dear humans,

it has begun. (the cross-pollination/mobile show and tell tour!) this means my detailing will be thrown off its once-a-day, everday track. while my intention is still to write them everyday (analog when i don’t have digital access, and upload them/catch up in whatever way i can), i’m not quite sure yet how this will look or play out. if you miss me, click on the interactivity link (to the right) and leave some of your own details. or send me your address for a postcard.

i already have so much i want to tell you. like how amazing a mobile space is. how it invites people in. how it gives us an excuse to talk to strangers. how today, when this youth/teen/young adult [why do all those words make me cringe?]  (i can’t remember her name, but her girlfriend’s name was peaches) was playing the harmonium and then every time she made a mistake she said i can’t do this, to which i countered with: yes you can! we did this call and response so many times until eventually she just started saying i can! every time she played the keys she didn’t mean to play.

how val showed me around the city heights remedy garden as debbie closed up shop. how i finally learned what that soft and silvery plant that is growing in at least two of our four garden beds is called (california everylasting) and how i couldn’t stop plucking the stevia leaves and taking tiny sweetburst nibbles.

how the men at the tamales stand only spoke spanish. and how good it felt. to try. without an english copout option. and how one of them said you learn spanish, i learn english before he chiseled away the top of the coconut and shoved a straw in. which made me think that not many people get the coconuts from the tamale stand. especially when he had to go grab straws to poke in the holes from another vendor. the coconut water was ice-chest cold and exactly what my body wanted.

how it was a return to the first farmers market i’ve ever been to in this city. only this time, the pluot is parked on the opposite side of the continent. and i think i know san diego now.

how there were at least three different types of butterflies in the garden. light yellow with pink dots/fringe (which made me think of pink lemonade), dark brown with light blue dots/fringe, and some monarchs. plus the gigantic-est grasshoppers in the universe.

how i wrote this message and sent it across the satellites today: !!!!!! played that show with kyle last night!!!!!!!! so sooo soooo sooo good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you for connecting us and knowing that it was the best fit ever. i could see you in his face/hear you in his laugh! and i think it is beautiful. how we carry people that way.

last night’s chorus ringing out: turn up the volume, turn up the volume, turn up the volume and live. how the words don’t do much, even when italicized. because this text can’t quite capture the exquisite ferociousness / turbulence rising up in the room not just from one gut, but from any of us (which is most likely most of us) who still don’t know how to hold the gigantic open that is left when near/dear humans slice open this world to step through into the next.

how i didn’t know what to say, so i traced the map on the wall. did some shout outs to various cities including the letter m. how i felt so close to  my surface. skin thinner, guts pressing against. how this is a different sensation altogether when the temperature outside matches my body temperature and i feel skinless, almost weightless, seamless. how the thinner skin in the projector light felt ragged. dangerous. and how unusual that is for me at a reading. it was different than nerves. it was like our dead walked in through the sliding patio door, surfing on cool canyon air. (and not just any dead. but those we fight to bring ourselves closer to.)

how it is 4:29 am and we’re shoving off tomorrow at 10am. and how i had this realization about the process of packing for a long time away. it made me think about how i’m very comfortable being in process and not always so comfortable with finality/end product. which is why packing/preparing interrupts this pattern (even though i fight against it) because there is an end-time. and usually this struggle results in something like staying up til 4 am.



just to hear your voice again

i listen

i watch

your book tucked in my bed frame
my name listed under acknowledgements


an invitation
to write a letter to myself
the envelope awaits
this is the grandest gesture
and then 24 more pages
of spanish/english
in your handwriting
encouragements, directions, suggestions, possibilities
tape layers and collage layers and
watercolor and invitations and
thoughts on flying and
open pages and filled pages and
unaddressed postcards (except for one)
all bound in houndstooth
the same way you created time
(you don’t find time
you create it
invent new hours
to wedge into the day)
to hang the tiny house from the ceiling fan and
paint a tornado on the window
the same way you created time
to get together mini-cupcakes and gift bags for
underrepresented students
the same way you created time
when you brought me sparkling water, thermometer, pretzels, advil, coconut water

the unnamed phenomena
of how death
take a notch out of time
so that if time were laid out
there is a place where that line ruptures
there is a place where one can look far off
and see
where that line stops looking like itself
before it picks up and continues on again
there is a place that becomes a new marker

what life feels like at the one-week point
one month
one year
how some might plot the point at the moment
they witnessed the slippage into other worlds
how others mark it the way a last breath marks air
and if the oxygen inside us
could be compared to ocean/lake/river water
i imagine the sediment that settles in us
over time
some particles of air we haven’t let go of
since we stopped remembering how to breathe
some particles of air we won’t let go of
until they detach themselves from us
because we are no longer holding on


i don’t even know what highway it is we’re on
but first L breaks it down
about the supreme court
and then another thing i can’t remember the name of
and i can’t remember if it was before or after that
but when i ask how he manages it he says
i think of it every day
every hour

it’s not even so much about buying the tent
i say
but about meeting that man
boyscouting for 30+ years

something suggesting openness, possibility


wherein the headfog is so thick
i hand the person at the counter
a hundred dollar bill (rent money given to me)
without realizing it until
i am handed multiple 20’s in change


and then you handed me your sunglasses so i might do away with my hand-as-visor
and then you said it’s so you about the way i talk/ask questions, which is all co-counseling’s fault
and then i laugh for a long time not quite understanding what you’re saying at first and not sure if my offerings are useful
and before that you offered your strawberry shake, should i want to dip the fries in it
and after that we noticed everyone was sun-bathing on the green patch around us as if just beyond the treeline was the ocean
which it isn’t because the treeline is east and the ocean is behind us but not forgotten
and if i did tai chai, i’d love to come out here to do it
facing the mountainy/hilly things in the distance
framed by the dip in the treeline
all of which makes this city
look more like other cities i’ve known
and less like sandy eggo


the zinemobile parked outside the tofu bloc
and already
over house dinner
the cross-pollination has begun
(between trading stories about where we grew up
and what kind of foods each of us ate as a kid)
already, the subtexts
beneath the shows and events in other places
we are all getting to know each other
in my own kitchen


now that i come to think of it
most tauri’s i’ve met
i’m pretty sure i already know
from other lifetimes


behavior is the word for when the kids ‘go off’
and eloping is for when they run away
william explains the language of the workplace
that brings groups of kids on the autism spectrum
into local public places on daily field trips

i remember how ami
crossed out the brand name (health valley)
on the fruit leather box
and scribbled in pen over it death valley
it was so sit-com
i say
the mom gets all healthkick about everything
and the entire family loses it

11pm waterwalk
the sound of orange shoes on concrete
the smell of nightbloomers and something like vetiver
arter rounding the corner
and the light of the moon
small spill of stars poked into sky
something suggesting openness,



these old buildings

in the dream
two floorboards slipped under my feet
at the base of the smallcouch in my room
two floorboards i never knew were loose
giving way

sliding open to just enough of a view
of the crawlspace that i never knew was under my feet
(the result of vaulted ceilings? covered up?
these old buildings, yknow...)
slid apart just enough to catch sight
of someone’s hand
in that dust-gray dirt space
that hadn’t been touched
for decades
and a slight glimpse
of the rest of the body attached
in the dream
i removed the carnivalesque stuffed animals
(crunchy, not soft, upon squeezing)
hanging from my wall
that someone else left behind
in the dream i noticed for the first time
on the yellow wall a cubby hole
small and almost arched like those built in for phones
a note in someone else’s handwriting no longer relevant
in the dream
girl visitors in the next room
in wicker furniture-beige
there was something about those girls
can’t remember what but
i think they were leaning
were laughing too loud
in the dream, a spider plant with wide thin leaves
in the dream i think i begin to associate the waking life gut-pinch
with all this
in the dream
i don’t yet speak about the hand
haven’t quite put the floorboards back
but don’t want to look again
in the dream i will wait until the girls leave
to move back towards the dislocated floorboards
preferably not alone


the grief is long
from here
i say
something spread across every day
not acute
but a long arc
from here til the horizon


shelby and i
slice the summer cool air
under hot sun
on the hills spilling into balboa park
with the lip of a red frisbee
we have to choose:
barefoot (beesting)
or tennis shoes (suffocation)
3548 i think
is the garfield address (minneapolis)
where my sister and i lived in the same apartment building
and would walk
four blocks
to the park
a frisbee in one of our hands
flick it across the field
til my wrist hurt
i know september is not far off
but i miss her anyway
which makes me think of this song

ice cubes crackle in mason jar glasses
of water in white-tiled kitchen


no, let’s not talk face to face
i joke
when you get here, let’s sit in far-apart rooms
and send emails back and forth
and i am laughing so hard
the kind of laughing people do
at the first semi-funny joke that invites them to
not because it is all that hilarious
but because
there is a roar inside pounding to get out


from a radiolab podcast
regarding the ocean-wars seen from outer space:
and along comes this diamond-shaped virus  attacking occolithophores
so many that you can actually see this sort of carnage from space
massive blooms that cover almost the whole of the north atlantic
vast swirls of milky water curling around islands and continents

we are of

waves we barely have to fight against
frothing around us
we’re in the ocean!!! i splash
no, the ocean’s in us she says
we are of the ocean! i rephrase


and later she tells me
about the immigration-related supreme court decisions
that passed and did not
so basically
racial profiling is now approved / legalized / endorsed
by the supreme court
i ask


to a very specific floridian trio
and to the very general residents of the gulf coast
i offer my voice as buoy
in a time of rising water
(the lioness’s turbulence
at the forced eviction from her cub’s side
rips across the state
tornadoing a path
for the floods to follow)
a satellite carries wishes of buoyancy and light
because one can always use light


one hour after repairing too-old running shoes
with gorilla glue
i hit balboa park
and midway through
i run past cops
who amble out of their squad car
calling after me
on the rock/dust trails
there’s a naked man out there
i hold up the ok sign in my left hand
without turning around
and call out thanks
which didn’t really sound like
oh, thanks for helping me!
but more like
uhhh. thanks (not really), for absolutely nothing.
but in the end
when i take them out of their uniforms
and disassociate them from the guns in their holsters
and the cuffs hung from their belt loops
and the way their badges/squad cars automatically insinuate my(and other’s) guilt
i guess it is helpful
to have a heads up
which at least removes the shock value
as i round the corner
no naked man in sight
though i did see a guy with his shirt off
if that’s what they meant by naked man
in which case
i think it would be hilarious
if cops took it upon themselves
to warn upstanding(ish?) citizens
when they might be approaching a naked (shirtless) man
but what i’m trying to get at here is
the thought i had
while rounding the path curve
he’s probably less of a danger to me
than you (cops) are


it always gets good
when we bring the toothbrushes out
i exclaim
about the house meeting
because there is something hilarious and wild
and pleasing
about presenting the glass jar
blooming with bristled brushes
and thinning out the ones that none of us can claim


rachel in black sequins and red/black fishnet
offers solidarity
and a proposal
for taking public places
en sequinned/fishnetted masse


carry my words

yesterday, the energy wave didn’t roll in until midnight
which means i was up until five
preparing my room for a summer away and a subletter and
typing emails to people (some i know and some i’m about to meet)
collaborating on this summer tour (departure date: one week)

i meant to take a nap
i meant to drink water
i meant to stretch
but instead i bend my arms into unhuman positions
trusting the satellites to carry my words to the places i will arrive at months later

i would not trade this for the world
and i’d most likely feel weird about having a personal assistant
(same way i felt weird
about someone giving me / my hair so much attention
at a place where it costs 60 bucks a pop for a haircut
[me riding on the first time customer discount])
but damn
organizing a tour (aligning dates with places and details)
is already a lot
but to top that off with
each stop looking different
which means
various back and forths about event visions
and then back and forths about dates
and then, new event announcements tailor-written to honor the individual spirit of each event
when that astrologer told me i’m a hardworker
almost to a fault
i didn’t believe her
my body wouldn’t accept that
but perhaps it just depends which project
(or institution)
i am in the middle of

it’s weird to write a journaling type blog post
but still pretend it’s poetry
(random line breaks! which actually aren’t random.)

maybe what i’m trying to say is:
the gap between here and the road is
both the thinnest sliver
and the broadest opening
and if i could have kicked myself into gear yesterday
i would have swam laps
at the pool
three blocks from my house
because i need to be
in water

or walking under the star-trees:


or sleeping under forest-sky.




to be analog is to be alive

my life is one long run on sentence
joolie and i joke
interrupted by barking dogs


float-flying in swoops and circles
against sun-shined blue
two red tailed hawks
out the window
if there were a visual definition of effortless
this would be it


grief tangled in bermuda grass
while i bring myself to earth
hands and knees
ripping rhizomatic runners from dust-dirt
corinne and i leave gaps between sentences
room for the loss to swell and roll out

it’s the kind of thrum
that triggers my instinct to duck
(sudden sound vibrating)
while tending the leaning tomatoes
(plicking blighted branches off
a bouquet of yellowed leaves
in my hand)
first she makes a loop or two
stitching sky
then settles on the laundry line
two feet from me
we staredown
we heartbeat
we still-sit
for at least two minutes
while i wonder if my lavender shirt
appears to be something nectarful
i miss you kate
i whisper
crouched into tomato canopy
i love you
and we sit that way some more
before she ruffles herself
shakes out her wings
lifts them invisible towards sky


217’s photo document
sent across satellites
from the homo holidays
to me
man in blue tight bunny suit
quoted as saying
i’m so over pixels

to be analog is to be alive
i’m immortal, i move through the material world
i was born to be subjective
embrace contrast

of expectation

a simultaneous
unraveling/coming together
lending itself to the tour’s larger lesson:
letting go of expectations
(camille, i will be thanking you for the naming of that
for a long time)


ken offering a bowl of
lentils and squash
amanda pulls calendula
from the ground
while i hold the tree-fresh avocado
in my palms
thinking of hawaii


dear florida,
i don’t think i’ve ever written to an entire state before
but please, if it’s possible,
send that sledge some gorgeous sky