Posts Tagged: girl in the hat

marilyn

smackdown

(A sea of darkness surrounds a boxing ring glowing as bright as a neon disco floor in a pitch black nightclub.) MC: Welcome mateys and estrogen, Portnoys and pearls, to the ultimate fight, an epic karmic kerfuffle, the Last Circle

marilyn

smackdown

(A sea of darkness surrounds a boxing ring glowing as bright as a neon disco floor in a pitch black nightclub.) MC: Welcome mateys and estrogen, Portnoys and pearls, to the ultimate fight, an epic karmic kerfuffle, the Last Circle

iq test

roadside attraction

My stepmother’s eyes bulging with anger, my father’s lips pressed into a flat line: this was what I held the laminated menu in front of my face for. So I couldn’t see them. See or be seen. Behind creamed corn

iq test

roadside attraction

My stepmother’s eyes bulging with anger, my father’s lips pressed into a flat line: this was what I held the laminated menu in front of my face for. So I couldn’t see them. See or be seen. Behind creamed corn

on the map

being a bunny

Los Angeles: “It’s mostly full of nonsense and delusion and egomania. They think they’ll be young and beautiful forever, even though most of them aren’t even young and beautiful now.” –Christopher Hitchens In 1986 I skipped off the airplane into

on the map

being a bunny

Los Angeles: “It’s mostly full of nonsense and delusion and egomania. They think they’ll be young and beautiful forever, even though most of them aren’t even young and beautiful now.” –Christopher Hitchens In 1986 I skipped off the airplane into

disco xmas

one perfect ornament

The day after Thanksgiving all four of us went to the lot and walked up and down each aisle, holding our hands out to collect the scent of the needles, breathing deep that piney resin. Three of us fell in

disco xmas

one perfect ornament

The day after Thanksgiving all four of us went to the lot and walked up and down each aisle, holding our hands out to collect the scent of the needles, breathing deep that piney resin. Three of us fell in

girl underwater

girl screwed by her own naïveté

–this is a revision I’ve been working on in my writing group.  please excuse if you’ve already seen it– When I saw the painting for the first time I thought it must be a fake. It hung on a small wall

girl underwater

girl screwed by her own naïveté

–this is a revision I’ve been working on in my writing group.  please excuse if you’ve already seen it– When I saw the painting for the first time I thought it must be a fake. It hung on a small wall

finger paint

being seen (or a swan dive into a shallow pool)

The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They stand at the front edge of the stage

finger paint

being seen (or a swan dive into a shallow pool)

The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They stand at the front edge of the stage

handprints

naked

The other day at the bookstore, a man brings a stack of items to the register. He’s jabbering intensely about the weather and fiddling with the buttons on his jacket when I notice the P*****y Magazine. The girl on the

handprints

naked

The other day at the bookstore, a man brings a stack of items to the register. He’s jabbering intensely about the weather and fiddling with the buttons on his jacket when I notice the P*****y Magazine. The girl on the

banksy 1

love and money

When I saw this film clip of the recent stunt in which Banksy, who’s doing a much-hyped artist’s residency on the streets of New York this month and whose name is being tooted and trumpeted by every loud voice, set

banksy 1

love and money

When I saw this film clip of the recent stunt in which Banksy, who’s doing a much-hyped artist’s residency on the streets of New York this month and whose name is being tooted and trumpeted by every loud voice, set

(image courtesy Christine Mathieu)

house in my head

I have a house in my head. At night I clamber up to look around. I found it years ago–reaching into darkness, fumbling along walls I discovered the opening and hoisted myself up into a low-ceilinged room, close, cobwebbed, clogged

(image courtesy Christine Mathieu)

house in my head

I have a house in my head. At night I clamber up to look around. I found it years ago–reaching into darkness, fumbling along walls I discovered the opening and hoisted myself up into a low-ceilinged room, close, cobwebbed, clogged

plastic

first world worries (a list in progress)

Microphones. Popped buttons. Papercuts. There, on my left side, at the edge of my ribcage, is a strange red welt that won’t go away. You know what that means, right? That plus the mole and the ache in my lower

plastic

first world worries (a list in progress)

Microphones. Popped buttons. Papercuts. There, on my left side, at the edge of my ribcage, is a strange red welt that won’t go away. You know what that means, right? That plus the mole and the ache in my lower

tree in a tree

organic

(…) For the next eleven years we lived in a quaint old place originally built as a hunting cabin back when mountain lion, bobcat, bear, and elk could be found on Mt.Tamalpais. The living room was the original structure, a

tree in a tree

organic

(…) For the next eleven years we lived in a quaint old place originally built as a hunting cabin back when mountain lion, bobcat, bear, and elk could be found on Mt.Tamalpais. The living room was the original structure, a

yellow wallpaper

yellow wallpaper

Whenever I see wallpaper, I think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story, The Yellow Wallpaper. I must have been in high school when I first read about the nameless woman whose patronizing doctor-husband confines her to an attic nursery as a

yellow wallpaper

yellow wallpaper

Whenever I see wallpaper, I think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story, The Yellow Wallpaper. I must have been in high school when I first read about the nameless woman whose patronizing doctor-husband confines her to an attic nursery as a

traveling

Road Trip (Stop To Think)

I love a road trip: an open highway, the hypnotic hum of tire against tarmac, a trip so long I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. Paradoxically, while catapulting down the highway, I am forced to stop and

traveling

Road Trip (Stop To Think)

I love a road trip: an open highway, the hypnotic hum of tire against tarmac, a trip so long I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. Paradoxically, while catapulting down the highway, I am forced to stop and

close up

messing with my head

The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They will stand at the front edge of the

close up

messing with my head

The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They will stand at the front edge of the

streetvenus

Matter Over Mind

The book Dune by Frank Herbert is one year older than I am. Growing up, I was a big fan of psychological-philosophical-science fiction of the 60s and 70s and had a well-loved, battered copy. In Dune, there’s a thing called

streetvenus

Matter Over Mind

The book Dune by Frank Herbert is one year older than I am. Growing up, I was a big fan of psychological-philosophical-science fiction of the 60s and 70s and had a well-loved, battered copy. In Dune, there’s a thing called

"An autobiography can distort; facts can be realigned. But fiction never lies: it reveals the writer totally.” -- V.S. Naipaul

How To Write Your Own Face

Everywhere I go, I am bombarded with “I” statements and close-ups taken at arm’s length. These days, it seems like everyone is taking pictures of themselves and writing memoirs, large and small, from tweets to status updates to blog posts

"An autobiography can distort; facts can be realigned. But fiction never lies: it reveals the writer totally.” -- V.S. Naipaul

How To Write Your Own Face

Everywhere I go, I am bombarded with “I” statements and close-ups taken at arm’s length. These days, it seems like everyone is taking pictures of themselves and writing memoirs, large and small, from tweets to status updates to blog posts