“My wound existed before me: not a transcendence of the wound as higher actuality, but its immanence as a virtuality always within a milieu ( plane or field).” Deleuze


Ellen Barkin came into our store, King’s Cross. I am sure she was looking for antique jewelry collectibles My mother was known for her work. Her jewelry was on the cover of Los Angeles magazine. Johnny Depp came into the Sherman Oaks Antique Mall wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit looking for antique cigarette collectibles. He was beautiful and soft-spoken.


On October 19th 2021, I got in my car and drove to work. I have no memory of it. I had a toothache on the right side of my head. So, I made a dental appointment. I think. I do not remember. I got to work. There was some strange lady in my classroom. Somehow, I ENDED UP IN THE DEAN’S OFFICE WHERE HE CALLED MY FAMILY. MY FAMILY CAME. AND TOOOK ME TO THE HOSPITAL. I Have NO MEMORY OF THE DEAN. I FGOT TO THE HOSPITQL. QND QROND 11:00 PM OR AFTER, I HAD SURGERY WHERE GTHEY TOOK Q GIQNT BRAIN TUMOR OUT OF MY HEAD BUT IT WAS SO BIG,THEY HAD TO LEAVE THE OTHER HALF OF IT SITTING BEWEEEN MY EYES. IT CQN NEVER BE REEMOVED BECAUSE I will get brain damaged. I was in the hospital a long time—doing occupational and PHYSICAL THERAPY. I WASN’T ALLOWED TO HAVE COFFEE. I Have Frankenstein’s forehead. Barkin said she was going to The Viper Room that night. I went too—it was weeks before the brain surgery. I danced with BARKIN. IT WAS FUN AND SEXY. LATER I SENT TO RADIATION FOR 45 DAYS AND CHEMO. EVERY MORNING MY FOREHEAD WAS ONFIRE WITH WHITE CLOUD OF FIRE. MY LIFE Became cancer treatments and oncologists. No one told me that these treatments would cause blood clots. So, in JANUARY, I FELL DOWN AT HOME, MY BROTHER AND SPOUSE HAD TO PICK ME; THE PARAMEDICS CAME AN TOOK TO EMERGNCY SURGERY. It was January 5th. I was awake during the surgery. I watched it on a big screen TV—no pain meds. The doctor listened to 1980s Billy Joel and hUEY LEWIS. THEY GAVVE ME FHE CLOT IN A JAR. SINCE MY BRAIN SURGERY, I HAVE BEEN TRYING GTO READ AND WRITE AS MUCH AS I CAN. I DO NOT WANT TO FORGET MY FAVORITE BOOKS. MY fAVORITE CLUB WAS THE GASLIGHT. IT WAS A HIP HOP CLUB IN AN ALLEY. GTHEY ALWAYS PLAYED “JUMP Around”my cypress Hill.


Pack it up, pack it in, let me begin
I came to win, battle me that’s a sin
I won’t ever slack up, punk you better back up
Try and play the role and yo the whole crew’ll act up
Get up, stand up (c’mon!) see’mon throw your hands up
If you’ve got the feeling, jump across the ceiling
Muggs lifts a funk flow, someone’s talking junk
Yo I bust him in the eye, and then I’ll take the punk’s hoe
Feelin’, funkin’, amps in the trunk and I got more rhymes
Than there’s cops at a Dunkin’ Donuts shop
Sho’ nuff, I got props
From the kids on the hill plus my mom and my pops
I came to get down, I came to get down
So get out your seat and jump around!
Jump around!
Jump around!
Jump around!
Jump up, jump up and get down!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump!
I’ll serve your ass like John McEnroe
If your girl steps up, I’m smacking the hoe
Word to your moms, I came to drop bombs
I got more rhymes than the Bible’s got Psalms
And just like the Prodigal Son I’ve returned
Anyone stepping to me you’ll get burned
’Cause I got lyrics, but you ain’t got none
If you come to battle bring a shotgun!
But if you do you’re a fool, ’cause I duel, to the death
Trying to step to me, you’ll take your last breath
I got the skills, come get your fill
’Cause when I shoot the gift, I shoot to kill
I came to get down, I came to get down
So get out your seat and jump around!
Jump around!
Jump around!
Jump around!
Jump up, jump up and get down!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump!
I’m the cream of the crop, I rise to the top
I never eat a pig, ’cause a pig is a cop
Or better yet a Terminator, like Arnold Schwarzanegger
Try to play me out like, as if my name was Sega
But I ain’t going out like no punk bitch
Get used to one style and yo and I might switch
It up up and around, then buck buck you down
Put out your head and then you wake up in the Dawn of the Dead
I’m coming to get ya, I’m coming to get ya
Spitting out lyrics, homie I’ll wet ya
I came to get down, I came to get down
So get out your seat and jump around!
Jump around!
Jump around!
Jump around!
Jump up, jump up and get down!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump! (Everybody jump)
Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Jump!
Yo, this is dedicated to Joe “The Biter” Nicolo!
Grab your Bozack, punk!

[Intro: B-Real]
Who you trying to get crazy with ése?
Don’t you know I’m loco?

[DJ Muggs cuts and scratches]

[Verse 1: B-Real]
To the one on the flamboyant tip
I’ll just toss that ham in the frying pan
Like spam, get done when I come and slam
Damn, I feel like the Son of Sam
Don’t make me wreck shit, hectic
Next get the chair got me going like General Electric
”Aaaant”, the lights are blinking, I’m thinking
It’s all over when I go out drinking
Ohh, making my mind slow
That’s why I don’t fuck with the big 4-O
Bro, I got to maintain
’Cause a nigga like me is going insane
[Chorus: B-Real & Sen Dog]
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
Insane in the membrane
Crazy insane, got no brain!
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!

[Verse 2: Sen Dog]
Do my shit undercover, now it’s time for the blubber
Blabber, to watch that belly get fatter
Fat boy on a diet, don’t try it
I’ll jack yo’ ass like a looter in a riot
My shit’s fat, like a sumo, slamming dat ass
Leavin your face in the grass
’Cause you know, I don’t take a duro, lightly
Punks just jealous ’cause they can’t outwrite me
Or kick that style, wicked, wild
Happy face nigga never seen me smile
Rip that mainframe, I’ll explain
A nigga like me is going insane

[Chorus: B-Real &  Sen Dog]
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
Insane in the membrane
Crazy insane, got no brain!
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
[DJ Muggs cuts and scratches]

[Verse 3: B-Real]
Like Louie Armstrong, played the trumpet
I’ll hit that bong and break you off something
Soon I got to get my props
Cops, come and try to snatch my crops
These pigs wanna blow my house down
Head underground to the next town
They get mad when they come to raid my pad
And I’m out in the nine-deuce Cad’
Yes I’m the pirate, pilot
Of this ship if I get with the ultraviolet dream
Hide from the red light beam
Now do you believe in the unseen?
Look, but don’t make you eyes strain
A nigga like me is going insane

[Chorus: B-Real & Sen Dog]
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
Insane in the membrane
Crazy insane, got no brain!
Insane in the membrane
Insane in the brain!
[DJ Muggs cuts and scratches]

Right now my life is about learning to do the Hustle.

I have to wear compression socks all day each day. They hurt and are uncomfortable. It is because I am taking steroids. I have also grown big grayish-white colonel sanders sideburns. I have gained weight and am hungry all the time. I have white furry hairs growing on the tops of my arms. Steroids have camouflaged me into someone I do not recognize. Bloated. It’s depressing.

Every day I have to make choices about how handicapped I want to be. This morning I woke up to painful severe muscle spasms in my hands and thumbs. I have to decide to use the handicap bars or just get up from toilets and such. Everything is harder for me now. But still I do not want to die.
“And so, what is death? It is simply the decussation of manifestation. Followed by other manifestations. In the winter time, we do not see the dragonflies and butterflies. So, we think everything is dead. (THICH Nhat Hahn)”

“Mystery achievement “ by the pretenders
Don’t breathe down my neck no 
I got no trophies on display 
I sign them away 
I mean what the heck 
All of your promises 
Don’t fill me with pride no 
I just wanna get out on the floor 
And do the Cuban slide, slide, slide, slide
But every day, every nighttime I find 
Mystery achievement 
You’re on my mind 
And every day, every nighttime I feel 
Mystery achievement you’re so unreal
Mystery achievement 
Where’s my sandy beach? Yeah 
I had my dreams like everybody else 
But they’re out of reach 
I said right out of reach 
I could ignore you 
Your demands are unending 
I got no tears on my ice cream but you know me 
I love pretending
But every day, every nighttime I find 
Mystery achievement 
You’re on my mind 
And every day, every nighttime I feel 
Mystery achievement you’re so unreal

I should be gardening. Or I should be making a cherry pie. Going to make chicken parm tonight. I make great chicken parm. Two hours before and after my chemo pills, I cannot eat. I have taken two weed gummies today. I was hoping it would help with my hand pain. I think I might need and ice pack and some Tylenol. I spend too much money on writing supplies. Australian Greenwood journals and Kawenco and Benu pens. I have lost my mind.

Joyce Carol Oates has written novellas lately. This page is a reoccurring nightmare I keep having. When I was around eight years old—it was the 1970s. Two men on PCP BROKE INTO OUR HOUSE QND TRIED TO KLL US. ONE MQN KICKED Q HOLE IN THE FRONT DOOR and Come IN. MY PQRENTWS BOTH HQD GUNS, BUT DID NOT WANT TO SHOOT EQCH OTHER. MY FATHER TRIED TO PISTOL WHIP THE GUY. HE KEPT SCREEAMING A “HIT ME again” The other guy went around to tht4 backyard and killed our dog, a boxer named Sparky. After this, I was afraid of the dark. I slept with the lights on. Mostly I slept in my brother’s room. A few months later, the men killed a family near my favorite part in my favorite book, A Thousand Plateaus by Deleuze and Guattarian is the section about novellas.

“Dance this mess around” is my favorite song

Remember when you held my hand
Say, remember when you were my man
Walk, talk in the name of love
Before you break my heart
Think it over
Roll it over in your mind 
Why don’t you dance with me?
I’m not no Limburger
Why don’t you dance with me?
I’m not no Limburger
Oh say, why don’t you dance with me?
I’m not no Limburger
Just a limber girl
Just a limber girl
Just a limber girl
Just a limber girl
Dance this mess around
Dance this mess around, ’round, ’round, ’round, ’round
Everybody goes to parties
They dance this mess around
They do all sixteen dances
They do the Shu-ga-loo
Do the Shy Tuna
Do the Camel Walk
Do the Hip-O-Crit 
Ah, hippy hippy forward
Hippy hippy hippy hippy hippy shake
Oh, it’s time to do ’em right
Hey, so doesn’t that make you feel a whole lot better, huh? (Huh?)
Say, doesn’t that make you feel a lot better?
What you say?
Well, I’m just askin’
Come on
Shake
Ooh, oh oh (shake)
Shake
Ooh, oh oh (shake)
Shake
Ooh, oh oh 
Everybody goes to parties
They dance this mess around
They do all sixteen dances
They do Coo-ca-choo
Do the Aqua Velva
Do the Dirty Dog
Do the Escalator
Ah, hippy hippy forward
Hippy hippy hippy hippy hippy shake
Oh, it’s time to do ’em right
Hey, so Fred, doesn’t that make you feel a whole lot better? (Huh?)
Say, doesn’t that make you feel a lot better?
What you say?
Well, I’m just askin’
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Stop, dance on over
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Dance, dance this mess around
Dance this mess around
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Dance this mess around
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Songwriters: Cindy Wilson / Fred Schneider / Kate Pierson / Keith Strickland / Ricky Wilson

George Floyd being murdered changed my life forever. I feel destroyed by his death.
I do not know how the world will recover from his death.

“Cocklust. BODYLUST. Split it apart. Fucklust. ISOLATION LUST. DESTRUCTIONLUST.
I watch the body sleep for hours. I lose track of myself and the sun sets. Still the body remains. I CN’T BE SUREE IF THE BODY is a body, and not q projection of my own isolate- desperation. I CAN’T [t be sure rth4e body is not q hallucinatory. My mind is flat. I NEVER WANT TO LEQVE. I have survived without food.ai have come on the wall in front of me multiple times.” M. kitchell from Spiritual instrument.

MOTHER STORIES: STORY SAMPLES AND PROMPTS

In this workshop we will be writing 4 total stories. They can be fiction or Creative Non-Fiction or memoir straight-up, it’s completely up to you… You can use this workshop in any way that works for you! 400 words max. 

I hope you will feel creatively inspired and will explore and take creative risks.  

If you are stuck getting the material out, I find these unblockers to be helpful:

-Begin freewriting with the phrase “It had something to do with…” or “It had nothing to do with…” or “I remember…”  or “That was the year we…”

and let your pen take over from there.

-Alternatively, begin writing about a character by using a slanted point of view, for example, writing in negation.. this can work very well:

i.e.

“Her mother was not a girl scout and her mother was not a nun and her mother was not a simple person and her mother was not a dog lover…”

See if these simple techniques can help you unlock your stories..

Below are story samples and some open-ended prompts created from them.  Only use the prompts if you feel they are helpful. The prompt words are optional but they can be very helpful for writers. If you’d like to give them a try, see if you can incorporate one or all of the optional prompt words in your first drafts.. They often take us to unexpected places. Another way to work with prompt words is to ‘borrow’ 5 words from a sample story. 

“The Bug Man” by Meg Pokrass

published in The Best Small Fictions 2018, also appears in “The Loss Detector” (Bamboo Dart Press 2021)

(Author note) This is my story and it is a CNF piece. This situation really happened, although I did not have a brother.We did have a “Bug Man” in our lives, a handsome and kind man who came out to our house and sprayed for spiders. My mother was a realtor, and she recommended him for all of her clients. When he died, my mother and I were heartbroken. My romantic fantasy (as a child) about the bug man marrying my mother was real, and it lived in my mind… What the reader learns from the story, without saying so directly, is that there the child has no father, and the mother is lonely and stressed. If I had come out and said that the children had no father, that the mother was lonely, etc., I believe the story would have lost its pull.

Prompt: Write a story involving a young or teenage character and their relationship with their mother. Bring a feeling of loss into the story. The loss can be subtle or enormous. Let the feeling of loss invade the story like a disease.

Optional prompt words: tuck, coffee, rust, window, fur

“Mother” by Grace Paley

I can’t read this story without crying. How Paley captures these moments that are so ‘normal’ with a parent, memorable in that they will never happen again, everyday mother moments that later in life, feel priceless and haunting. I admire the way the mother dies smack in the middle of the story, but instead of ending it there, Paley haunts us with the final memory that feels as if it hangs in the air like smoke.

Prompt: Give a mother character a thing to do that they always do, such as standing in a doorway or putzing in the kitchen. Show us the mother character in this place or doing this thing. See what evolves. Optional prompt words: trash, ride, mess, promise

“Why I Love Penguins” by MFC Curry Feeley from Ghost Parachute

Write a story about a quirky and memorable mother character who defies convention. Write the story through the eyes of the child. Show us a defining moment for this character. You can take this into surreal or fantasy territory.

Be sure to highlight their oddities and show us a luminous or ‘classic’ moment in which one or more characters are the most themselves. Optional prompt words: hook, walk-in, sheer, burlap, string

My Mother’s Dress Shop by Jeff Friedman

this is interesting because the mother never actually appears in the piece…just the dress shop and what’s in it…

Optional prompt words: cutting, grade, red, chest, bang

This is How I Remember It by Betsey Kemper

Write a story about a memory a character has of their mother during a difficult or traumatic moment in life. Optional prompt words: bruise, shape, blossom, mingle

“Mother’s Mating Call” by Meg Pokrass from Atticus Review

The vulnerable mother or the unwise mother

Write a story about a character who is trying to deal with a vulnerable mother who is in a new phase of her life. Themother may be ill, or may be divorced and joining a dating site, etc. Alternatively, write a story about a mother who is experiencing an interesting “new life chapter”. Make room for humor in this story. Optional prompt words: stick-on, pencil, open, picnic

“Lemons” by Francine Witte from Emerge Lit Journal.

Write a mother story, involving a surreal “lesson” a mother tries to teach her offspring. Go crazy with metaphor here! Let this one grow out of a dreamy feeling about a mother character, and don’t plan where it will go. It may be helpful to write this one when you first wake up or when you are tired at night, when your inner critic has gone to sleep… 

Optional prompt words: hiss, sign, palm, joke, flick

“That feature s its woven structure.” (Cixous from Neutre)

Story mom swan: mom trying to hatch a way to support us after my dad on Christmas in1985. 

Antique shops with two antique malls—the Sherman Oaks Antique Mall and cranberry House. But we had our own store, King’s Cross. The walls were painted with metal gold paint and oxblood paint with gold fleur de les. It was super toxic. We opened the day of the big earthquake. Everything glass broke. It was a mess. There was a small plastic Christ outside the store on the ground. He was wearing a red and white robe.  We opened the store. We weirdly made sales. 

“Dear Sassafrasss, Of course you can come home! What do you think you could do to yourself that I wouldn’t love my girl? I believe in you and I could go into some kind of business…maybe go into some kind of business. Maybe, have some kind of boutique with your weavings that hang and mine that serve a useful purpose (smile). 
“Even if Jesus will never be a swan. Horror.

“The lady in blue. The ladies first to each other,then gradually to the audience.  After the song peaks, the ladies enter I to a closed tight circle.

Lady in brown, and this is for colored girls who have considered suicide/but are moving to the ends of their own rainbows.”(Shange). 

Rainbows.  When my other found out I was gay; she said “I would rather take you out into a field and shoot you in the head than you be gay.”

Once in our store, I made out with my big dyke girlfriend in the front window on a white iron garden lounge chair.

“This book was born, child, eldest of all my books, living rising me from all my ashes, from Pompeii to Orleansville, from Ornasbruck to Chile. It relinks—it rereads—literally, its poetic parents, mingled song that it is, made up Geologicals recited in voices of Kleist or Klee or Jensen. The subject, the heroine, always comes back after a long parting in death or oblivion, whether she is her or him self, Gradiva, Eve, or me, or Josepha. Sending my sheddings. Its strring kin back into the world.” (Cixous from Neutre).

Kate Bush Under the Ivy

It wouldn’t take me long

To tell you how to find it,

To tell you where we’ll meet.

This little girl inside me

Is retreating to her favourite place.

Go into the garden.

Go under the ivy,

Under the leaves,

Away from the party.

Go right to the rose.

Go right to the white rose

(For me.)

I sit here in the thunder,

The green on the grey.

I feel it all around me.

And it’s not easy for me

To give away a secret–

It’s not safe,

But go into the garden.

Go under the ivy,

Under the leaves,

Away from the party.

Go right to the rose.

Go right to the white rose

(For me.)

It wouldn’t take me long

To tell you how to find it

If I should fall

I’ll lie in fields of clover

Basho

Buried under moss

And ivy leaves

But within the tomb of first prayer

Basho

Lemon Mom

Lemon Mom Story

I planted a lemon tree at my old house. Now my mom lives in the house. The lemon tree is covered in lemons. I planted a lemon tree here at this house. But it’s small. It’s not growing. It’s a sad sack of a tree. It’s a myer lemon tree. My mom has to have lemon on her fish. I was in French club in high school. My teacher was Billie Ray Hughes. He was gay. We made chicken with lemon. He took us to see French films. He would cry. He let us make up French names. My brother called himself Renee Goulet. We went to see Diva. A film I love. It’s about opera and music recordings.

I wish for deborah that the B52s would get any older. They deserve to be inducted. She loves them. I want this for her. I will write them. I begged them to put Linda Rondstadt in—-

“Strobe Light”

Where’s my telephone?
Is that you baby? Yeah!
Got something to tell ya. Oh, what?
I wanna see ya tonight.
I want you to walk in the door.
I want you to lay on the floor.
Cause tonight’s the night.
We make love under a strobe light.
Underneath the strobe light.

Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Strobe light, wooooooah, strobe light, wooooooah, yeah!

Pulsin’ light goes to my head!
Everything I see is red!
Baby, when I kiss your hair,
I feel electricity in the air.

I’m gonna kiss your eyes. (gasp)
Then I’m gonna kiss your neck. (groan)
Then I’m gonna kiss your tummy. (oooh!)
Then I’m gonna kiss your PINEAPPLE! (shriek!)

Tonight’s the night for love under the light.
Strobe light, strobe light.
Underneath the strobe light.

Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Strobe light, wooooooah, strobe light, wooooooah, yeah!

I just wanna make love to you.
I just wanna make love to you.
Underneath the strobe light.
Strobe light! Strobe light! Strobe light!
Strobe light! Strobe light!
Strobe strobe strobe strobe strobe light.

“the real originality of an author is revealed only once we position ourselves within the point of view she herself she invented and from which the work becomes easy to read. Leading the reader by the hand. This is the mystery. Every new true work is truthful, easy and joyful.” Deleuze from Writing in Strobe.

Opening poem
Hurricanes floods earthquakes &blackouts
Natural disasters make us stay by someone
Stay by someone
Festive occasions
Stay here
By Ntozake Shange

Edge of a Clamshell
May4th: Word of the day is Clamshell; it takes a longtime to make a pearl.
But I did my core exercises without the sea or ocean. I can’t wait to see the ocean again. I should be making dinner. ? Deborah and I are perched at the edge of death each day. Yesterday ay Physical therapy, I had to do clamshell exercises—I told the guy, it would take a longtime to make a pearl. The edge of the abyss and void. I don’t want to be a veggie. No Teri Shiva. Deborah and I loved doing home improvements together. I need to paint all the interior doors, bathroom cupboards, and finish putting the Christmas’ decorations down. So, we face death. I must die; it will be a painful horrible death—burgers, fries, hotdogs and salads? I am watching a lot of MOTU. I just took a shower. It was exhausting. We have been together almost 24 years.
RIGHT NOW, I CAN’T TELL WHAT TI ME IT IS. THERAPY? I HAVE AN on-line shopping addiction. I have broken us. I need help.

Breathing Fire
My friend, writer, Vanessa Place, who wrote episodes of Xenia Warrior Princess said Lucy Lawless would spit lighter fluid on fire, in her own dining room. Its boing to be a hot summer.

When
I was working at the antique mall, Catherine Deneuve compared me to Bluebeard because I had all of these keys. It was funny. She had just lost the best actress Oscar the day before. She loved my mom’s Victorian garnet jewelry. I grew up reading Deneuve magazine until she sued them to change the name as not to be associated with lesbians. It was changed to Curve.

Deborah will always be the best mom I will ever know. This mothers’ Day, I am. Grateful for her. What should I make for dinner? I need to make better dinners. I sucked today.

End poem
My dreams run to meet Aunt Marie
My dreams run to meet ole sores
These stains and scars are mine
This is my space
I’m not movin
By Ntozake Shange

I wish for deborah that the B52s would get any older. They deserve to be inducted. She loves them. I want this for her. I will write them. I begged them to put Linda Rondstadt in—-

“Strobe Light”

Where’s my telephone?
Is that you baby? Yeah!
Got something to tell ya. Oh, what?
I wanna see ya tonight.
I want you to walk in the door.
I want you to lay on the floor.
Cause tonight’s the night.
We make love under a strobe light.
Underneath the strobe light.

Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Strobe light, wooooooah, strobe light, wooooooah, yeah!

Pulsin’ light goes to my head!
Everything I see is red!
Baby, when I kiss your hair,
I feel electricity in the air.

I’m gonna kiss your eyes. (gasp)
Then I’m gonna kiss your neck. (groan)
Then I’m gonna kiss your tummy. (oooh!)
Then I’m gonna kiss your PINEAPPLE! (shriek!)

Tonight’s the night for love under the light.
Strobe light, strobe light.
Underneath the strobe light.

Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Wanna make love to you under the strobe light.
Strobe light, wooooooah, strobe light, wooooooah, yeah!

I just wanna make love to you.
I just wanna make love to you.
Underneath the strobe light.
Strobe light! Strobe light! Strobe light!
Strobe light! Strobe light!
Strobe strobe strobe strobe strobe light.

“the real originality of an author is revealed only once we position ourselves within the point of view she herself she invented and from which the work becomes easy to read. Leading the reader by the hand. This is the mystery. Every new true work is truthful, easy and joyful.” Deleuze from Writing in Strobe.

Opening poem
Hurricanes floods earthquakes &blackouts
Natural disasters make us stay by someone
Stay by someone
Festive occasions
Stay here
By Ntozake Shange

Edge of a Clamshell
May4th: Word of the day is Clamshell; it takes a longtime to make a pearl.
But I did my core exercises without the sea or ocean. I can’t wait to see the ocean again. I should be making dinner. ? Deborah and I are perched at the edge of death each day. Yesterday ay Physical therapy, I had to do clamshell exercises—I told the guy, it would take a longtime to make a pearl. The edge of the abyss and void. I don’t want to be a veggie. No Teri Shiva. Deborah and I loved doing home improvements together. I need to paint all the interior doors, bathroom cupboards, and finish putting the Christmas’ decorations down. So, we face death. I must die; it will be a painful horrible death—burgers, fries, hotdogs and salads? I am watching a lot of MOTU. I just took a shower. It was exhausting. We have been together almost 24 years.
RIGHT NOW, I CAN’T TELL WHAT TI ME IT IS. THERAPY? I HAVE AN on-line shopping addiction. I have broken us. I need help.

Breathing Fire
My friend, writer, Vanessa Place, who wrote episodes of Xenia Warrior Princess said Lucy Lawless would spit lighter fluid on fire, in her own dining room. Its boing to be a hot summer.

When
I was working at the antique mall, Catherine Deneuve compared me to Bluebeard because I had all of these keys. It was funny. She had just lost the best actress Oscar the day before. She loved my mom’s Victorian garnet jewelry. I grew up reading Deneuve magazine until she sued them to change the name as not to be associated with lesbians. It was changed to Curve.

Deborah will always be the best mom I will ever know. This mothers’ Day, I am. Grateful for her. What should I make for dinner? I need to make better dinners. I sucked today.

End poem
My dreams run to meet Aunt Marie
My dreams run to meet ole sores
These stains and scars are mine
This is my space
I’m not movin
By Ntozake Shange