things are going along swimmingly. if anything, im more of a mess than ever before and im riding the waves all up and down and sideways, turbulent like Ike. in my scatteredness i find comfort and stability in the inability to hold down a job, a feeling, a boy, an apartment for more than a year. today is lovely. yesterday i didnt leave the house and today i find myself restless on side streets at cafes and using the bathroom of the nail place where i say "im a regular" and its true because four years ago, some other apartment, some other boy i used to go there on weekends and get pedicures, when my bank account wasnt negative and i smoked cigarettes on weekends instead of right when i wake up. i let myself sink into the chair and talk to megan on the phone in calistoga and the sun comes out and im getting texts from my other friends who dont have jobs and i get too worked up some times when things arent going exactly how i think they should be, how i want them to be, i get nervous and anxious and frustrated and sometimes it takes two cups of coffee, four cigarettes and a long walk to ocean beach to settle my hands, to make them write, to have my shoulders fall neatly into the day instead of tensed up to my ears. the sun breaks through for a couple hours and thats all i need it seems.

"tell me a story," she will beg and you will write her the softest water and double it three times to make it your own. "make me feel better," she will say, holding your hand and burrowing into the blankets and you will write her notions of great things and turn on your heals, stand on your head, rip yourself inside out to write down your day and give it a twist, something sweet on the inside, the pushing the pulling, the ability to hold it all together, for her, for her. "make it real," she will whisper and it is hopeful, so you will turn poetry into prose, you will put her on refridgeraters and inside baseball cards because she is so immense in her smallness, commanding in her submission. you will take stories from your head, your heart, you will write it down and do things with words no one has ever seen before. excuse the comma and disregard all capitals until your voice rises and crests with her even breathing and she will hum "see, it gets easier, it gets easier" you will lie next to her and she will sleep and a story is a story is a soothing palm to her forehead but it is a story nonetheless. "take me home," she will sigh and you will wake next to her with your elbows maybe touching and there will not be any words when morning comes, she is thirsty and you will need to write this down.

im getting lost in boxes of jewels and old notes, old writing, scraps of paper and notebooks half filled out with words that couldnt possibly have been mine. like, i actually have no recollection of ever writing that, thinking that, feeling that. and that is the beauty of words and feelings and time. i tell heather this last weekend that time works everything out as shes staring at me steely eyed and blue, and i couldnt believe it more myself today. time moves people into places, out of places and makes writing seem distant, phrases that held meaning are nothing anymore and you catch yourself saying new words, new phrases to new people and the only possible reason is time. time changes it all.

last night dayna and i walk to the store at 11 after half watching a movie on jose's bed to get chips and soda which dayn calls "pop" and i love those things about people that make them them. but we hit the stairs and its cold on cole street, so cold ive put sweats over my leggings and a hat on, shove my hands in my pockets and half expect to see my breath come out in short puff, puff, puff heat but its not that cold, its still september. i say "smell that?" and we both inhale, deeply, as b and i had the whole drive up to portland, deep and long and with your eyes closed because somehow that makes the smell stronger, more wholly felt. and we look at each other "thats autum" dayna says and i just say "shit, it sure is." and there are things, that as much as i hate saying goodbye to summer, that i love about fall. its the smell of fire place, of wood burning stove. and my hands get warm in their pockets, balled up fists and i shake my shoulders a little bit. im not ready for fall. but its here...
this is something ive got to get my hands on for fallllllllll.....


gold leaf combs from Chanel, daaang ma. i be loving that shit.