“Really” and “very” followed by coolness. The accepted economy of desire. Coming to Northern California from Brooklyn via Indiana, Nebraska, Wyoming, and Tahoe in a rented blue minivan with plants lining the dash and my home zoo crowding the floor. A foreign land. A turning of what you believe, inside out like a glove. A realizing you are old and make comments like your parents did in 1994. Of course it is always possible that someone can misunderstand. Do they realize that we did that ten years ago too? Quirky diction, orangery. Finding and losing cancer alongside a favorite wallet. Means continuing the narrative
after abrupt syntactical shifts. Either you agree with me or you are a fool. The West Coast and a room with a better view. Otherness and the implied “I.” Two scoops of John Ashbery and some Gertrude Stein. The Mission, Fillmore, Potrero Hill, Bernal Heights, but definitely not Noe. A campaign of words is not needed. Ocean Beach and burritos. Home. If you touch it, it is yours.
Everyone on Mission is so hella cracked out that I think I got a hella contact high that lasted hella long yesterday.