Monday, December 27, 2010

Reconsidering suicide: a little penguin shows me the way

(from Werner Herzog's Encounters at the End of the World)


Kathi taught me visit the beach at 4 a.m.  It was good to learn to wait for the sun with her. She showed me how to bathe under a meteor shower one night and she never mind that I stayed up late talking to her husband about Nixon and Henry Kissinger. Kathi also taught me how to smoke pot. I didn’t know how to smoke regular cigarettes, so learning the fine art of getting stoned proved to be quite difficult for me.   I was a shy and an uptight girl so to release the “I” from the cage, Kathi had to play Girl by The Beatles.

Now, listen. I want you to follow the rhythm of the song and after each time  John sings " aah, giiiiirl" I want you to inhale long and hard. Got it?

At the end of the song I was flying.

It became routine to have The Beatles’ music playing on the background whenever I was at Kathi’s house. She sensed I was lost. She used to tell me that a Beatle’s song would always take me home.

Tonight my husband sleeps. I want to sleep and dream with him, but my thoughts and worries keep me awake. I already played Norwegian Wood and I me Mine over and over.

I want to go home.

(Kathi...I'm sorry I can't take away your Parkinson's Disease. I'm sorry I've never been a wise kinda of a friend)

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Sugar Cookies

Are we conventional?

I ask my husband as I bake sugar cookies.

Depende, he says.

He expands on the definition of conventionality in a long Spanish narrative.

My ADD brain starts to wonder.

I wish I could speak Spanish like him. I stick my finger in one of his words.


Sprinkling cinnamon on sugar cookies is conventional, I tell him.

But going to bed at 6:30pm is not conventional.


We lay next to each other.


I turn on my side and grab Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee.
He falls asleep.

I start crying after reading four pages.

I close the book.
I reach for his hand.

I’m asking the wrong the question.

Friday, December 17, 2010

May I please I have a side order of blue pills?

I argued with the sales clerk for a while. She had neglected to give me the drugs that came with the Disneyland tickets. I was freaking out. Thoughts of being inside the amusement park with Sleeping Beauty under the influence of REALITY terrified me. I wanted my blue pills!

Just look at the fucking video!!!  You'll see that you only gave me the tickets!

I woke up. It was only a dream.


My husband and I went to Disneyland last year and hated it the experience. However, we had a good laugh too. I never had a craving for blue pills until this dream.

(I can't claim to be a Traffic fan, but I love love love this song. I also like Mr. Winwood's face here. I want what his lungs inhaled)