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.






day 106

friday november 23, 2001



guess what i just discovered.

i just discovered that i've had my sweatpants
on BACKWARD all day.


thanksgiving at gary's was actually great.

somewhere between settled-and-domestic and young-in-l.a.

they sent me home with leftovers, too. that makes it, like, a real thanksgiving. leftovers.



not drinking.

so i have to face a mix of assorted, conflicting, dizzyingly exhausting feelings. my soul has had
too much exercise

& is hovering, watching, observing while my body does the things i tell it it must do.

things are better. my mind
cool and
easy....though not vigorous.

not wrung out from pursuit of dreams.

but still vibrating. from it. from him. from all of it.
can't deny that. but, it is assuming a manageable place. the vibration is not the greater part of my day. it's there, though.


....cut my hair. too short. but a better cut.



. day 105

thursday november 22, 2001

happy thanksawad.


talked to steve last night. i asked him what he would be doing.

'nothing,' he said. 'no one wants me around because i'm broke.'

'what about your mom and your sisters?' i asked.

'they didn't invite me,' he said.

'what about your dad?'

'oh,' he said, 'they're not speaking to me. i asked his wife if she'd still be with him without his money. she couldn't answer.'

'are you doing anything with your girlfriend?' i asked.

'no,' he said. 'things are really bad.'

'have you talked to larry and chuckie?' i asked him.

'they're not my friends anymore. i don't want to talk about it,' he said.



happy angstgiving.



talked to the fam today. the house was
full of relatives.

my brother says he can't wait to get 'soused' with
me when i come home. i reminded him that we might have 'The Gene' for alcoholism. 'yeah,' he said, and then went on to talk affectionately about how we'll just have one...or two...or three...or four.

he has a young boxer dog that he brought back from school. dad was talking about how the family dog, babe, is getting worn out by the boxer's energy.

i asked dad how the cat liked the boxer.

'hm,' dad said, 'i haven't seen the cat for a few days.'




i clean.

scrape away the creeping skeege that's slowly coating surfaces in my apartment. splash chemicals into the crevasses. pine sol, ajax, tilex, windex. if only i had some mindex.

if only i could blast oxygen into the far corners of my brain cells. pressure-wash the cognitive pipelines. flush out the god-forsuckin gack.



vegetarian 'turkey'.....tofurkey.

funny word. rhymes with my name.

we went to albuquerque for tofurkey. and then
we went




day 104

wed. november 21, 2001

'blow up your tv. throw away your paper,
move to the country, build you a home.
have a lot of children.
eat a lot of peaches.
try and find jesus on your own.'
-john prine


4:45 pm


god, these past few days i'm realizing that
more than ever. as miserable as it is to be on the rejection end, it sucks to be on the retreating end too.



the energy is bad. it feels incomplete. ~uneasy.
it's an energy balance.

you just want the other person to step up,
be happy, whole, occupied, interested in things and engaged, emotionally and psychologically, in LIFE. and yet he/she has a yawning gaping hole inside that's sucking the life away from him/her.

it's sad

but it's really true. you can't take two minuses and make a plus.

feels like in order to be healthy, for my mind to be right, i have to break free. out of the ick. out of the place where i have to restrain myself from expressing annoyance.

anyway. it's awful. when someone needs too much from you and is trying to fill the hole.


speaking of filling the hole....(hehehe)

last thanksgiving.

i had a urinary tract infection.
the result of a two-hour pounding from le fly. --never been split in half quite like that before.
anyway, i was sick from it. didn't get it treated for several weeks and finally got a fever, &general dizzy icks. so after work i went to the 24-hour drugstore at 26th and santa monica.

got the antibiotics and a thermometer. headed foggily out of the parking lot. rolled slightly at the exit to the street, and bumped into the car in front of me.

i got out of my car and apologized. the driver of the car was husky, black, and angry. she said:
"you're sorry? you're SORRY? what do you mean YOU'RE SORRY!!!! I'LL GIVE YOU SORRY!!!"
she pointed to
her bumper, which was slightly scratched, and yelled, "that's not sorry!!! look at that! THAT'S NOT SORRY!"
i stood there dumbfounded while she yelled, trying to clear the fog in my head.
it was foggy outside, too. a foggy, chilly night.
she kept yelling and worked herself further into self-righteous fury. "what are you, STUPID? what were you DOING?" she yelled. i told her i was sick and reached for something in the seat and my foot came off the brake.
"oh great, your FOOT CAME OFF THE BREAK." she continued. the parking lot was empty. there was no one around except for a chinese man, who stopped to watch; either out of curiosity, or worry for my safety. "WHAT ARE YOU L0OKING AT? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" she yelled at him. he continued to linger on the sidewalk.
meanwhile, i stood there bundled in my sweater, miserably trying to think.
finally she took the drivers license and the insurance papers i handed her and wrote down my information. i was too rattled to get any information from her.

i drove home to malibu where i was to have thanksgiving dinner with ed. when i got home, i called my father in ohio and told him the story. and unexpectedly became completely hysterical. great heaving sobs and wails.
something about being yelled at pokes some button in my brain. something going back to the horrors of childhood persecution by a crazy-woman. i bawled for about half an hour.

ed had prepared a turkey dinner. for the first time in his 89 years, he had cooked a turkey. followed the directions on the bag. and produced a wonderful, somewhat dry roasted turkey.
he had carefully laid the table for the two of us. jeffrey was in the phillipines, exploring the possibilities of founding a surf camp. so ed prepared rice, salad, warmed some bread, and a gravy boat filled with dark brown gravy from a mix.
he had put candles on the table and poured himself a glass of whiskey when i finally made it up to join him.
i sat and looked at his wonderful spread with my bleary red eyes. and thought, i cannot eat, now.
and so i asked him if we could eat lunch the next day, instead. poor ed was so sweet about it, saying, "of course. of course. you're shaken up. go and relax and settle down at home. don't worry about it."

so i went down to the little shack

and buried myself
in my bed under my covers and quietly
vibrated from the weird volcano of horror
that had come up out of the murky depths.
buried my face in the pillows.
burrowed deep &murmured comforting things
to myself.

we had our thanksgiving the next day, me and ed.

that's what i've been
thinking about, today.

i guess i'm still sad at not being invited to the service. i don't know why they didn't want me to come. i don't know if i could have controlled myself, though.

it's so weird about ed. i was slightly nervous of getting too close to him, because he was another person who needed more than i could give him. he missed phyllis. after spending his life with her, he was lost; like half a person. and i was the only female around. he just needed that feminine energy and affection. i tried to hug him and clasp his hand as often as possible. but i was wary of getting too close~feeling like things could get weird.
so i'm kind of sorry about that,
even though it was the only thing to do.
well, ed,
happy thanksgiving, guy.
damn, i wish i believed in an afterlife.

i'm not


a danged thing
remotely thanksgiving-like.
i'm going to work
and then go out for drinks with
a lovely guy friend. a friend-friend.
and that's it.

as always feeling that melancholy/weird
holiday funk.

ring dem bells.








there's a girl who sits on the lawn
in front of the burger king during the
middle of the day.

she's been sitting there every day for
---months. a busy intersection. pico and
20th. ...just right by the sidewalk
in front of the burger king. i think she
started sitting there this summer. she
became very sunburned....
the weird thing is: she's cute. she looks
normal. dresses ~cool. kind of

and all she does is sit there.


when i drove to malibu to go to the pharmacy,
i spotted heather locklear on the sidewalk
across from the shopping center at pt. dume.



'give me back my pots and pans,
rocks and salt,
gin and fruit.
take me where the grass is high,
and savage to its bitter root.'
-joe henry

'if i said the way he looks at me
doesn't make me want to undress
if i said i could leave you now
and go where i could forget
i'd be lying.'
-sam phillips


day 103

tuesday nov. 20, 2001

my problem.... i can't stand to be alone
or with others, that's what my
problem is...

this day.

the most lovely

so far this year.



light over everything.

distant sun. cool and sleepy.

it feels
we're in

in another century.



from city news service....

LOS ANGELES (CNS) - Dancing naked in public is not a crime in unincorporated Los Angeles County -- yet.



my body wants this, my body wants that.

it wants quarts of cool grapefruit juice. and sections of orange. it wants to walk for miles and glow with cool sweat. it wants to sleep until 9am. it wants to get up at 5 and feel the day hovering in the immediate future. it wants to eat loads of vegetables and walk lightly two inches above the ground. it wants a pound of rare red meat and a quart of irish whiskey for dinner. it wants to feel the snow biting my ears. it wants to feel the fire warming my stocking feet. it wants the sun beating down on my bare arms. it wants to lie in a bathtub in the dark. it wants to dive into a pile of silk sheets. it feels a rhythm when he's near, and wants to answer it. it wants to arch itself up toward the ceiling and lose itself to the night. it wants to be free of the underground rivers of blood. it wants to be like a clean arrow, free of desire. it wants
to pray again with you.




AP-CA--Greedy Thief

Car thief gets greedy -- and gets caught

(Windsor-AP) -- A car thief got greedy. Then he got caught. That's the word today from Sonoma County Sheriff's officers who say they got a call yesterday from a Windsor man reporting his car stolen from outside his office. The car owner managed to get home to get some information for officers, only to find his own car parked in his driveway. Noises were coming from inside his house. Windsor officers and sheriff's deputies began a search, and arrested Joseph McDonald as he tried to flee. McDonald told the sheriff's department he liked the Dodge Durango and, after breaking in, found the owner's address and phone number. He called the number, found no one home, so decided to head over.

OOPS!!! the light
looks today:


he's reading this


he misses me


he'll agree


let me spend a month in
his bed. arrive at night.
leave in the morning.

31 days.

there's a guest bedroom
in case of sleeplessness.


he'll go for it.


i'll grow






well, i know this.
i'm in this 700 days thing
for real.
even if those thoughts are
flitting through my mind,
i've got no intention of
blowing the deal
screwing the pooch
turning into
a pillar
of salt.

i mean it.

spent too damn long
in the backlash of

'i hate mom.'

even if i think
of him a lot.
out, you ghosts
out! out!
out you visions
of his
reluctant smile!








day 102

monday nov. 19, 2001


thought for the day.

"a pie in the eye
is worth two in the sky."
-uncle jerry


kevin spacey is
sooooooooooooo foooooooooking cooooooooooo

never heard from the mysterious
going to have to assume
it was friendly fire and not
threatening whacko activity;


i don't know.
the taliban is best gone.
that's clear. they suckified
the whole region. no tv? no

come the fuck on.

now what happens.

it's a chance to
stop being so
arrogant and work with
the rest of the world.
come on, bushie.
let's ease off the bombs
as ap.
i don't know.
i don't understand
military strategy.
all i really think is,
fine. boot the fucking taliban.
i just
with that.

but let's not
let their replacements
be just as bad.
oh yeah, and get the
terrorists. get the

back-to-work monday




people are like
energy fields.
powerful entities.
combinations of people~~~
sometimes magical
sometimes terrible
charging each other.
draining each other.
how to maintain a relationship
through the cycles?
i need the energy
of the world.
soak it in. new energies.
new signals. new minds.
there's always more to be seen
and known.
but familiar routines are
i could track the same
old roads into someone's arms
through the years, i think.

this holiday season.
i admit it.

too scared to fly.

too scared.
always scared.

really scared.

so i'll get
to see
the country.

take baths in
in the middle

burning bush in wintertime.

always loved lights on snow.




sunday nov. 18,2001


finally saw K-PAX.

jeff bridges and kevin spacey thrilled me.
i guess they're just about as damned cool
as they come.....
very damned cool that is.



today is a long day. in the traffic center. a traffic center sunday holed up in the high rise.
slugging coffee from my metro mug. sucked into the computer screen. hour after hour. world without
end. digging deeper and deeper into the forever crapland within.

thinking.typing.more thinking.

metro/shadow studios are on the fifth floor of the petersen building on wilshire. (just down from larry flynt's h.q.)

a couple of weeks ago when we had the 4.5'er, i was on the air giving a traffic report. the whole building
suddenly jolted sharply to the right. i wondered whether to keep giving the report, or dive under the desk.

that earthquake did no damage. it was interesting, and not in a good way, to feel what
an earthquake is like in a high rise. the walls of the building kind of creak.

so in my cold little narrow-walled fluorescent-lit mole hole from hell i will sit and talk into a microphone
all day today. by the end of the day my muscles will be cramped, my mind burned with printed words, eyes throbbing from the 8-hour cold-fire wash of phosphors from the computer monitor. then i will go home and enjoy the fact that the walls around me are not
pressing down relentlessly. 7 foot by 7 foot by 9 foot high pale-blue carpeted semi-soundproofed walls. when i'm free of them,
the night air seems so delicious, makes me want to throw back my head and kiss little breezes as they
drift in the car window. fall spice. dead leaves. hint of smog. restaurant smells.

the way he smelled,
that was what really hooked me;





so it's past the hundred-day mark.

and i'm doing okay. better, actually. little by little i can feel my mind assuming
a better shape. one that's not distorted by anxiety about when the next rejection might
be coming, or aching from a rejection that's already come. not caught in a cycle
of closeness and coldness.

seeing him was strange. but not hard; not really. he's respecting my space.
on one level i feel irresistably drawn, curious, thrilled that he is in the other studio and that i can see him over there.
then there's an underlayer of dread and bitterness. wondering who he's seeing, who he's with, who
he's kissing, what infatuative waves he might be riding, whether there's a deep love tossing him
on delicious rides between blessed connectedness and aching doubt.

i was happy to see his car, i am happy to see him, i am deathly afraid to ever talk to him again, beyond hello, because i can't hear about his life without me.
can't hear about it. can't hear it.
can't, can't, can't.

so we say hello, and that is it. and that is all there can be. because i can't hear anything


call him flyboy.
kim dubbed him flyboy a long time ago for his comings and goings. i hate calling him 'him.' and i can't use his name here. flyboy it will be. --he would hate it, because of the trivial connotations of the name. but, he did earn it; so there.

had the thought

that maybe he was the anonymous emailer.


--who sent this web address to ray, after i wrote
on the site that i thought ray was 'hot.'

that was before i modified this site, rendering inaccessible a lot
of emotional, yearning, tender rants about flyboy. ray is flyboy's sound engineer, by the way;

anyway. i thought flyboy might have sent the message to him. here's why.

i guess i thought he maybe wanted to help nudge my lovelife in a more productive/hopeful direction,
because i think he --though not wanting a relationship with me--genuinely cares about me and
wants me to be happy. and i thought, maybe he sent the link to ray so ray would read the entry and
see that i was 'hot' for him. and maybe feel encouraged.
kind of, you know, as a silent signal of goodwill.

also, i questioned all the friends i gave the address to. all said they had given the
address to no one; so that ruled out random unknowns;
and the idea of someone finding the site, figuring out who i am from the occasional clues
referring to the radio station or the types of seemed very remote.

so for a few days i entertained the idea that flyboy might have done it.

but ultimately i rejected the idea. because ~ though i said on the site that ray is *hot*,
a lot of it is about flyboy, and getting over him. and flyboy, for all his faults, is subtle enough to
know that that information would be disturbing and potentially very destructive to any budding friendship
between me and ray.

so i don't think he would do it. because i think he genuinely does care about me, and would silently
hope for the best, but not interfere.

but then.....then..i don't know who it is. it is bugging me. that there is an anonymous person out there, either wanting (misguidedly) to help (but then couldn't le fly have been misguided? no--i reject that too--he's
too smart to think giving ray the u.r.l. would help.)

so who is it?

mdtweezer, i wish you'd come forward. i was spooked at the anonymous reply, and the person then
deactivated his or her account. maybe it's an ex girlfriend of his; maybe he gave out the web address; maybe
it's someone who knows who i am and has some kind of motivation to stir up the waters.

well, mdtweezer, if you're reading this, i'd really appreciate an answer to the mystery. at first i liked
the idea of a silent player. but that was when i was kind of thinking it was him. now it creeps me out.

but~~~but~~~another thing here: self-revealing art.
let's say i want traffic to this site, i want visitors, i want to put my insides
on display. a daily tour through my gloriously BENT world.
which is what he did with his show.
&hurt me so often. because he nakedly revealed strong emotions
&they were never for me.
selective reporting. what do you leave in and what do you leave out?

you leave yourself open to the whackos if you display yourself like this;
that's a risk i'll have to take.
i don't want to be intimidated mdtweezers
out there.


i will continue to publish right here.

for now i'll keep those other pages under wraps though.

i'll restore the archives later.

okay. now i've seen everything.vegetable porn.




did ray read the site?

don't know. he trashed the email.

but then he royally flaked on the party friday night.

it's too bad. i liked him. . he's yummy. i don't
know if he liked me.
but now it doesn't matter. flaky makes me looney. flaky flips the obsessive switch to 'on.' flaky is good
when it's a buttery golden-browned pie crust brushed with egg whites.
flaky is good when it's chicken and broccoli in a dijon cream sauce, wrapped in oven-gold filo dough.
falling apart in your mouth.
but flaky men...give me...emotional dandruff. messy white chips on my shoulder
for all the world to see.
gonna wash that man right outta my hair, gonna wash that man...

it's too bad *had fantasies about what it might be like to wrap my arms around
his very nice
shoulders. it was an entertaining area of speculation for a while. *oh well. oh well.*