Saturday, February 26, 2011

Dreaming something else

Dreams where I’m going back to my high school, oh high school -- at least this time I’ve already graduated, going back to look for something, what is it exactly? Something heavily coded Jewish, I’m looking through albums of some sort in this huge room at the top of some high-rise, that’s high school I guess, sparkling in the sun and then I’m looking at stacks of laminated photos or art, does everyone in the school have a lamination machine now? My sister’s apartment is next door, she’s a senior and I’m looking at the art on her walls, a piece by my grandmother set into a deep frame, glass on all sides and the piece is like flowers rising up, red and pink paper forms in five parts, three-dimensional shapes rising up and then there’s another one on a different wall, a different shape, maybe four flowers instead of five but the same idea and I love the way they echo each other, but then the main two walls in her apartment are almost empty and I wonder about that.

Then I’m upstairs on the roof or maybe this is San Francisco, yes kind of downstairs too in an alcove of light and Chris is telling me that when he gets really depressed he shuts people out, doesn’t realize until afterwards, and as the sun shifts in different ways -- the kitchen of my apartment on Fillmore, Chris’s kitchen on Woodward Alley, the backyard of that place on Haight Street, maybe the roof of the apartment on Sycamore -- I’m trying to think about whether this means we’ll have a relationship again, and when I wake up I wonder about this kind of dream, yes it feels calming when I’m sleeping, but then when I wake up and I know it will never happen, I wonder whether I should be dreaming something else.

Friday, February 25, 2011

The cover of Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots -- doesn't it look fantastic?!!!!

And, here's a little blurb:

Gay culture has become the ultimate nightmare of consumerism, whether it's an endless quest for Absolut vodka, Diesel jeans, rainbow Hummers, pec implants, Pottery Barn, or the perfect abs and asshole. As backrooms get shut down to make way for wedding vows, and gay sexual culture morphs into “straight-acting dudes hangin’ out,” what are the possibilities for a defiant faggotry that challenges the assimilationist norms of a corporate-cozy lifestyle? This anthology reinvokes the anger, flamboyance, and subversion once thriving in gay subcultures in order to create something dangerous and lovely: an exploration of the perils of assimilation; a call for accountability; a vision for change.

Coming February 2012 from AK Press -- that's right, just in time for Valentine's Day!!!

Thursday, February 24, 2011

The miniseries

Sex Life in Santa Fe -- this should be a miniseries, right? A miniseries that never quite starts. So, this guy comes over, and guess what? He actually looks younger than in his picture, what? Kind of geeky -- I guess he said he was 29, so I assumed somewhere between 47 and heaven, but no, I guess he’s actually 29, this must be what 29 looks like -- maybe that’s the name of the miniseries: 29.

Okay, so he starts jerking his dick through his pants, asks if he can suck mine -- of course I’ve noticed his cologne, don’t want to get it on my sweater so I stand up and pull off my shorts, get ready to pull down my boxers but then he moves away in some gesture of shyness so I go down for his dick, he moans as my lips squeeze through the polyester, then he covers his crotch. Maybe he came? I say why don’t you take off your jacket -- I unzip it and see his uniform, Forest Service, that explains the forest green polyester pants, cute, I thought maybe they were Sta-prest.

He says he’s nervous, starts to get up to leave, I say do you want some water? He takes the glass, drinks a sip, says no really I have to go, rushes out the door with me standing there in my boxers. Calls a few minutes later, says I want you to know it’s not you, you’re really cute, I just get really nervous, a lot of things were going through my head. That’s okay, I say -- we can get together later.

Yeah, later.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The dryness I came here for

Wait, this air purifier is really giving me energy. At first I thought it would be too much work to roll it in from my bedroom, but then I started to smell those terrible fireplaces, so I brought it in and maybe a half-hour later I started thinking: I wonder why suddenly I’m feeling better. Maybe it was the book I was reading. But then I remembered oh, the air purifier, I think it’s that.

Strangely, in my much smaller bedroom -- tiny, actually -- the air purifier doesn’t seem to help as much. I mean, I can’t keep it on the highest setting because then it’s too loud to sleep, and if I close the window and door then I get too warm. I don’t know if either of those things relate, but anyway, it hasn’t helped yet in the bedroom, but somehow in this huge living room open to the whole rest of the house, it does seem to help. At least right now. For now, I will take now, right?

But yeah, in bed it’s not helping -- I wake up with this terrible headache, what is it from? Maybe it’s the dryness, it’s possible the air purifier makes my apartment dryer. Yes, the hygrometer says the humidity is 20%, which really means is much lower, since for some reason this thing only measures down to 20%. Maybe I’ll turn up the humidifier tonight, but when it’s on high it floods the floor and runs out of water. If I could find a stand to put it on, that might help the humidity to reach my nostrils -- at the moment it’s on the floor, because otherwise I’m worried it will cause mold to grow on whatever wet piece of wooden furniture it sits on. All these hazards from trying to find health, the story of my life, and yes the pain in my right shoulder is continuing, hurts when I lie on my right side, hurts when I read or chop vegetables or write something with the pen, hurts when I reach for anything. At least I see the feldenkrais practitioner tomorrow, hopefully that will help.

And I want to say something about the way sex comes up in my head when I’m most exhausted, searching for escape and now that I’m banned from cruising online I can’t even search, really, I mean not when I’m this exhausted, which might be a good thing. Except I’m always on the verge of becoming this exhausted -- so so rarely do I have enough energy to even conceive of going over to the porn shop or something like that. Oh, here comes that headache again -- is it allergies, or the air purifier? But right -- the dryness again, the dryness I came here for, I better put more water in the humidifier.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Today I collected pinecones...


Oh my intestines, why my intestines, why? Outside in this beautiful sun and it’s hurting my eyes, headache from allergies or the dryness or trying to sleep the way my eyes go up in my head, thinking thinking thinking and planning but why not just sleep, this is the worst it’s been in a while, draining my energy so now when I go on a walk I just feel tired. The bloating gets worse, and I go to that place where I think I need to change my diet, but what will I change it to? I know the naturopath wants to start doing something about the heavy metal poisoning, but how will my body deal with that? He thinks that’s why I need to eat all the time, not hypoglycemia but my body dealing with the heavy metals in my tissues, it’s better to wait longer in between meals because then your body can detox so there’s another one of those cyclical patterns breaking me apart.

Every time I go to the co-op, they want to know what I’m doing with all these greens. Well, eating them, right? Isn’t this a co-op? I mean, don’t people buy greens? I guess not as many as I buy, and then the naturopath says greens would be helpful with detox, do you know how many greens I already eat? At least two bunches of day -- although, I’d probably eat more if they were cheaper. Oh, wait -- better get back to my cooking.

Okay, that’s hurting my right hand too much -- chopping vegetables, I mean. Time for a break -- I’ll dance to these shrieking electronic clanks that are perfect right now, yes I’ll shake out my pelvis and hope to release the bloating, yes I’ll tell myself work it out bitch, work it out bitch, work it out bitch, work it out bitch, jumping around and twirling to the side, staring at the dishwashing liquid like that person on the other side of the dance floor that you’re working, that you’re working with, I’ll sway the hips and twirl and shake until that hurts too, which happens pretty soon, of course, so now I’ll lie down for a little bit of feldenkrais before I get too hypoglycemic, to see if it helps my wrist before I have to hold that fork.

A brilliant post by Leil-Zahra Mortada over at Sawt Al-Niswa, a Lebanese feminist site...

The critical question today is which of our governments didn’t support or – even worse – continues to support these regimes? Which of our governments is not killing us or the planet? Will our government be another Mubarak, shifting overnight from a “democratic” and “liberal” regime to the new villain in town? Will we have to wait 30 more years to see that happen?

Social services cuts, unemployment, aggravated financial crisis, arms deals, nuclear energy, the plundering of every inch of the planet, the destruction of nature, the WTO, the IMF, the World Bank, border-police forces, immigration laws, racist governmental policies, deportations, genocides, colonial exploitation, imperialist control, economic and political hegemony, war, occupation, the so-called G8, multinationals, patents, forced labor, NATO, modern-day slavery, sweatshops, global warming, educational cuts, unjust housing prices, media hypocrisy and manipulation, censorship; Christian, Muslim and Jewish fundamentalisms; rigged elections, murderous foreign policies, slaughtering of indigenous peoples and their cultures, state-funded terrorism, state-funded lies and unfounded fear campaigns, sexist and homophobic laws and statements, brutal violence on all levels against non-whites, impunity, corruption… the list is endless. These are but a few adjectives that describe all of the governments today, not just Mubarak or Ben Ali, or Ahmadi Najad.

Read the rest here...

The descriptive blurb!

Okay, so I’m getting ready to send off The End of San Francisco, oh my -- and so, that means starting with the descriptive blurb that I’ll be sending to publishers and agents to see what happens -- well, here it is -- tell me your thoughts...

Part memoir, part social history, and part elegy, The End of San Francisco explores the perils and possibilities of creating community through critique, relationships through activism, and accountability through action. Shifting swiftly between time and place to evoke a search for home and hope, the book moves from the clampdown of a childhood in 1980s Washington DC to the camaraderie and conflict in political organizing, club culture, public sex and chosen family in early-‘90s San Francisco, post-grunge Seattle, Giuliani’s New York, and a gentrified San Francisco during and after the dot-com craze. Ultimately the book centers on the myths and realities of San Francisco as a refuge for radical queer visions in community-building. Using a breathless associative style to conjure the push and pull of memory, inspiration, resistance and loss, The End of San Francisco expresses and exposes the tensions between idealism and critical engagement, trauma and self-actualization.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Once in a while

I keep staring at the screen from the distance, that’s how a 0 becomes a 1 becomes a 0, yes it’s my vision, division, we all have these separate email addresses for online cruising now, but why? So that our inboxes don’t get filled with drain my load or whatever, so that our identity remains separate from our identity, so that we can hide from it all, so that we can stare at the screen from the distance. The problem with banning myself from online cruising in Santa Fe is that I don’t know what other kind of cruising I’m going to find. Maybe I should start taking the bus to the porn shop, or taking a taxi and then standing there in the midst of strip mall hell, trying to get aroused or wait for the bus without too much pollution in my face. What about when I get dehydrated, and need water? Will I walk down the street to try to find that Walgreens? And food, what about food? Maybe I should start going to the bar -- no, that’s not going to happen. For now I’ll ban myself for a week, and see what happens.

And yes, in the middle of my sleep I’m thinking yes, I’m so glad I’ve banned myself from online cruising, yes it feels like a relief. Until I get up, and I feel slightly horny through all of this fatigue and then I think about checking that email, the separate one that includes SF in the name and address so I didn’t even have to change it, I guess I didn’t ban myself from checking the email but really, forget about it, the only thing more depressing than cruising online is the terrible sex that happens once in a while.

Sunday, February 20, 2011


What’s today? Today is another day when I feel so exhausted I can barely function. Why does my neighbor spray so much toxic shit in her apartment -- air freshener or something, coming through the walls. I felt a little better when I woke up, working on the descriptive blurb for The End of San Francisco, but as soon as I ate I crashed. And, started to get so warm. Is it really that warm outside -- didn’t feel warm when I went out there, an amazing breeze and the air has changed, I can’t describe it exactly but it feels fresher, except when everyone’s fireplaces are on -- maybe this is spring air, I better go outside to get some.

New day and I guess it’s not a good sign when I feel like I have a hat on, but I don’t. I guess that’s my headache, but a hat sounds softer, more relaxed, purposeful even, right? Yes, I do like the idea of a hat better, no need to focus on this headache but where is it coming from? There was a ton of wind yesterday, so maybe allergies have blown in. Blown into my head. Let me check the pollen index -- I thought it was called a pollen count, but now I see the word index, and yes the pollen index is way up -- into the medium level, when before it was at the bottom: cedar/juniper, elm and mulberry. I’m trying to remember if those were some of the trees that showed up on my allergy tests a while back. In any case, I’m wearing this hat.

And actually, I was just thinking I would put an actual hat on, before going on a walk, this purple velvet hat that I found at St. Vincent De Paul -- I love when something is labeled there, and you ask how much it is, and the person working says a dollar. It was even on display right in the front, so I thought it would be more expensive, but anyway a dollar yes a dollar, but I wonder if, when I put this hat I’ll feel like I’m wearing two hats.

Not that I can go on a walk yet, actually, because I’m waiting for these lentils to cook. And they’re taking forever. I hope they don’t wreck my digestion -- my digestion is already wrecked, terrible bloating but at least not as bad as two days ago. Sometimes lentils wreck my digestion, even when it isn’t already wrecked, so I have to make sure that these lentils get super-soft, right? Maybe I’ll take a short walk while they’re still simmering.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Tiny and looming

It’s so different here on free days at museums, I mean different than in San Francisco where on any free day the museum is packed and that’s part of the excitement, you get to watch the other people who go to museums on free days. I tried to go to museums only on free days -- museums should always be free, right? Anyway, here it’ so different, only my second time, that means second museum, but just a handful of people each time so it’s almost like you’re alone with the art and that’s kind of exciting, I mean if you like the art, and there is this one piece that’s pretty incredible, all these figurines arranged on a huge platform of mirrors and metal, figurines with their faces covered by spooky glass tubes or sparkly pointy things or ceramic blankets, futuristic and overwhelmed and antiquated, intimate and distant, tiny and looming, Ruth Claxton is the artist and I need to go back to take pictures, they said you could take pictures in that room but then I felt in my pocket for my camera and it wasn’t there. Maybe next Friday I’ll go back, it’s free every Friday.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Rain check

What an exhausting day, I mean night, which led to day, today, I’m exhausted. At least I got my hair cut, that was fun. Now I’m just sitting here trying not to cruise online because that’s what got me wired last night, wired and then of course that led nowhere. Sex life in Santa Fe -- an oxymoron? That’s what I wrote to someone on the cruise site, we met for a moment at Santa Fe’s one gay bar that doesn’t call itself a gay bar. Besides the one at the gay retirement community, I guess that one does. Or, I’m assuming.

Turns out this guy sent me an email at more or less the same moment, replying to my craigslist post, cock picture only, that type, saying he wanted to get together right away. So then I wrote to him on the cruise site -- hey, that’s me! But a friend had called him, he was on the way to Whole Foods, which is actually right down the street from me so I tried to get him to stop by on the way, right? He said how about a rain check -- I’ll take a rain check, although it doesn’t rain very often here.

But anyway I was horny in a manic way for the first time in a while, to be honest I think it had something to do with the air purifier, it arrived and after I turned it on for an hour or so I started to get a clarity in my head, extra energy, but then I stayed online past my 9 pm deadline, now at least I realize that deadline is important, prevents me from getting too wired, I mean I didn’t stay online that much later, almost until 10 pm, but then I was a mess. Especially my body, pain and tension, but then my head, and I decided to go on a short walk to see if that helped, fireplace air clouding my head again and up ahead was one of those barking dogs, except then I noticed wait, that dog isn’t behind a fence, just up ahead in the dark barking at me, so I started yelling STOP BARKING, STOP FUCKING BARKING. I was kind of worried it was going to bite me, but also annoyed and to tell you the truth I don’t know how to deal with dogs really, because then I turned around and it was following me so I turned and yelled STOP FOLLOWING ME, but then I realized maybe it’s lost, maybe it just wants help, I heard someone calling out softly so maybe that was the dog’s owner but still I suddenly felt so sad, so sad that I couldn’t turn around.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Everything in between

Wait, I almost forgot to tell you about my walk the other night. When I went outside and I couldn’t believe all the stars in the sky and how was the sky so blue in darkness the light, I was thinking it must be like this all the time, right? What exactly is the difference? And then I realized oh, maybe it’s because the snow melted and so the stars shine brighter without so much competition. It’s on walks like that when I really love Santa Fe, staring up at the sky and looking at the houses and everything in between.

Avoid that

I guess I should’ve known when I woke up and thought yes, I did it. As in: I succeeded in falling back asleep. And: I didn’t wake up too early or too late. But then, once I’m out of bed I realize I have this horrible abdominal cramping, yes the terrible bloating again and it makes me feel sad and little and like I need to get back in bed. Even sitting outside doesn’t make me happy, just a little less sad and while I’m cooking I start to think maybe I’m not really awake, just preparing my food in my dreams and then when I wake up everything will be ready.

I guess I need to get back in bed already, that’s what I’m thinking, before I eat anything, so that’s what I do, just for about 20 minutes it turns out and then I feel a little calmer, less drained, clearer for a few minutes and after I eat the bloating isn’t so bad, I go on a walk that actually feels energizing, a purple velvet thrift store hat for one dollar, a few cards across the street where really I was looking for manuscript boxes, and then I’m home again, home again and exhausted, sinus headache pulling that hopeless feeling just above my eyes but I’ll try to avoid that.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Before the crash before the crash

A few minutes ago I was thinking how can I possibly do anything but lie down, but now my mind is racing racing racing and maybe that means I need to eat something but also it’s because of this thing called publishing which relates to this thing called writing, I mean first I think I got wired figuring out who’s going to blurb Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots, I mean getting responses and then I was looking at the cover drafts for the book, and oh my the cover looks so fucking gorgeous, I can’t wait to show you once it’s finalized and everything with the book is going smoothly so far, I mean on the production side which trust me is not always the case, oh my oh my oh my OH MY, so keep your fingers crossed, yes fingers and toes and whatever else and then the other exciting news is that I think I’m on my final edit for The End of San Francisco, or at least the final edit before I send it off to publishers and all. I just cut the huge chapter that used to be almost 100 pages or something like that, the one called The End of San Francisco -- cut it into smaller chapters, that is, and I think it’s really working. But wow, it’s super-emotional to edit, that’s for sure, exhausting even while it’s enervating and yesterday I even started brainstorming the descriptive blurb, getting ready to send it out, you see the way writing melds with publishing and sometimes this works out well, right now it’s working out well, but trust me not always, I’m sure you know that! But anyway, a few minutes ago I was thinking how can I possibly do anything but lie down, and now I’m wired, which means soon enough -- wait, I just got interrupted because my beans were boiling over -- I know you wouldn’t have noticed, so that’s why I’m telling you. So anyway, too soon I’ll need to lie down, hopefully tonight is a better night of sleep than last night, right? Maybe I’ll actually succeed at going on a nighttime walk, and maybe everyone’s fireplaces won’t assault me because tonight it’s warmer, maybe the air while actually feel fresh and nothing else, maybe I’ll actually figure out some kind of sex life here in Santa Fe, I mean maybe not on this particular walk in fact I’m pretty sure that won’t happen on this particular walk, but what was I trying to tell you? About getting wired from writing and editing and publishing and that’s a good thing, harder to write when I’m doing so much writing and editing and that marketing side too which is publishing, which also connects to the writing and editing, okay better put the lid back on the beans so they’ll cook right, maybe add some carrots and I think even a bit of celery right now yes right now while I’m wired, before the crash.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Art, on my walls!


It’s 55 degrees out, and my neighbor is spraying Lysol, why so much Lysol, flooding my apartment and making me anxious for my new air purifier to arrive. I go outside to sit in the sun, across the street in the two big evergreen bushes there are so many birds chirping, I mean how many birds can fit in two big evergreen bushes? It sounds like hundreds. I guess there are always birds chirping in those bushes, even when it’s 10 degrees out, but not usually this many. It’s kind of amazing, like some kind of joke where suddenly you realize those are birds at all, but a recording, and the sun is so warm I can even take my socks off, people walking by are amused by my sun hat and my sunbathing, and this one straight guy with a pit bull that won’t move keeps staring. Maybe the sun will help my swollen feet, red bumps on my toes, the last few days when I get up it’s almost hard to walk. Yesterday when I was standing in a store too long, getting overheated, the balls of my feet started swelling up too and then my shoes felt so tight. I’m not sure what all this is from, the altitude or the dryness I’m guessing, and at least the rash on my hands is long gone, I have to do anything and everything to keep that rash away, fresh aloe on my hands twice a day and I finally found a moisturizer that feels good, organic and cheap, I rub that one into my hands over and over, now the bottoms of my feet too but not my toes because my toes are always prone to athlete’s foot, but anyway, out here in the sun I start to get a libido or something, energy in my body, but when I go back inside I’m ready for bed again.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Wait, I thought of it...



The rest I need

Oh, these wired moments in my bed, moments when everything feels clear in my head, all these thoughts competing for space and when I wake up in the middle of the night it’s the same train of thought, continuing as if I wasn’t even sleeping but still I start to get a little excited at first when I realize I just thought of the perfect word, the perfect word to replace rhetoric, “Mission dyke rhetoric” is the end of the sentence and I realize why Jory asked for me to explain, even though I felt like it was so clear, everything leading up to that point. This is in my new book, The End of San Francisco, the one I’m immersed in doing a final edit on now. Or, almost a final edit, because I might want to go through the middle of it again after this edit. But anyway I realize rhetoric is the wrong word, it’s too big, there wasn’t really something called Mission dyke rhetoric, exactly -- that makes it sound like there were slogans or something, but I just mean the emptiness of a false sense of community, that’s what I want to convey. Here in bed where my mind isn’t where it should be, even though I have that realization, and I think of the perfect replacement, then when I wake up I remember the realization but I can’t remember the new word. I can tell myself I’ll remember it later, and I will, I will remember it later, but right now this forgetting just makes me angrier about those wired moments pulling away the rest I need.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011


Here’s the thing about hooking up over the internet, I mean when it actually happens and I’m standing there assessing this person, trying to figure out whether I find him attractive. So often there’s a disconnect between who they say they are and what happens when they arrive, like this person who said he was 35 but he’s definitely a generation older than me, that I can tell, even though I don’t know how many years that means since a generation is so vague yet so present in gay life and I do like that he’s queeny, that makes me comfortable in the lining of his jacket so soft, must be expensive the way he places it so carefully on my table. What’s the point of describing the sex, while it’s happening I guess it’s okay but mostly it makes me think that I don’t know if the internet will ever work for me in this way, the way I’m working to find an attraction and it’s not that it’s not there, just that once it’s over it feels like nothing, something familiar like turning a trick but softer and more distant. I don’t like that distance.

Then he’s talking about how everything in Santa Fe is so far left, some people he knows even call themselves Marxists, what about the 150 million dead people? There’s too much wrong with that one sentence to do anything about it -- I hate it when people believe the mythologies of the towns where they live, he grew up in this one, so familiar the rhetoric from San Francisco about how far out everything is, just another part of how everything remains in place to facilitate more exploitation, more corruption, more vicious lies and maybe a cute liberal welcoming facade, and then the part about Marxism and 150 million people dead, of course he means Stalin and Lenin and really, why does he insist on making that what Marxism means, even when I’m sure these people he knows keep telling him.

Not that I care much about Marxism, I just hate stupid lies. Santa Fe is a charade, that’s what he ends up talking about when he’s talking about architecture, the old buildings crumbled and rebuilt and then they still claim the building is from 1600. The Victorian houses covered up with fake adobe facades from the ‘30s, this is all interesting but I can’t help thinking about the rest of what he says too, and why are we here, standing by the door, soon he’s on his way and I’m left thinking more.

Sunday, February 06, 2011

The hallway

Here I am ready to write and my head goes blank, maybe that means I’m not ready to write or maybe I’ll write about my head going blank, what’s funny is that last night I was on one of those cruising sites and some guy ends up calling me, talking about how he likes sex in public, groups -- no, wait, first he asked me if I might be interested in a three-way relationship, with him and his husband? I know -- my favorite word, husband! And, they even got married in Marin County. But, I guess they’re into experimenting, and then it turned out they really what he wants is to meet someone who you can have sex with in the car, outside a church, in public, with people watching -- sounds promising to me!

And then today there’s someone who wants to meet up right away -- he’s married too, I’m guessing he means to a woman. Who knows, though -- the other guy I talked to on the phone, but this new one said we could meet at his downtown studio, he gave me the intersection and said he’d see me there in 20 minutes, was he kidding? I’m not going to stand on the corner in the cold. And, I was a hooker for too long to think that someone will actually show up when they tell you they’ll meet you outside -- they just want to get a look. Anyway, then he’s telling me to meet him in the hallway of the building -- I don’t want to meet in the hallway! Says he’ll come over here, I guess we’ll see.

Saturday, February 05, 2011

Going on

What’s that in the middle of the street, looks like a brick but I don’t have my contacts on yet, maybe I’ll go over there -- oh, hilarious, it’s a chunk of snow reddened by the sand they put on the road to clear the ice, I guess they actually cleared my street this time. On my walk I’m thinking how pretty this puddle is, the adventure of getting to the consignment shop where I haven’t been in a while because I haven’t been walking much. I guess I’m not sick anymore, a lingering remnant of a cough but not much else. Except then I’m at home so tired I can barely function, staring into space, the sides of my head closing in no not closing in but closed off, why am I so tired, at least I’m not sick, but why am I so tired, that’s what’s going on in my head.

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

A guest post for Literary Magpie

The lovely Jory Mickelson asked me to write a guest post for his blog, Literary Magpie -- Jory wanted it to be between 400 and 700 words, because apparently that’s the ideal length in blog land, who knew? So I tightened up my post about independent bookstores, which actually I wrote for Jory, since he wanted something about writing and/or publishing and I guess I’m always writing about writing, but not as much about publishing, although I certainly do think about it all the time, oh my… Oh, and there’s a cute new picture of me to go along with the post -- I better post some of those photos over here sometime soon…You might want to check out some of Jory’s other posts, like the one about writing 80 letters to his ex-boyfriend over the course of a year, letters that his ex-boyfriend just sent to him, fantastic!

The desert of my dreams

In my dream, I’m living in Madrid, New Mexico, a small town of just a few hundred people, with restrictions on the number of water permits, and a family is coming to visit me from Egypt, I wonder if that’s allowed? It’ll be four more people, how much water we need to use? Will everyone else notice? We’re in the desert, and my visitors are coming from the desert, so I think it will be okay, but then I’m worried that my visitors are members of Mubarak’s family. But no, they tell me they’re fleeing Mubarak’s family and yes, when I wake up I’m still in the desert but it’s not the desert of my dreams -- hot and sunny and dry. I mean it is the desert of my dreams, but not the desert from my dreams, thankfully -- in fact it’s freezing, 10 degrees out and when I go out on my morning walk it’s so cold that the center of my forehead feels like it’s going to freeze, every time a gust of wind comes I have to turn around, the plastic of my heart-shaped sunglasses cold but necessary against my face since it’s so bright with the snow but yes the air is fresh, so fresh that I can’t even smell the car exhaust and when I got home I’m exhausted and my feet are freezing, but still I’m glad I went out.