Drunk midgets

This little girl running around Heath Ceramics has the boldest hair and fattest, rosiest cheeks. Too cute!!

They are cutest at this age. And when they're not mine. Why? Because they can't really talk well but can communicate a bit more than an angsty baby, and because I can hand them off when they're fussy. Cute, but none of the problems and difficulties if child rearing. Perfect.

Waiting for coffee

It's almost 10 a.m., and I am waiting in line at the ferry building to buy coffee beans and a latte from Blue Bottle. Across the hall is Humphrey Slocombe ice cream. And right next to Humphrey Slocombe is a couple.

The wife is very pregnant. She is definitely and joyously consuming a large ice cream cone. The husband stands next to her, holding his coffee and looking on. Ain't no messing with this woman as she gets her morning dessert.

Ain't no messing with her.

Dreams in the rain

I woke up a couple of times in the night.  It felt . . . odd. I didn't go to bed early-- quite the opposite. But I tossed and turned while I slept. Too tired to sleep . . . ?

It started, I think, with running into him randomly. And we just clicked. He was tall, dark, and slim, and had an easy laugh. For some reason, I felt he was religious, and it pained me. But that never came up.

When I said we clicked, I mean that being with him just felt right. Like we were supposed to be together. Like there was an unspoken connection that was perfect. Being with him was like feeling the warmth of the sun on your back after a cold winter's day.

But it wasn't perfect. I was dating someone very seriously, and he knew it, too. We hung out. He had an ex girlfriends who was jealous of me.

He was a photographer. The head of his group. Maybe he was just religious about photography.

We spent an afternoon- or an evening- hanging out, quirky enjoying each other's company. Eventually, we both fell asleep, leaning against one another.  Just resting on a table top.

Next thing I know, his ex is accusing me of infidelity to my boyfriend. Telling us we shouldn't be together. That we had done all sorts of things the night before. Did we? I can't remember.

Being with him felt so right. But I had my boyfriend, too. Whom I loved dearly and couldn't imagine leaving.

Heartache. Wondering.

Would you stay? Would you go?

He took care of me. Made sure no one could hurt me. Made sure his ex couldn't hurt me. He protected me. The connection was there my heart leapt when he appeared. Was this just a crush? His sister told me to ignore Hus ex. That she was jealous and a stalker.

But I had my boyfriend. Nothing could happen. Nothing would happen. 

Them.

The streets were dark, and water pooled and looked like blood in the tungsten light.  As I walked down the street, I could hear the "clop, clop, clop" of my shoes.  Too loud.  The shoes had been cheap, but the noise was a problem.  I had forgotten to muffle them before I left.  It was already attracting them.

With each step, I felt them coming closer.  They arrived in ones and twos from above the grass, at first.  They were the weaker ones, sent to scout by their master.  Easy to deal with.  I dealt with them first.  

More.  Many more.

It shouldn't have been too difficult for me to handle.  I was young and well trained.  

A scream in the near distance.  Someone not as young.  Nor as well trained.  

I stopped.  They turned their attention away from me and listened to the scream of their brethren's prey.  I took the chance.

Sprinting, I looked for shelter.  These things were fearsome and quick, and to the untrained, it would appear that there could be no solace from them.  But there is shelter everywhere if you know where to look.

They don't like burrows-- or holes.  And they don't like water.  

My shoes were betraying me as I ran, and they took notice.  There!  A refuge.  I plunged in headlong.

Strange that creatures that only operate in deepest of the night dislike the dank darkness of holes and burrows.  They saw me enter.  They slowed.  One by one, they left.

The sun was rising.  One more day.



[Written on my late night walk home from our war room for the Chicony trial in 2013-2014.]

Olive the Cockroach

Once upon a time there was a baby cockroach named Olive.  She lived in a multi-apt complex in Pomona, which was managed by BAMA.  Her one aspiration in life was to become a star... That is, a star witness in a trial like the ones she saw on TV. 

One day,  Olive met a man with a villain-ish mustache named Rant Griley who told her he could make all her dreams come true if she just signed away her rights to 75% of any settlement, plus her first born child. 

Olive readily agreed since she had children to spare.

Then she cleaned her apt.  She cleaned her apt at least 4 times a day.  But she never showered.  After that, she went to the food bank to pick up some relatives.

We were packing furiously to leave, because earlier our mother, who was always cold and overprotective at the same time, had vanished.  She left a bitter taste in our mouths anyway.  The plane was leaving soon, and I already knew I was planning to take two suitcases- one within the other.

But I looked on my laptop.

Mother was online.  And, for some reason, I knew that if I asked her questions today, she would not be able to lie.  So I asked her:

"Tell me about where you're from."

She hesitated.  Then the story unfolded.

She typed slowly.  Deliberately.

I'm from Venus, I could see her in my mind's eye looking at me with a keen, unwavering gaze.  She only typed a few words, but I could hear her and see her story in my mind's eye.  I came and was caught up and trapped in a group of prostitutes traveling from another planet towards Earth.  I am originally from . . . the text, on the screen, merely said "I am from the star system of ------ of the -------------- (star system similar to the Pleiades)."

Suddenly everything made sense.  Her quirks.  Our slightly different proclivities and habits.  Her reluctance to talk about her past.  My brother and I understood completely as we gazed at those letters on the screen, hard in their truthfulness.

Then I blinked.  The text was gone, and all that was left was "I am from."  But I didn't need truth.  I didn't need to know.  My heart was satisfied.  Mother was forgiven for the coldness she had shown to me and my brother over the years - after all, she was not even human.

And I was happy.

Forgotten.

Every moment. Every second.
When did it all go? I reckoned.
Was there a point when my brain
Said it all was in vain
And gave up trying to hold
My mind to a mold?

Going with the flow, hoping something catches me as
the tornado of life sweeps me all over,
grinding me into the ground one
moment and tossing me high.
A helpless doll.
Confused and dizzy, I sigh
out loud, a desperate plea for
help, lost in the roar of everything and everyone around
me.
All that rushing.
Do they know where they're
going? Just going going. What's above?
Below?
Why am I here? Lost in the wind
ow. Window. The wind is screaming ow.

Glass pane. Glass pain.
Shattered.
But is the pain gone? The pane is.
The wind cries out to me. I answer.
But the shriek of everyone else drowns
me.
Something tangible
Something physical

But that's not me.




When did i forget?
When did i get lost on the path of life?
I didn't start here. I didn't plan to travel this way.
Look what happens when I free myself.
But I can't be truly free
Age has slowly wrapped its
Shackles
Around my brain
My heart
My soul.
I used to bounce. I used to smile.
And now, it's all
"Relative."
I take a step, and I hear the chains
Mocking my movements
Tightening, year after year, day after day
Moment after moment
Is it? Is it?
Can I escape? Do I want to?
Have I transitioned from being the
Prisoner
To being the
Prison Guard?
Who am I guarding? Am I keeping things out?
Keeping things
In?