both those things
the straight lines
the neatness of the underbelly
and the magic of what i make when i dream
that i am working on now

it is craft
craft
refining
defining
and
finding my craft

i love silverlake

i love it i love it i love it

the way the houses are set in the hills
and the cool kids walking to dinner in the dark
where else can you see miranda july
and eat a vegan sandwich
at lunch
in a busy restaurant
at 3pm
on a friday

it is one thirty in the morning
and i have just fallen out of the zone
in the zone
where i have been for the last four hours
i have been gluing sequins to a cardboard cutout costume piece
that is going to look,
and forgive the arrogance here,
a-mazing

before that it was tofu at the tofu house
and the reassurance that i just don't like korean food
and it is ok

the light was falling so beautifully into the evening
and i felt hopeful and nostalgic at the same time
looking backwards and forwards
like christmas was in the air
excited to eat dinner alone
in a new restaurant
as part of my reclaim la program
a non profit research project for one
me

and now sleep
sleep
sleep

i think what i hate most about doctor offices is the attempt of care.

it would be better in my mind if they would just say:

"it is stark here. you will lose your autonomy here. do not fight it. we have paid for years of school that will leave us in debt unless we sell out and our arrogance assures us that we are right and you are wrong. your copay will be $30." 

but instead they try to hide fluorescent lighting with puke greens and sterile blues. 

the office assaulting you with smiles and understanding conspiracy winks from national health posters and drug company brochures that softly whisper evil advice 

trying to silence us

into a coma of numbness

promising relief while providing apathy.

the waiting room all bowed heads and restless bouncy shuffle caffeine feet

that tap and dance under reproductions of impressionism, or worse:

the stupid happy cottages that you half expect to swallow you. 

all smiles.

all meant to calm you.

all meant to assure you.

god how i wish for a che poster, an S and M magazine, a june jordan poem, with riot grrl blasting over the intercom.

i want patients who look at each other.

i want us to look one another in the eyes to smile

to glare

to spit

to scream, sing, cut and roar.

i want extreme.

i want my insides to match my outsides.

i want to see a room full of entrails.

honest entrails.

not rehearsed ennui and dispassion. 

not this study of perpetual cognitive dissonance. 

i don't want people to feel comfortable around me. 

i want to feel the pain. 

and i want people to hear me cry and complain about it.

i don't want pills shutting me up. making it easy. making it comfortable. making it fit into social propriety. 

i do not fit. we do not fit. 

i want the shuffle ruffle soft eggshell feet 

to be 

ripped out

and replaced with clanging banging warrior-into-battle march feet.

i want a sign in the waiting room that says:

"it is loud here. it is quiet here. it is anger and acceptance here. we sometimes know things. we sometimes don't. that is life. but we know pain even if it isn't our own. and we will listen to you, yell with you, cry with you, and hold you and rock you to sleep. because that, in the end, is all we can do. because we mostly don't know. we are sorry for the inconvenience. but this is a revolution."

and i still feel sick

even now

i have to count to survive it

i count my breaths. i try to remember sleep cuddle exhales instead of my paralyzed horror inhales.

in. out. one. in. out. two. in.

i count the seconds it takes my lungs to fill, remembering my 7th grade chorus instructor screeching out "diaphragmatic breaths or perish!"

i think about filling out my chest with breath, with life, with oxygen, with change as the carbon dioxide is forcibly removed, evicted. carbon dioxide, my biology teacher called invisible death. the trickster. 

i look around for a plant so i can think about breath cycles and life cycles and the beauty of science. 

hold on to that. one. two. thr...

but it starts to slip

and i fall into the bad place. 

the place where i can feel the sterility of the walls, of the tools, of the carefully rehearsed facial contortions of the doctor.

where i can feel the gaping hole in me. 

where life is supposed to breathe from. where it takes its first breath. from me. out of me.

i try to hold ont that. 

infinity. 

infinite breaths from infinitely wide and deep thrusting hips.

but then i think of its opposite

because you can't have the beautifully constructive infinite

without the devastatingly beautiful destructive void: zero. nothing. 

with every counted breath

zero takes a deeper one

blows out

and destroys the tower of cards i've built

falling in beautiful paper cuts as the tower collapses. 

there is an island in the middle of the pacific
where one country pays another country
to keep its unwanted refugees

they thought they were fleeing one hell
and landed in another
and this time
there is really nowhere to go

and sometimes i worry that the world is too small

in that same ocean there is a stretch of trash
that follows currents across the world
bringing bags and cups and things that float
to a great caucus
the size of Texas
in the middle of nowhere

since it is no man's land
since no country governs its waters
there is no one to clean it up
you can travel for a day and follow it
and it will go on into the horizon
and there are more
in different oceans

there is a girl
who works in my bar
who can make you a mai tai
split your bill
and serve your table impeccably
who,
after hearing that the first use of the government bailout money is being spent on spa treatments for executives
and hearing me say we all need to vote
asked me
bravely
to confirm that Obama is the Republican one

the prisoners
the garbage
the unstocked minds of party girls

the state of the world's financial future

and all this came about because someone thought,
"this is a good idea"
and the guy sitting next to him said, "yaaaay... it IS!"

a camel is a racehorse designed by committee

it was perfect weather today
in la
and i played a zombie covered in sugar blood
dancing for an hour in a backyard in the valley
and i also went shopping for shoes

had lunch alone
and took a nap in my parked car

last night
my friends got married
i danced with my shoes off
i drank too much wine
and it was all insanely beautiful
so i cried a few times
for a few different reasons
but mostly because here two people are joining
and making that agreement public

i see that as beautiful
and foreign
because i could barely decide on a pair of shoes
and kept the receipt just in case

and then tonight
in a totally appropriate turn of events
as i got out of my car
covered in fake blood
hairspray from last night still sticky
i saw a coyote in the yard across the street
we stopped and stared at one another
he walked away
and i realized that must be why all the dogs start barking
at all hours of the night