Summer notes

Ants like to eat period blood.

I watch Death Bed: The Bed That Eats (1977) its not good, but has some fun stuff. I argue with myself about whether I like it or not.

I listen to podcasts about ghosts as I attempt sleep.

I write a lot. I am inside a lot. LA is napping.

My friend and I eat breakfast in West Hollywood.  I get vegan huevos rancheros and talk about how I’ve been emotional. We talk for three hours about what we’re learning and repeating and scared of.

I go to a Peaches concert and take a little mushroom. The shroom turns into an impossible to respect life coach the whole concert, annoying me by incessantly saying “You should be Peaches!” “Look at her, she’s so cool! You should be her!!!!”

I look older and I wonder when I will join the cattle line for botox.

The woman waxing my pussy is mean to me. Not in a good way. I feel hot wax go inside my asshole and I worry it will forever be plugged. I ask her how long she waxed for and she gets furious at this. In my heart,  I am just making small talk to take my mind off the pain, but she finds it insulting. It‘s the most excruciating wax of my life. She doesn’t  have to begrudgingly tweeze the strays she missed afterwards . As Ram Dass says “we’re all just walking each other home.”

I don’t feel femme. I feel like a teacher I had in high school who wore polyester brown pants with a long front zipper that stuck out, the fit was distractingly strange. She would constantly be putting her hair behind her ears and staring off. Her mouth slightly open, lost in thought. She was a nervous 35.

I buy a suction dildo, but am trying to sell it to my friend since I don’t really know why I bought it. It was very hot out that day.

I believe my plane is about to crash three times. I eat a Jet blue cheeseboard once I feel safe. A pornographic image appears on my ipad. My fingers paralyze themselves from swiping it away, too shocked. Someone behind me sees.

My cat refuses to go out in this heat. He is lying in the center of the living room. He doesn’t know it’s September and how fast time is moving because time is not outside of himself. He is not bewildered by the “times” or how things have “changed” because for him nothing has changed. He is basking in his sleepy hour time. His hot cat nap time of 6 pm. Where one goes to bed with the last of the sun, before it begins to cool down. When it cools, I relax finally. The moon blows on us like a hot Stoeffer mac and cheese out of the microwave.

I listen to the song “Born To Be Alive” by Patrick Hernandez from 1979. It makes me feel like I’m at a fun wedding and don’t care about the bride or groom.  I blast it as I run around the Rosebowl at 10 pm. My current favorite feeling is running at night. When I walk, I listen to “Sea Bird” by the Alessi Brothers. I get teary eyed listening to it. I wonder what’s with me and late seventies.

There's a road I know I must go
Even though I tell myself
That road is closed

Listen, lonely seabird
You've been away from land too long
Aw, too long

I don't listen to the news no more
Like an unwound clock
You just don't seem to care
This world isn't big enough
To keep me away from you
Oh, from you

Seabird, seabird
Fly home
Seabird, seabird
Fly home
Like a lonely seabird
You've been away from land too long
Oh, too long

Suddenly, you're with me
I turn, and you're not there
Like a ghost, you haunt me
You find warmth in a one-night bed

Sunsets, full moons
Don't turn you on
Like an untied dog
You just had to run

Like a lonely seabird
You've been away from land too long
Oh, no, too long (so long, seabird)

Seabird, seabird
Fly home (like a lonely bird)
Seabird, seabird
Fly home

Seabird, seabird
Fly home (seabird, sea)
Seabird, seabird
Fly home