What Gets Us Girls High

What Gets Us Girls High

Weddings & birthdays: dressing up in our pretty clothes & eating cake. Flowers & beautiful music. But mostly ruffley dresses & decorated cake. Christmas too—more beautiful music. Cookies. Presents. Decorated trees—sparkling lights.

Beauty in general. Beautiful ladies. Handsome princes. Ballerinas. Fairies.

Cats. Kittens even more. Puppies too but only a few dogs. Our dog. Picnics. Going swimming. Going to Grandma’s. A new book from the library. Summer vacation. Cantaloupe. Getting the right answer. Mom’s baking on Saturday. Licking the bowl. A good joke. Funny people. Funny TV shoes. Movies. Great tunes—sung or heard.

(So, what’s changed?)

15^th Ave «B’s 6/16/04

What Doesn’t

Going to the dentist or doctor. Fever. Rain on your birthday or the day of the picnic. Thinking you lost your wallet. Your cat getting sick or running away. Wearing ugly clothes. Hair looking funny. Taking a bad picture. Vacation Bible School. Dad yelling at you. Getting beat at checkers. Being made the butt of a practical joke by the stupid pastor in front of the whole Luther League. Swollen feet.

Rejections. Aches & pains. Insomnia & L but not L: Moneylessness.

*

2 nights ago. Dreams of congregation. At a camp (?) or retreat center. Women’s Religion people (I still felt out of place….) Noted with small annoyance that JHY went off with the gay contingent (OK, be exclusive). Then I was in a circle, an illumined greyhound ran through, it was my sign (hmm, not a cougar) and we were to join hands, w/ the words, as my mother cradled me, so I cradle her: it meant we joined hands w/ one arm turned forward, one back (i.e., one supinated, one pronated).

*

Last night was warm & I don’t know what I dreamed. Only woke once. And today was warm & I got a rejection. No good. (No books!) Very bad, my mood.

15^th Ave «B’s 6/17/04

Out-fredding Fred

That’s what I think as I mutter, “I hate hot weather.” You’d think I’d rejoice as the Big Puffy Clouds build norf & souf – & meet in the middle to blot out the sun. But NO (my middle name). It’s too late. I have succumbed— & it’s odd in a way I feel that I have—for today anyway—I have given up the struggle. It ain’t agonna work. No sales. No money. No job. No more.

Does it sound like it’s okay, cause I’m writing it down? Not so.

I put aside the memoir about Dad’s dying. Too heavy to push, esp. day by day. I need a filter of some kind. I couldn’t keep writing it out as it happened, by the day. So I pulled out Meta instead. If I want to make myself suicidal, I can keep typing up the 1987 notebooks. I don’t want to. Don’t need to.

*

Last night I dreamed a Japanese woman asked me to work w/ her—but doing what? Working at a dry-cleaner I think. I did it as a favor. But people came in without their claim tickets.

At least today I got some of my requests. A nice medical book + 2 others. No emails. No mail (2 rejections this week). I feel ugly too. Just want to smoke.

15^th Ave «B’s 6/18/04

Should Have #1

Should have been drawing pictures all these years—if I could have—say, of the woman (Asian?) with helmet like page-boy, dark underneath but light on the surface (is it weird grey? or?). Big black leather shoulder bag & midcalf rayon Indonesian skirt, black & tiny print. But then (looking at those [big] boys in T-shirts & identi-glasses reading the Stranger) there are many I wouldn’t want to record. More ugly boys & men these days or is it my Lack of interest? Lots of ugly girls too (& ugly dogs, my god), but I suspect it is just more of the general Too-Muchness. (Oh oh, Kathy’s got the Surfeits.)

This is only the first of what I Should Have.

15^th Ave «Bs 6/23/04

Where Did I What?

I never went wrong, what the hell are you talking about? I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to.

Dying.

By degrees? Yes. 3-5º at a time.

*

Humans kicking up. The little blonde girl who was here last week Miss Blue Eyes, comes in wearing cute sunglasses. I’m on the point of complimenting her, when Mom takes the glasses off—& she has a shiner. My hackles go half way up & I look at Mom (& Dad, if that’s who he is) with suspicion. Yeah, esp. skinny him with the tattoo on his skinny arm.

*

Something that seemed worth…belaboring…the beating heart under the floorboards, no. The places in the brain…yes… The buildings/places that partake of all the places you’ve been. Not exactly: ur. Well, in a way: 4-dimensional: They exist in our brains. You dream them. So 2 nights back it was an office high-rise (Penny Percy was there with blonde hair!! Judy Hutchins, also blonde & looking just like in high school). I had no way to get home, my job was cancelled & it was after midnight. I had to go looking for Donna Hill to see if she could help.

Then last night I was at a house that was the Meat Market (?) in a house sort of in S.F. on Castro? by the dessert store? But also at Breseman’s (where the boathouse used to be) but also Madison Park… In the dreaming brain, everything is a palimpsest.

Then I was checking my lottery tickets & the machine chewed them up!

Typing up 1987 notebook—a whole thing other.

15^th Ave «B’s 6/25/04

Rainbow Beads on Broadway

worn by fairies, ogres, elves, trolls (drooling trolls) & boogeymen. Excuse please, boogey-boys. Boogying & clapping & whooping (for Microsoft queers, for SPL cart-pushers, for the ACLU!) & letting out the random coyote yip.

A good time was had. (Bye, all.)

I have Prude Pride. I pushed through the crowd with my Safeway bag & trotted home. Nobody clapped. They were all clapped out!

Today I thanked Mom for sending me a thou & she wasn’t very gracious—can’t say I blame her—& said she couldn’t afford to support me in an apartment & if I don’t get some income, I’ll have to come home.

Ha mom, I didn’t say, don’t worry, I’ll kill myself before I’ll come back there. I mean, there’s death & there’s living death & I prefer the dead kind. TYVM.

*

What can I do? I’m good as dead (& that’s not bad) when I wake every day but I inflate to a nice buoyancy pretty quickly—& that’s considering that my milieu sucks. Call everybody I know? Eric anyway. I won $33 on lotto & $1 on Quinto so I’m ahead & can blow $20 on Wednesday. Cheering.

15^th Ave «B’s 6/28/04

Assegai in the Side

Not in my quivering flank: but the tough hide of the world. That’s talent. Or something. (Something I stole.) I like to picture (“see”) the throw: like hurling (excuse me?) javelinas! A type of pig-toss.

Today is not my lucky day, and imagine how tired I am…of waiting? I don’t think there is going to be a lucky day in my stocking. Because we’re almost to the bottom & I believe…those are just crumbs down there.

Halfway through the 1987 notebook, all a bit too familiar. The useless flailing. My god. And remembering the sun-filled Café Commons (faces West, like this Starbuck’s) & my little room in the blue house on Guerrero. And how Mamma, the old Slavic lady transformed the backyard into a wonderful garden & shriveled blonde Suzanne complained.

I should have died then. No loss except for OD&D & that’s probably going to end up on the bonfire anyway.

I’d like to shoot my poison-tipped dart into the neck of the human race.

15^th Ave «B’s 7/1/04

Oh My God, There’s Another One

At the house on 16^th Avenue, the third Mas cat came sauntering out the other day & yes, I burbled like a kid-o. (Rumor has it, there may be yet another.) I mean if this were a movie (my kind of movie), I’d turn the corner whispering pss-pss-pss & 16 or 17 Mas cats would come trotting out of the shrubbery.

Monday, I only saw two there, but I also saw Sassy & then a tortie about-to-pounce at Aloha & Federal.

*

But the Ferris wheel keeps turning & I think I’m on the down-swoop. No good today. Just bore-dom & stasis. I’ve almost finished typing 1987—& it feels like punishment. Pushing to the last few days & my right wrist/thumb are in revolt. Finishing will be like getting released from a prison sentence. I’ve learned nothing.

*

But the people/pictures have aged well. I hate my sameness. No, not quite hate. I’m bored with it. If I subtract me from my point of view, you get – god (?). Like now, outside, that red-faced brown-haired guy in the baseball hat with a bad hand tremor. The closer he brings his cup or cig to his mouth, the more he shakes. Then the woman with the giant sunglasses, giant earrings, & too-short crutches, so she gimps along all hunched over.

High clouds w/ white lava-bright seams.

15^th Ave «B’s 7/8/04