Whoo PI Goldberg? Ask Louie. I don't whore a ton any more. Although times are getting desperate.

BC u get it, right dAD.

Walking out the doors of a building next to SFGH, I had no money in my pocket, didnt know where i was. A kid my age came up to me and asked me if I wanted to prostitute with him. I looked at him like he was crazy but the pragmatic part of my brain said, sure. Let's go. I had just tried to jump off 2 sealed roofs. My attitude was devil-may-care. We got on a bus that drove and drove and drove. I got nervous, pulled the next stop string randomly. He chased me off the bus demanding his bus fare, that i give him money, likely fostering my undercurrent of disdain I hold for men such as this.

A group of 3 guys in black stood before us. Help, I said that kid stole my $20. One walked up to him and swung. I remember seeting the kids feet raise off the ground and, much like the roadrunner, cycle a few times before catching traction and taking off. I was shocked. Back at their boarding house, a guy named Joe played strange music and had a metal wand with a ball at the end. When he swung it at me, i felt a physical force strike my chest. Some other weirdo poked his head in and said something about an extra protection spell. This is when I noticed shadows flying around the ceiling. It was Halloween.

Never one for black magic, witchcraft, etc, associating these things with evil or wannabe evil, the goth kids who stalked around our local mall back home, but all about receiving free drugs, I hung in there for a bit longer, but ended up throwing my bookbag and jumping out the window next to the Sally port that guarded the front door.

This was after the days-later discovery of an altar with strange things on it including the book Catch -22, a sloppy explanation of power numbers, a chant or charm they did the previous evening to Catch a 22, and a Left Behind reenactment, Livia, Joe's girlfriend from Reno hissing through her ess sounds, and Seamus taking off for the gutters.

I remember, in the city, seeing what looked like NPCs or non-playable characters, just moving in the same rhythm for an hr or more unless I went up to talk to them. A guy named Tim told me to wait for him, under a huge clock, until he returned and I obliged for hours, unable to do otherwise.

At Mark's, a homeless man who was given a free apartment (probably from UCSF or the state) homeless kids like me crashed there. One night I became certain I was about to be killed and harvested for my organs, something that would have never occurred to me prior. I got into a cab, ended up forgetting where I was staying driving in circles, meter running. I remember Anum Ally, Principe Ally, Animally, Principally.

At Mark's I may have met Billy Howerdel, or his twin, who called himself Meadow. He was quiet and beautiful, didn't say much. Blue eyes and grimy hands, just taking it all in, the hunger and desperation in everyone's eyes.

I recall the the song 3 Libras, having heard it the first time at my friends the Klines’, farm sung by a kid named Dog Boy when i was pregnant the year or 2 before everyone laying on a hillside in a protective circle around me and my child, staring at the stars. Walking by Civic Center, 3 times I was approached by strangers attempting to hand me a small red booklet that i tried to look up later. The closest i could find was reprinted as Liber al vel Legis, by Aleister Crowley. Paging through one, several lists up to 100 of strange proclaimations, colors numbers, etc. I couldn't make much sense of it.

The strangeness continued, at one point I was shocked with the realization I had become the crazy lady on the train as i rode the Bart to somewhere.

I ended up overdosing in a dimly lit bathroom in the Adrian Hotel before abandoning my worldly possessions along Lake Merrit and being greeted by life-size cutouts of Seinfeld that moved as though I was tripping. “Cakewalk” was tagged all over the sidewalk and buildings. Seinfeld ended with them in jail for ignoring the Good Samaritan law. It motivated me now to write the letters I've written to government officials.

I woke up to my friend’s mother in the living room, waving a burning piece of sage at the walls and corners. It was just after Christmas. I returned to the city across the bay, spent the New Year with Rich and Ryan who stayed at the Adrian. Rich had just found a new black wig in a bookbag in the alley. It was, for an alley wig, shiny and luxe. As the sun came up we stood on the roof smoking and I briefly toyed with the idea of jumping off of it, but the urgency of the impulse had passed.

My friend's sister and their girlfriend sent me home on a bus.

Last week, after writing and composing some music I was inspired to write for a long-lost, quickly-extinguished-by-me flame, I relistened to Mariners Apt. Complex, a song I always would begin to explore before something rolled me back and remembered going there with a young couple who lived there, and once with someone I fell in love right after but wasn’t capable of letting him know. And it finally clicked into place,

It came out right around the time my daughter, the source of my agony then and always, became a teen. I remember times, then and now, that I began to scratch at the surface of an association, a memory, but wasnt able to. Akin to a definition of deja vu, remembering something that has happened before but unable to recall until reaching the appropriate temporal space it belongs, likely experienced during a place outside of time.

Was my story written since before I was born? My adoption agency was con C.E.R.N. (Italy on my shit list, numerous reasons they know why.) Was this a simulation at one time, me the one who grabbed the golden ring time and time again? Because so often i would begin to recall my future, or options for my future. I remember saying Choon-Hee Jolie and being quickly redirected, then rolled back.

Well. That almost happened, but ended, quickly and violently, ending in divorce to my basket-be-all-player. But I'm making friends with the substitute scene. (I had completely forgotten Angelina (and Jim Iha, who i know loves me by the lyrics of his songs, containing nothing awful to live through, but i also sense his complicity and lack of intervention to whatever this Logos experiment was) from my childhood memories, but recently remembered her, my cousin through marriage, my aunt Glynis Maginnis. (On my wounded knee given to old beliefs.) Some kid-stuff incident not worth exploring.) Her films are vital to hacking life. You don't understand until it begins to happen, then you appreciate them immensely. But I had already earned my Lee, Li, and Le elsewhere, anyway. Maginnis Cho Le Kim Park Iha are my familial names and names I earned through my D’ODDHSCIA School of Life education. Like “cherry red clockwork in fairy tale fantasies,” as another old friend Matt would have put it. The last word.

Walking out the doors of a building next to SFGH, I had no money in my pocket, didnt knownwhere i was. A kid my age came up to me and asked me if I wanted to prostitute with him. I looked at him like he was crazy but the pragmatic part of my brain said, sure. Let's go. I had just tried to jump off 2 sealed roofs. My attitude was devil may care. We got on a bus that drove and drove and drove. I got nervous, pulled the string randomly. He chased me off the bus demanding his bus fare, that i give him money. Likely fostering my undercurrent of disdain I hold for men such as this. A group of 3 guys in black stood before us. Help, I said that kid stole my $20. One walked up to him and swung. I remember seeting the kids feet raise off the ground and, much like the roadrunner, cycle a few times before catching traction and taking off. I was shocked. Back at their boarding house, a guy named Joe played strange music and had a metal wand with a ball at the end. When he waved it at me, i felt a physical force strike my chest. Some other weirdo poked his head in and said something about an extra protection spell. This is when I noticed shadows flying around the ceiling. It was Halloween.

Never one for black magic, witchcraft, etc, associating these things with evil or wannabe evil, the goth kids who stalked around our local mall back home, but all about free drugs, I hung in there for a bit longer, but ended up throwing my bookbag and jumping out the window next to the Sally port that guarded the front door.

This was after the days later discovery of an altar with strange things on it including the book Catch -22, a sloppy explanation of power numbers, a chant or charm they did the previous evening to Catch a 22, and a Left Behind reenactment, Livia, Joe's girlfriend from Reno hissing through her ess sounds, and Seamus taking off for the gutters.

I remember, in the city, seeing what looked like NPCs or non-playable characters, just moving in the same rhythm for an hr or more unless I went up to talk to them. A guy named Tim told me to wait for him, under a huge clock, until he returned and I obliged for hours, unable to do otherwise.

At Mark's, a homeless man who was given a free apartment (probably from UCSF or the state) homeless kids like me crashed there. One night I became certain I was about to be killed and harvested for my organs, something that would have never occurred to me prior. I got into a cab, ended up forgetting where I was staying driving in circles, meter running. I remember Anime Ally, Principe Ally, Animally, Principally.

At Mark's I may have met Billy Howerdel, or his twin, who called himself Meadow. He was quiet and beautiful, didn't say much. Blue eyes and grimy hands, just taking it all in, the hunger and desperation of this young crowd of runaway drug addicts.

Last week I relistened to Mariners Apt. Complex, a song I always would begin to explore before something rolled me back and remembered going there with a young couple who lived there, and once with someone I fell in love right after with but couldn't let him know.

It came out right around the time my daughter, the source of my agony then and always, would be soon turning 18. Like “cherry red clockwork in fairy tale fantasies,” as another old friend Matt would have put it. The last word.

(Good Artemis Aries' Kali SPi Eros Come Soaring)

For James (and all our emmissaries) 

I am a fuzzy astral projector.

I exist in a place between always and never.

I exist all ways in leaving or labor.

My heart perceives audible thoughts that could be.

A dozen wondering cases of wasn'ts but could he's?

Lately I stand with my weight on one leg

In my time machine stuck in today's finite.

Where I am all day

All day for a minute.

This crystal ball oracle's thoughts manifested.

Who holds the answers.

To all of my questions.

That forecast my now is 

or now is not/whether.

I am an accurate dream fortune teller.

Sensing danger in leaves of tea when they sparkle.

In a dream weaver's body electric

I Mark them.

I wait in the rye with a butterfly net.

I collect shooting stars

Starlight redirected.

Through only the best of the best of intentions.

Interpret transmuting these master conceptions.

On this causeway the micro and macro entangled.

I wait and I wait all alone for an angel.

To be or not to be

Choked out by my hello.

My heart is infected by light unaffected.

On one leg, I stand inside my love's

Recital of lessons.

I move into everything

Everything's we.

But I am just me

All alone with my dreams.

I throw a boomerang over the sea.

I am what I toss out there that comes back to me. 

I am intentional love manifested.

I feel the effects of this slow lonely echo.

I wait and i wait through the reaches of Knight Seoul. 

I decay a slow death moving forward through time.

I stay perfectly still as time flows around me.

Carving a line where I once was I Will Be.

The instantaneous reckoning’s taking forever with me.

Sometimes I sit all alone, but i'm listening.

Is this merely a wish from a dream

Or a memory?

Wishes are wanting

Seeing is knowing.

All I know is this feeling inside of me growing.

The arrows of Artemis Aries are flying.

Swiftly they soar through the reaches of time.

To refill faithful and loving hearts back up with longing.

Transmuting desire into the real.

Wishes are wanting.

They blossom from dreams

Of someone beautiful slumbering

Discovered and chased.

From inception to now

Is how lost becomes missed.

(Some call this a fever, some call this a dream)

Born from the heart-kiln forged Furious

Fire and Faith.

Good Artemis Aries Kali sparrows come soaring.

The lonely heart hunters

that dare to believe.

Tumbling bsckwards to live in our history/dream.

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