day 99

working together in
the studio next door.

god. they're both so



ray and j.
on wry.











don't miss

your foo-foo ass

bag of tricks.




thinking last night
about eve. how TASTY she looks. i mean,
..i read that seeing a sexy woman
lights up the same neural aurora borealis
in a man's brain
say, a juicy
sizzling filet mignon.
and i thought about eve and her
crackling mischievous eyes
and happy/sad smile
and big butt and tiny waist
and fall of red hair
and how absolutely delicious she is. how
i could go down to her stomach
and kiss her. one, two, three. down
down down.

on skin. lightning
flashes of tiny
skin reactions.
the body
and the mind
her eyes, into her soul
because sex is all of that.
but woman-lust is for play. the men
are the serious stuff. the real
stuff of love.
but now,
now i understand
wanting someone just to have
sex. with
her body.
with her soul
if she offered.
but not~
as anything more than
cuddly buddies and
NOT a lesbian
and DON'T want a girlfriend.
want a MAN at my side.
a MAN. a

didn't understand before
how that could be
a person could
just have a sexy
friendship and not
want more. want like
a couple. as in, you and me.
we're together.
our lives are joined.
.but now..i get it. i get it.
wow, i get it!




day 98


so funny how things
work out.

after all my distress
in the beginning, now i will
have to thank you.....



*it's making next to no sense*
*but just enough to keep me interested*




crawford, texas.

population 631.
18 miles west of waco
nothing there but scrub, blinding heat,
and thunderstorms.

i should know~lived in waco for six years

it's a place where you can get on a road
late at night and drive in a straight line
and drive
and drive
and not see a single dot of light
for hours.

if there is a thing i like about
dubya, it's that he
chooses to spend his time
in such a bizarre place, rather than
in kennebunkport,orcapecodornantucketorwherever
the bluebloods gather.



the grass
is not always
on the other side



day 97

news flash.

taliban surrenders surprise hostage
chandra levy.





the dream department.

if i ever have a late-night
show again, that's what i'll call it.

lately the airliner dreams come
a couple of times a week.
last night, i'm on a plane;
near the back. it starts going
backwards. very fast. you know how
you're on a plane and not really feeling
how fast it's going? we could feel
the breathtaking speed. everyone holding
hands in my row. i'm next to a young
boy, about ten or so.
we hold each others' hands tightly,
i tell him, it's okay. it's okay.
let's just hang on, it'll be okay.
(and think to myself, am i doing
him wrong by telling him that? well,
screw it, that's what i'm going to
tell him anyway.)

we are all very silent.
holding hands. praying.
a woman in the middle of the row--
it's a long row--is crying.
then a man in the middle of the plane
stands up, braces his back against the
wall, and somehow that stabilizes the
aircraft. and it slows, and eventually
lands, and i turn to the boy and say,
thank you for holding my hand
so tightly, without you i wouldn't have
made it. and i realize it's true. that
he comforted me more than i comforted him.

the rest of the dreams last night....
episodes of baywatch. i was in them.
there was a baywatch MOVIE. hundreds
and hundreds of people, attractive
and unattractive, all parading through
a hotel, doing various trials
in contests to get on the show.
a hotel on a beach, of course.
something odd going on in
every room.

the baywatch dreams literally
went on all night. in the last one,
there were dazzling, bright edges to
everything, waves larger than
life, a parasailing contest
--everyone competing with their
own handmade outrageously gorgeous
and complicated machines.
i was a man in this dream. my machine
was a flying machine, that whirled like
a giant ferris wheel just above the
surface of the ocean. the waves were
ilke knife-blades, flashing with sun,
soaring hundreds of feet, glowing
with aqua light from within.
crested with slashes of
sunlight. my opponent
had a long, yellow contraption that
rode these huge waves at their crests,
leaping from one wave to another.

as the dream came to an end, the episode
came to an end as well, and i felt cheated.
i wanted to compete. "stay tuned, next week!"

the producers were using the episode
to demonstrate new technology that made
it seem as if the waves were all around
you, in your living room. but also made
the scenes impossibly gorgeous, exciting,
full of shades of color you could not see,
before, with the naked eye.




wish i could send you
a note of hello.
seems impossible i can't.
seems impossible
when i take that flying highway up the coast
that you're not in the backyard
puttering around
or in the kitchen having coffee
and talking on the phone.
you must be there. how can
you not be there?
there were stacks of papers,
a lifetime of clutter
in the house that you kept
saying you needed to get cleaned
up and sorted. we used to laugh
about it.

could you find a computer
and log on & read my updates,
if i could email you the web address?
where could i send it?
the same sun is trapped in wheels
of winter light
in the backyard.


"sweet dreams and flying machines
in pieces on the ground.
oh, i've seen fire and i've seen rain.
i've seen sunny days that i thought would
never end. i've seen lonely times
when i could not find a friend.
but i always thought that i'd see you






...the incalcuable, unforseeable realities
that will steer the world. like the personal chemistry
that might exist between bush and putin.


james pinkerton had my favorite of the day.



day 95



blood is racing
with the rain.alive, alive, alive.

l.a. sky is dark, and wet, and deep.

..the air..

..smells.. sweet.





day 94

too many thoughts to right write now.

last night saw a guy
roller skating along the sidewalk
in the dark
talking on a cell phone.
i must be in california.


8:18 pm

okay, i'm dying.....check out this
blogger entry: some kids write it:

"i've been thinking about collecting pee.
because archie mcphee has a urine sampling kit you
can buy for i think $10. it would be a personal
token of human functions. no seriously.
i'm not joking. the only problem is the odor. and it's
hard to find people who are not
embarassed about their own urine.

*9:52 am

i just spit some phleghm into a cup. the cup had
rootbeer in it but now there is just phleghm because
i am sick.

*9:48 am

i have a pair of dockers. i wear them a lot.
they are olive green. i like olive green a lot. i do not
like olive green olives though because i think
they are mutated black olives. like, the farmer
gamma corrected them too much."

ohmygodoh my god OHMYGOD.

"thud. too fa-reakin cool." i love them. wow.

day 93.

fine fine fine read these then....
more below however..

it gets weirder and weirder.

got an email from ray toay
saying that he had gone, by himself,
to the show, then tried to get in to
the after-party, and they wouldn't let him
in. he was hoping
to see me there, he said,
and hoped i had had
a good time if i'd gone.
and THEN he says (in the email)
"well, it would still be nice to
have that drink with you, so call me
if you're not doing anything..."



i don't get it. wouldn't
you think a guy would GET
that you don't make plans to go
somewhere with someone, then decide
you'll just 'see them there' when
it's an after-midnight thing with
a large crowd in a weird
part of town!!!!!

i left him a message.
we'll have to talk about it.

a woman here at the station
said, "all production guys
are totally dense. --my
husband was the rare exception.
the rest of them were raised by


so another
slightly funny thing
when i was trying to figure
out if was
a real address or the name was
'spoofed'--not a real header--
i sent a number of emails to
what i figured would be fake
addresses at aol.
i did this because my
email to mdtweezer did NOT bounce
back to me.
the computer staff here said
sometimes it can take as
long as three days for
an undeliverable piece of
mail to bounce back, and aol's
servers might be slow.

so i started sending mail
to random addresses to see
how long it would take for them to
bounce back., for example,
'' ''
'' you get the idea.
they all bounced back fairly quickly,
leading me to believe was, in fact,
a real address.
one email, i now realize, did
not bounce back. it was sent to
'' and i wrote
'eh, der..ugh....agggghhh.' in the
so i got this response back,

"er . . em, uhhhh . . . k."

that was the first email.

the second said,

"So you're the (program name)host there. I'm impressed.

I'm a lawyer. The screen name "Ddddddduh" came from a mental block at creative, witty, etc., etc. It fit the moment.

I'm sure (indeed, I hope) you know more words than "uh, uh, agggh," or listeners might become a bit bored. I can imagine locals here: "Yep, it were that there lady on the radio all right." "Whad'shesay?" "Oh, you know, same ol' "uh uh agggh" . . . not sure what drugs she's taking, but I needa get me some."

Please translate. I'm curious. I'm guessing it's some kind of greeting, something like I'll close with - - I'm not a member of your listening audience (Kansas is a wee jog from there); yet, nice to uh, uh, (aggh!!) make your acquaintance as well.



love the internet,
love it.

mel & sharon



5pm he&i are
swapping phone calls and
leaving messages.the idea
being that we'll make
some kind of plan to get
together if we can catch up.

i've got to find out
if he REALLY went to the
concert alone. that blows
my mind. it doesn't seem
likely. who goes alone
to a concert?
i can't take ANY MORE
whang bang no thank you m'ang i can't i can't i can't i can't.
if it does turn out he
took someone to that show,
i have to write him off
totally. that would be too
much of a blowoff.

but he doesn't seem like that.
he seems quiet and sweet. shy.
kind of awkward.

he has brown-grey hair, longish. hangs past
his ears. early forties, i'd guess.
italian. kind of a big nose. funny
brown eyes.

what i like about him is that
there is an energy that flows
between us.
i'm drawn to him.

not as in 'oh do me baby, hoochie mama'...
i just like him. i like being
near him. i like looking at him.
i would like to stand closer to him.
i wonder what it would be like
to lean against him. or
feel his arm about my shoulder.
it's funny how i can't feel
sexual about someone right away.
it's as if there's some precious
core, something really vulnerable and
raw, and i can't just
DO IT with someone.
in spite of all the racy flirty
rachel talk etc.
(although if eve...or if mona
were actually available....)
said on the message i decided NOT to see
a movie with kate tonight and would BE AROUND
and would LIKE TO SEE HIM.
so. i just feel drawn toward the center
of him, sort of warm and cuddly.
like nuzzling his cheek and snuggling
under his arm.

and at the same time
i'll confess ALL here YET AGAIN
to the mdtweezers and rabid dogs of chance
who would nip at my life with
anonymous emails
and alter the course of things
out of malicious or misguided motives...

i called him again

and again last night.

again and again.
just to see if he was there.
if he would pick up.
just to see.

just wanting ...what?
reaching. dialing.
sending signals
into the night.
from within the deep
sweet haze that numbed my mind.
from within a helpless place.
from within misguided hope.
from within a long goodbye.
that i can't yet say.
from the end of the 94th day.
from within a sacred shuttered place

when the part of me that must guide
the way through the rest of these 607 days,
knows that way leads again to the
endless cold of outer space
via the endless madness of my own inner space
&i always called him astronaut of the
airwaves&rode where he sent me
&let myself to it
to find myself gone.
somewhere out there. in
the dark. on the other side.

now counting the days &thinking
of a place things might just be
normal. where the smallest
details won't contain
potentially lethal things.
where, if i pick up a sheet
of paper lying on the counter,
it won't contain a script for a monologue
about how he might ask out this woman
or how he's trying to get over that woman
or about how this other is


and feel myself annihilated again.
just by picking up a piece of paper
that was lying on the counter
beside a computer.
where i won't turn on a radio
and be plunged into a sick
fluorescent world of prickly-heated pain.

where ..

i bury my lips in a place
between his neck and his ear
and he hugs me comfortably.
no matter who he is.
he will be there.
is it you? is it you?
could it be you?

it's 5:36. maybe it won't
be you.

but someone. and i wonder
how i'll remember these times.
i wonder how i'll remember him.
he could be gone anytime, in the next
year, decade, gone,
back to harlem.
and what then?
there will just be nothing.

"i see buildings, i see water...
oh my god, oh my god!"
where everything disappears.
as fast as a plane
can fly into a building
and everything else is as if
that other world had never
been. a world with him in it.
same street, same studio.
same sidewalk.
a world identical. but light-years
away from this world. because
this world has him in it.
he exists.
if i followed some street i would
find him.

he would be somewhere.

let's see



calls me back now.

said he'd be home til 7:30-ish;
i just now left a message: let's see.

now on to more lunacy.

last night, curled up in
my apt., talking on the phone,
playing with the bird,
eating nachos from taco bell.
and drinking.

...the other day my friend
was telling me how her father
is dying from
cirrhosis of the liver.
and she said
what happens is, the liver becomes hardened. and the blood can't go into it. so the blood goes into other places. like his esophagus. the blood goes into his esophagus and they have to shunt it out so he can breathe. his insides are swollen with blood going everywhere.

and she said he didn't drink that much. that he occasionally drank a LOT but that he didn't drink every day.

i don't know what to do with my mind when it starts chattering. we talked about this too. the chattering.

you start going
round and round and
round and round
and round
and round
on the same internal tracks
and become so removed
from reality
and there's an unbearable
tension that won't shut off.
and drinking cuts it.
after a large gulp of
rumple minz, my mind says,
"oh.....i'm okay. wow.

and it is SO NICE to feel that
things are OKAY. when
moments before you were

it's so fucking hard to explain this
to people who don't get that thing
in their brain. people who are naturally
calm. people who DON'T OBSESS!!!!

but drinking is BAD FOR YOU.
i have another friend. he goes on binges. starts drinking in the morning when he gets up. works through the day at home, drinking, drinking. the binges last as long as four days. continual drinking of large amounts of hard alcohol. we're talking brandy, gin, whatnot. he does not eat, he barely sleeps. during these long binges. he turns on bad eighties music and sings at the top of his lungs at three in the morning, driving his wife crazy. he does this on a semi-regular basis.

and i fear
for him as he heads
into his thirties.
fearing for myself
these days.

oh wouldn't it be
just like pancakes and buttah
if this guy calls me now.
wouldn't it be just like
smearing a big piece of strawberry cheesecake all over my
a teeny bit of lust.
wouldn't it be nice to
be somewhere inside
warm looking at his
funny/strange brown eyes
would it be nice
to kiss him, i don't
know but
it would be nice
to find
out if it was
kissing him..
if kissing him were
nice and if so
how nice,

i wonder.






day 94

okay, fuck it. so if this makes
me an emotional exhibitionist,
so be it.
i've been called worse things(he!)

thought for the day.

it's not the end of the world
to get blown off.
but i'd much rather just


here's what happened. i was
kinda flirting it up with this production
guy, ray, who i thought was attractive.
i've known him for years, but not well,
and always was curious about him.
i wrote something about how i thought
he was *HOT* in a recent post,
and the next day, an email appeared in his mailbox,
from a mysterious 'mdtweezer,'
saying "thought you might be interested in this" and
the link to this page.

well, hey! it IS the world wide freakin web, so it's not
exactly private. BUT (the big butt)
i only gave out this address to friends who know me..
understanding that it might filter out somehow into cyberspace.
but that seemed a stretch, since search engines--including
angelfire's--didn't turn it up at all.


ray says he didn't read it. but
what really preyed on my mind was, who
would do something like that?
send the link to a guy i'm kind
of checking out, when so much in
this site is dedicated to getting over
a doomed, exotically emotional and sexual
affair with another man?

i mean, ray would be one of the last
people i would want to read some of
the things that are now hidden behind the veil of that shining saturn on the front page....


mostly i was curious as to who
would want to do that, and why.

ray said he didn't know
any mdtweezer.

fucking mdtweezer, what kind
of handle is that anyway.

tonight there's a concert and after-party that
people from the station will be at; a long
time ago ray asked if i wanted to go. ...the idea being
that we would go together; and he kept
checking with me about it.."are we still going?
are we still going?" --we decided not to go
to the concert, thinking it would be too long.
--though he had tickets to the show; he didn't
plan to use them.

so today i come in and he says:
(me: thinking: with whom?)

(head reeling) i said, "uh, ...YEAH!"

well, that's the story ....

on the one hand i feel kind of...slapped.

and on the other i think: WOW, what an ASSHOLE!
thank god i found this out now.
but, you know, it wasn't a date-date or anything. still~~
still~~there's something way creepy about this.
i kind of thought we'd be sitting sipping
a drink at the bar, and i'd find out
a little more about him.

if he's sitting at the bar with
some chick he's taking to the show,
OBVIOUSLY that is not going to happen.
the whole thing has a vague tinge of shit about it.
not to mention, i told everyone i was coming
--but 'everyone' is taking a date. and now
i will have to arrive alone.

flaky flaky flaky la stuff.......ugh.

so i called a male friend and asked if
he's like to accompany me to the par-tay.
but he's not available, so....if i can cook
up a date at the last minute..but.....

go to hell, md tweezer. you're
not going to ruin my life with your anonymous cowardly emails.

mdtweezer replied to my 'who are you' query with
an email praising my writing, and the announcement
that he/she was now cancelling the email account.
and sure enough, the next
email i sent to bounced right
back. now who the fuck
can close an account with aol that fast?
isn't aol notoriously slow to do anything?
fucking, fuck, fucking fuck. fucking coward. maybe i should just keep
on publishing here. why should
i be intimidated by this?


so he calls over here and says 'so i'll see
you later?' and now




i said: "uh, i'm thinking
about not going, now."
and he said, "oh ...why?"
and i said: "well...frankly....
when you said you had decided
to go to the show, i assumed
you had a date, and i sort
of rethought whether i was
up for such a late event(starts at midnight)".

he said, "no, i was just going
to go to the show myself."


i said, "well, now i'm not sure
what i want to do. i'm thinking
of just chilling out tonight."

i had been
kind of thinking
it might be nice
to get to know him,
because he seems
interesting and has
such gentle, sweet eyes.
and a nice chest.
but if a person is so
ambivalent about even
casual plans to have a drink....
i mean, he could have said, 'would YOU
like to come to the concert?' rather
since he DIDN'T say that, i immediately
assumed he would go with someone..
who goes alone when he has two tickets,
after all?

and it really made me go:

whoooooaaaaa.........what a kiss-off, damn
well, it's not like
it was a date or anything
but it was the kind
of thing where i thought
we'd plan a time to meet etc.

don't want to walk
in alone
not now
am i thinking about it all way too much?

kind of wanted
to see sabina;
kind of wanted to
see ev'ryone; but
now i'm feeling that
familiar urge to climb back into my snailshell
and ooze into that familiar solitude.


so, wow.

i'm sad.

self esteem so fucking low
in better times i'd just go, okay,
whatever, please...
but lately just so damned...something.

i wonder if the man i'm trying
so hard
so hard
to get over, has gotten
any emails from this mdtweezer
who is out there watching,
reading, and meddling.
wonder if he thinks
they are from me.
wonder what havoc is going
on that i don't know about.
doesn't matter though. i thought
for a moment i should let him know
what happened, but that would
mean a lengthy explanation and
i don't think i have the
energy for more extensive contact
with him, than i had the other
on some level,
i'm in a deep dark hole
of devastating grief and

as much as
i want to just
blow this off
and go and be sociable(at midnight!!)
i am now

oy gevalt

he is right
i'm the queen of
the low profile
fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it
fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it.

fuck it


it. thinner skin there is not anywhere.
a slight breeze feels like a splash of battery

and i



in 700 days, i bet i'll
be more on my game, though.

so, FOOEY ON YOU!! as grandma langley
used to say. 'foy' she pronounced
it 'foy on you!!' foy, foy!