(no subject)

I have been on LJ for over two decades. Who is still here? I miss you. Podcasts and the rest aside.

(no subject)

Says James to red molly, my hats off to you. That is Vincent Black Lightnight 1952.

---

I remember listening to this in a Dim Sum bistro when I was uncomfortable with this continentc.

(no subject)

The taste on anise on the tongue,

hops too bitter to color the night

linger as I remember sitting in the

San Francisco bed-and-breakfast

paid for by a friend, wondering if the

ceiling fan could drown out the botox

in the women next to me. I came to

write a treatise on the blackholes and

the social relationships of spaghettification,

sucked through the straw of time and slowed

into individual strands of black and gray

hair. Don’t sun look angry at me until

we await full dark. I am giving blood

in a clinic near the Sonoran desert,

and want nothing more than red beer.

The hum of freedom lingers. I hate

this place. I am tired. The sands have

polished my smile into a stoicism.

The sands, the waking, the whole

blank gaze down avenues I barely remember—

like confusing farsi for Arabic

to a young women in a bar at a LA-X.

(no subject)

America pains me.