Reading this all that time without my knowledge wasn't kind. It was the opposite of kind. He should never have shared this with you.

Thankfully I met someone who never would have.






633 days to go.

top entry most recent, bottom is oldest


'alemande right now, all join hands! do-si-do to the promised boogieland. got no need for altar calls, sold the altar for the mirror balls. do you shuffle, do you twist, cause when the hot hits playlist, now we say, this disco used to be a cute cathedral. where the chosen cha-cha every day of the week! this disco used to be a cute cathedral, but we got no room if you ain't gonna be chic!!!'
--steve taylor



fog rolled in last night.
orange-lit fog moving silently through post-midnight streets.
summer is coming to a close. fall comes to california in november. foggy nights and dim grey mornings. got my sweater out of the car that has been sitting in there on top of the beach blanket. it smells like summer. that is, it smells like: beach sweat; a whiff of tanning lotion; sand; salt air; and the way the car smells when you get back into it after it's been baking in the heat all day.


on his show harry was talking about how sailors are spray-painting inflammatory messages on missiles. specifically there was some anti-gay sentiment, 'this faggot's for you' or the like. he then quoted navy brass as saying 'there was no policy on what could or could not be written on missiles' but in the wake of that incident, navy personnel were told they could only spray-paint 'positive messages.' (!!!!!) like, 'ENJOY THIS BOMB, WON'T YOU?' he cracked.

kate looked foxy in auburn pigtails w/her cornflower-purple shirttails. holes in the knees of her jeans. kelly served her custody papers as she picked up hunter this morning. she started crying on the way back to the apartment.

'he gives me no money to help with him for a year and a half, gets his electricity cut off because he can't pay the bill, but he still has to have his money for a joint, has NO PHONE, and he does THIS,' she sniffled. 'can't fucking BELIEVE it.'

i asked hunter if he liked the sponge bob show and he said, 'no, i don't really like it.' a moment later he said, 'i like it when it's over.'

i'm in a terrible mood today.
sad. but not sad sad. not crying sad. not gloomy sad. it's the numb i-hate-people-state. can't stand anyone. holding pattern. low-key irritations at small things. poker face, poker heart. all quiet on all fronts. but things moving just beneath the surface, plate tectonics of the soul, ominous rumblings.

went to the grocery store last night and the aisles seemed crowded with freaks. all the obnoxious people. people just sort of wandering into your way, not looking where they were going. lots of them. and there was this little kid in the salad dressing aisle. not a toddler, more like 5 or so. his mother had walked a little further down the aisle and he had seen something he wanted and had stopped. and he was yelling at the top of his voice, over and over, 'MOM! MOM! MOM!' i was still in my shopping-reverie but after the fifth or sixth 'MOM!' i looked at the kid and thought, i have to get out of this store, NOW. an aisle full of people and here's this kid screeching.

'so you want to defect?'
officer, what did you expect?
got no rhythm, got no dough. he says
'listen bozo, don't you know
this disco used to be a cute cathedral!!!'

& how to get to the midwest for the holidays? i have to figure that out soon. getting on a plane has always caused fantasies of disaster, death in a fireball, twisted metal and black ash. and that's before sept. 11th. now i REALLY don't want to fly. dad said, 'i wouldn't worry about it if i were you. i think it's safe. just don't get on the plane with any towelheads.' thanks, dad. very helpful.


just looked back and read some of the beginning journal entries. it's like reading words someone else wrote. i think, 'was that me?' i get caught in a plume of some feeling and spew stuff; then, later, other feelings/perspectives/influences/information come swirling in and it all changes, shifts. i feel infinitely older than i did a month ago.

his reigning contention was the age difference. i can't imagine me, at sixty, wanting to hang out with me as i am now. so why would he feel any kind of connection--unless it really was just sex-based...(he swore it wasn't, but as kim and mark both said, 'of course he'd say that if it gets him into your pants again.') who the fuck knows. all i know is, there's something that happens as we age; days collect inside of us. he said older women are 'seasoned' and that makes sense to me. some kids are young, vibrant, brilliant, much smarter than i am, more well-read, more well-traveled; BUT they're still younger. i have a young friend, jessica, 21 now. i haven't seen her in a while. she's far ahead of me in terms of being 'experienced' in the world, interested, culturally informed. and yet there's so much she CAN'T see; time changes the filter of experience in a way nothing else can.

that's what it does. changes the filter of experience. and experience filters emotion. so many layers to existence; the years are so full, even the ones that seemed empty. looking back, from the peak of 63, over the landscape of an entire adult life; what must that be like? and i'm a kid. not as much of a kid as i was at twenty; but, so much is still theory to me.


ok, this sweater REALLY smells like summer. specifically, like summer sweat. beach sweat. it's really gamey. uck.

someone on blogger, the journaling website, writes:


November 8, 2000
whoa, i said F*ck blog? I wanted puck*blog for my love of hockey! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! *cries* posted by Ned Baugh at 5:18 AM

wassup everyone. yoouuuuu are great =)
posted by Ned Baugh at 5:17 AM

wassup everyone. yoouuuuu suck.
posted by Ned Baugh at 5:17 AM


oh man.

been browsing through the blogger site. thanks to the lovely monica---blonde-haired brown-eyed glowing goddess who lit the dark hallways of adolescence with the naughty sparkle in her eye--

mischeif mischief mis cheif mis chief? i before e except after c, i before e except after c... so many online journals. so many smart people with smart things to say. blah, blah, blah. a sea of lives and voices and histories.pages and pages and pages and pages. it never ends. WE ARE ALL HYPERLINKED TO THE UNIVERSE.sitting here gazing into someone else's inner space. the newspaper today described web-journaling ('blogging'---sorry, don't like that word; for web logging) as 'an exercise in self-importance' or something like that. well, yeah.

i'm amazed anyone even comes to this page. SO MANY PEOPLE.

plowing through, plowing through. thoughts about this, thoughts about that. articulate theories, opinions opinions opinions, observations on pop culture, i went here, i did this, i did that, who cares? fuck all of you. get me out of this high-rise. you'll find me at home with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. hiding under the bed. spanky flying loose banging into windows, greasy taco bell wrappers scattered across the floor, and a tornado in my butt.





i guess it was a dream.....

woke up from a pretty deep sleep at about 2:45 am, to what sounded like a huge explosion. and i thought: they're bombing santa monica? --this, in all seriousness.

so i turned on the newsradio by the bed, my normal procedure: it was tuned to knx; they were broadcasting a radio drama; so i searched the dial for anything that might refer to what i had just heard. and found nothing. kfwb: nothing.

and i thought: could i possibly have dreamed that? that's not normally the kind of dream that i have--in fact i can't remember ever having a dream where i dreamed a sound that i actually thought i really HEARD. --and the sound was a HUGE sound. -and i didn't feel fear, but more of an 'oh shit, you've got to be kidding'--kind of feeling.

but it appears that i did dream it. there's nothing on the newswire about anything at all. this makes me think i'm losing my mind. i don't recall even dreaming when i awoke. and it seemed to me that i definitely heard something. but the mind is a sneaky thing, i guess.......


'...and all the tastes in her mouth were like summertime....' --irwin shaw

'it's like there's a party in my mouth.....and everyone's invited!' --bart simpson


i'm just a fool





4:37 pm

emotional hunger vs. love.

i'm just as guilty. in a different--inverse--way.

but right now, all i can do is fantasize about a giant, juicy, dripping hamburger.


loving him doesn't mean i can't move on....i'm harboring a slight glow....
not going to say anymore, because i don't want to jinx it.

and yes, then there's the lesbian crush, too....she's got dark hair, eyes, a musical accent and a deeper voice than you would think, given her delicate frame. she wears clothes that are slightly too little-girlish, the look is kind of awkward. she seems a little too sincere, meaning, she doesn't have that assured veneer of attractive american girls. she's MARRIED. damn!!!! her name is like music....has a wonderful rhythm....she was wearing boots the other night. short boots, a lot of leg. dusky modest wallflower...hanging back in the shadows with just the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips....'wholesome, yet she screams ...FUCK ME!!!!' said a friend of mine. but, he's a cretin. there's something heavy, dark and deep about her, something of hidden corners and twilight, but also something sweet and open.

i've never had a crush on a blonde girl. i don't get it with blondes. not attractive to me at all. i've been blonde nearly a year; and it looks yummy; but, there's something depthless about it when i'm guaging my attraction to women. no, i've never gone there. but the beauty of women mesmerizes me, and one day....





(headline of the day: on 'bert bin laden image upsets muppets producers.')

scientists have created the WORLD'S SMALLEST refrigerator. has no moving parts. fits on a computer chip. cools with electrons. wonders never cease.




and yet

and yet


i do still love him.

makes no sense. against all sense. beyond sense. of the senses. and beyond them.

don't ask me any questions. i'll shut it behind a door, because the blows from his little silver hammer keep on knocking me to the floor.

but there is more;

he's a ton of bricks in a velvet bag. the gentlest of embraces. eyes of steel. but a human. who loves. who is real. who are you? through a series of evasions you are known anyway. time softens the edges. makes legends. his heart is full of rejected futures. he makes love at some kind of threshold. with the hope of healing the past with fire; misguided angel, beloved liar.

i don't know how. or why. i see him in my mind's eye. and there's something beyond what's there to see. if i'm quiet it might speak to me. there's something in the cruel curve of his glance when he's angry. something in spite of. the sweetest of things. maneuvers and motives. impulse and motion; reaction and counteraction; results and bruises, losses and riches. there are other languages. meanings behind meanings. other sides to the other side. i can't yet see to the other side. but there are things yet to see. they mean the world to me. looking back things change. years bringing the familiar and strange.

i was wrong. he can't stop exercising emotional hunger. impulses devour, the heart seeks a beauty for a year or an hour. for a moment's glimpse at a face too beautiful, passing on the street, moving away into eternity. impossibly gorgeous; impossible to guage the extent of the fleeting shadows as she moves away, a second of contact he'll never again find, but she'll live on in dreams, in his mind. and the dreams will hammer away at trust. unconscious momentum, physical lust. intentions lost in the chasm between. he scans the horizon for something unseen. but there is love. he does love. the sweetest lover, alone across town. or with a woman, lying down. he may have omitted, qualified, lied. what's sweet between us may have died. doesn't matter. our chances are slim. in spite of it all i remember him.

in a dream years ago, in the deep blue light, in the middle of the night, between dreams, in a sleep but not asleep, somewhere from within the dream, he came to me. in a moment when i had risen. in the bathroom, between blue walls and dancing reflections of a dim candle. somehow feeling his embrace, splashing water on my face, i heard the voice from the dream. it was his. and he said:
there are things you have to forget before you can know me.

and there are things it seems i can't forget. distortions cast by a relentless past. the world warps unbidden at a moment's notice. the touch of his hand on her thigh long over but echoing endlessly through time. a flinch amplified through a primal filter and returned with a tongue sharpened by rage. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. if i could part the waters and meet you in a pure place, a high place, where clean winds whip away our layers of reaction, i would hold your hand.

there's another place, we went there. for brief moments we found it. and left. we lost it. did you throw it away? but you took me there, and i won't forget. and somewhere, somehow through time, those moments will live on. on the other side of a dividing line. on the other side of the things we can't understand, i will be holding your hand.



coming new lesbian crush.



what if bin laden isn't in afghanistan? what if he's in syria?

ok, so america's been the bad guy..we dropped the a-bomb on japan...but look at what japan did in china;
so we chased the indians off their own land; but the indians squabbled plenty with each other before we came;
oh fuck, i don't know, i just know we don't have the exclusive lease on evil.

no, i don't want to bomb anyone. but i don't want this stuff to happen here again. not that it will anytime soon, for all we know these guys were able to pull this off & that's it for now; we might be getting nervous over nothing; but, maybe not. we already know bin laden is out to get our asses for whatever reason. because we've been involved and taken sides in the middle east. the middle east was fucked up long before we got there; are we just a scapegoat because we got involved? anyway, he admitted to the cole, he admitted to the embassies in kenya and tanzania. let's wipe the fucker out. but how? are we going about it the right way?

slowly slowly i'm trampling the kinks out of my bungled heart with the soothing rhythms of my daily routines. the go-rounds with him always knock me for a loop. to me, he's a big thing; for him, i think i'm just the fallback, the 'sanctuary' (his word) when other things aren't going right. if i had to guess, i would say that when things aren't right with me, he feels a little pinprick in his side rather than a punch in the head.


he's a dream lover, a dream liar. the only thing i know i have meant to him over the years is this: i'm the woman he kept coming back to. the longest-term and so maybe the most ongoing, textured experience of love in recent years. but i'm also the woman he kept throwing over for other women. it's a double edged ....

i don't remember the conversation, i don't remember thing one about the messages i left, but all that spouted from me, i feel pretty sure, is reaction to the violence i've felt at the things he's done. he seems so rational can it be that he really doesn't understand what it meant to me to hear that he had been naked with this woman? he said: 'you think i'm out there having all this fabulous sex, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth...that is not what that relationship is about....' oh, so i was born yesterday? you were naked with someone and nothing happened?

i'll tell you what happened....i was alone while you were curled up naked with another woman. that's all i really need to know, isn't it? i'm not an idiot, i know the various shadings that different relationships take; i know that every single one differs radically; but when you get right down to the down and dirty bitter bottom line, when you peel away the layers and hold in your hand the final basic kernel of truth, it doesn't matter what the dynamic of that relationship was. it doesn't matter. what matters is, when you kiss someone off like i've been kissed off, it is a kind of violence. the kind that's usually answered with a goodbye, because it's too much for most people to take.

and you wouldn't be so baffling if he would just go, 'okay. 'bye. see ya.'

and, you know, maybe he will. then it won't be so complicated for me. but always, always, i eventually see him back here at the university, and he looks at me so longingly that all i can remember is an overwhelming tenderness. and i end up back in his arms.

well, what if i just don't look at him?

i could take my contact lenses out. yeah. that's what i'll do. the yearning, vulnerable looks are bullshit. his sentiments about how much he yearns for me are bullshit. it's all designed to get me back into his arms so he can fuck me over again.

i'll try that next. because i'm so tempted to look at him when he's here. out of curiosity, longing, hope that somehow he might really get it----might really understand!!!! he might really understand, intellectually, but i don't think the knowledge penetrates. this is where my pea brain gets hung up. it gets hung up on the illusion that we really ---as he's said in the past---have a kind of 'pure' communication and understanding. we don't.

i would never knowingly torture someone with gestures toward closeness or seduction if i knew i absolutely had no intention of investigating a future with that person. he's said DEFINITIVELY that HE IS LOOKING FOR SOMEONE OLDER. given that, even if he had affectionate longings for me, if he ABSOLUTELY knows there is NO FUTURE, it seems pretty basic that he should be able to refrain from dropping bait.

but it might really be as chloe said: unconscious, they don't know they're doing it.....

my poor little pea brain knows it has to get it; but somehow, it DOESN'T.

rrrrrrrGGGGGGHHHHHHAAAAAAAA!!!!! (wrenching my pea brain from its comfy warm nest in my cranium, into the cold light of rational unemotional day): now LOOK HERE! SEE HERE! this is ASININE! get a clue! get a hint! get it NOW! you're smart....not stupid!!

what if i AM stupid?

stupid me ...stupid world....oh, whatever. it's all asinine. the good news is, if i meet someone groovy, i'm pretty much ready to hop on another hobby horse, myself. anything would be more rewarding than this hairy merry go round.



he's got dogs. he smokes. but i like talking to him. maybe he'd be fun to hang with.... i left the room before we could start discussing my vices. i'd much rather keep those under my hat at this point.....


if i stumble on the air one more time today, i'm going to get down on the floor and start banging my head against it


'whatever we build there will have to recognize the sacred nature of that site.....' ----?

'i hope they rebuild it at least one story taller' --jim hahn

kate would go back from one point of view to the other: from 'god, i wish he would die so you could just get over it... nothing else seems to work....' to 'when are you going to GET ANGRY at this ASSHOLE!!!!!??????' to 'well, he DOES tell you exactly what his intentions are....even if he's acting like a pig, he's at least telling you the truth, that he has no plans to have a relationship with you....'
all very vehement, as is her style....oh, there's also...'GOD!!!! poor little girl, you just CAN'T GET OVER IT!!!'
then she says, --with a sigh---'but i wish i had someone to pine about..i don't give a fuck about anyone. at least you have someone to think about.'

can't imagine being in his arms, though. something is really different.

and you know, i even took it as a welcome thing, harrowing though it was to discover his involvement with someone else: it freed me, in a way. the way he keeps me roped in is knowing he's out there longing for me.if he has someone, that's not necessarily true.

but i'm freed in even a different way this time. there's some sort of realization ...something...can't really put it into words right now. nighty night.

'bombing will suppress terrorists, but will not eradicate terrorists....' ---?

they didn't give me a friggin guest list...but this is a good show..

'this is not about our foreign policy in the middle east...this is about haves and have nots. think about it: this is a population so desperate that someone like bin laden can round up men who are willing to commit suicide....' (in essence, that's what he said..)--zev yaroslavsky

'people like bin laden are smart people...they are able to manipulate despair, and convince these people they are going to heaven...' --lee baca

'we need to be more culturally fluent, so we can engage in that dialogue...' --jim hahn

'we need to address the larger problems, which are real....the people who did this are just a tiny, tiny fraction of the have-nots...'--connie rice (well, yeah, but that tiny fraction was the fraction with the action in this case...)'these people were well educated, focused, and understood us...there are other dynamics going on.....we should never have been in a position where one point two billion people were inscrutable to us....we need to connect with people ....we don't need smart bombs, we need smart people.' --connie rice

well, damn! amen! bring em on...the smart people! if only there weren't so few of em in the world.

no, not really. plenty of brilliance out there...never ceases to amaze me. but it's never organized. humanity is so freakin unwieldy. you've got the raging roaring passions and lusts, greed, one-upmanship, politics---i've seen it get dirty here at the station; one can only imagine the level it reaches on a world scale; then you've got the unpredictablity of the small factions rising up from behind the sand dunes. was that politically incorrect? oh well. hey man, i could have been talking about surfer dudes. the point is, it's all so difficult to even organize, let alone organize for a great and common fairness and good. seems like we just do the best we can....and keep on building those bombs for when things get fucked up.
and the bombs get bigger and bigger, and nuclear facilities are only built to withstand the impact of a small plane, and the wonder that we've made it this long with all this technology seems like the sweet dream of a cabbage patch kid.

it's scary. the human race is like a bull in the china shop of the universe. we're going to blow ourselves out of the water sooner or later. we've really been harvesting from the tree of knowledge, and it's scary......we're picking these giant, swollen, juicy ripe red bioengineered forbidden fruits, and they're tasty, but one of these days they're going to give us a hell of a stomachache.

how's that for the mixed metaphor from hell?