I’ve had strange dreams this week ranging from the most amazing cookies only I have ever seen (because it was in my head: think chocolate fudge peanut butter layer cake IN A COOKIE) to being an rockstar soccer player in Mexico and being featured in a super artsy documentary.
This morning, I had a dream I was wandering around an open air market full of artists, watching a poet make massive sculptures within minutes. They were beautiful and white, cloud-like and she crafted them from nothing, not from stone, but stucco or cream. As I walked around, I noticed all of the artists had been there for days, they were exhausted, but creating multiple projects and working, selling prolifically.
Do you think my subconscious is telling me to get my ass in gear and work harder?? Yeah, yeah…

I’m trying to get back to the basics – diphthongs, iambs, mutes, semivowels, assonance. Because that’s what I need – the craft, the form. Why does form feel like math? Counting syllables and stresses. Gah.

This week has been busy – emotionally and professionally. I’m just popping in to say that the other day on the light rail, I thought a dead man was riding the train – slumped over, unmoved; that I almost T-boned a college kid who pulled a U-y right in front of my car; that Breaking Bad is a fucking good show; that it’s sunny, but I’m tired of the cold; that I ate an entire Chipotle burrito last night; and no matter what we’ve been through, no matter who it is, I will always be the body holding your body between the surface and drowning – that’s just who I am.

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