it is about the truth telling, it is all about the truth telling–she punched my ticket just right calling the way I am dismissive when I am done, when I am no longer interested, ohgod how so like my mother that drifting is if I’m not engaged and to engage me is to be engaged
the judgement is not about the generic you, but to better make decisions for me–though I am apt to be done with you if you do not meet me half way
she is not truth telling, but racketeering; the metaphors are not mixing well, amen

It was a hard night’s sleep, already awake every time I woke up. Jazzed, still sorting: it is/was necessary to (be ready to) sever ties, to act as if to gain perspective
it is about me, not about her; about what I want-- about what we agreed to–truth telling, writing, illuminating, and our time not being ‘that flexible’ in the sense that it is unimportant, or not as important as other commitments like a dentist appointment or fucking our brains out-- but it boils down to our agreements; writing and truth telling and otherwise less self-importance all the way around

and so he out of the clear blue on his end says ‘but I think you could do better if you'd concern yourself less with being a writer than with writing’, wow how does he know, I mean perfectly timely and sagacious advice, but which molecule on which airwave did he pick that out of– yeah it’s all getting just too too, too complicated too important too distracting too role bound too dramatic too off the page, ah yes there it is and the botheration of it, not to mention the drone, read whine, of it is, déclassé, definitely déclassé

...but I feel that your writing has become too easy and I'm offering a bit of resistence..., he says with greed and lust, rightfully ...as wild and uncontrolled as your verse becomes, I get the feeling that it's very controlled by your very strengths..., In the name of the muse, in her service, why he wants to know would I be so ah, perhaps mundane is a perfect word here, he speaking of course to the divine of it all

it is offered–called forth perhaps–to me at just the right time, the direction I find I’m going changing yet again

I’m finding the middle on the side just fine, that is being in the middle of things to the side, just right. Another shift. Is that your new hobby she asked about my banjo by which she meant lucky enough to have the imagining of one, to have time and the resource for one and its just reward as opposed to my knee jerk effete spoiler class sense of it but I got over myself just in time and said, yes, yes it is my new hobby and I love it. She smiled with me and my pleasure of it.

Skin and bones thin, not guarded not without a twinkle in her eye not without at least a mother’s get up and go but nevertheless thin without the wherewithal to support flesh and all it has to offer–it was in the bosom of a killing kindness it seems that she grew up. Waylaid by the hint of blame which I do in the sense that all actions have consequence and don’t in the sense of malevolent intent intend but, the only survivor somehow the one who died young.
Girlhood friends, with history, it was more than good to see her.

Annoyed by her white sun hat she took it off, taking it he put it on his head. No, nono, no, no no! she said. We laughed. And yet it was the only complete and clear thought she would utter. And more no’s than we’d heard from her in our whole life.
She sits a matriarch in her chair plump rosy cheeked white hair eyes so blue, tethered for better and worse by the love & kindness of her care givers more her brain injury now than not–I’m not sure what’s keeping her here, he said–but she is making her way.

the stomping out was bad enough form but the lurking outside the kitchen window then to hear the what we were saying (about her) cancels as far as I’m concerned her free pass at the table though since it’s her mother’s table it makes it a little awkward though she was the first to mention it having as she does at hand a pocket full of apologies
discretion–in this case the saying nothing in the face of nothing nice to say–being the better part of valor I would let it go, but as is often the case, it’s a trick

though I’ll not say every damn thing on my mind–like acting that way leaves one two really bad choices not taking her seriously which of course was the perceived insult or taking her seriously (or even at face value) meaning that one would have to laugh or to judge she really has less integrity than she might think since the action is so patently disrespectful and not what it seems; not so much a victim as a savvy collector and fine purveyor of the very abuse she pretends to abhor–I’ve got to say “that shit don’t work for me, honey”

playing this banjo and that in a music store better than none at all not being able to rent one because well I could skip town with it or so damn thing la la la and in come these guitar guys, serious and getting into my way or the highway and he challenges me to dueling banjos and beginner that I am for chrissake I say I don’t know it instead of just offering him a two part invention shit and how about that, but there it is the concrete thinking of a youngster, ha I’ll know better next time

It was a small thing thing, a last time we were there they’d put chocolate cookies out on the counter and we’d been looking forward to them thing. The second day we asked one of the used-to-be-called bellhops who now are this or that sort of ambience enhancer and he said they didn’t put them out in the summer, too many kids, we’d have to wait until September. Seeing the used-to-be-called concierge, on my way out, I lodged my most serious objection. Et voila, when we returned there was a smartly wrapped with a card lunchbox full in the room.

He’s becoming one of those older gay men with a younger houseboy, which is fine.

A mother and two children and another whose connection I did not understand, did not see; younger male who I relegated first to son then younger brother who in fact was the father. I wanted to ask him many questions. He had an I-pod.

A well loved poet, recently died after a long illness is celebrated much too; I didn’t know him but know just the same he would have hoped for less dour and hushed a crowd.

I am moving from here to there.

“...leave a message.”
“I know you’re there.”
“Who’s this?”
“How are you, Tiff?”
“Who is this? How do you know my name?”
“Very funny.”
“Not so. Where the hell have you been? How dare you think you can just drop out, and in!? To hell with you, girl.”
“You too?” “Me too, nothing. There ain’t nothing me too about me and here’s a newsflash; good friends are fewer than good husbands, and this one may adore you but is not as selfless as your gutless husband...”
“I get it...”
“No, Sweetie, I don’t think you do. I’m hurt you see.”

“I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“Be nice.”
“Not yet. Maggie, you can’t always act how you want.”
“You’re kidding, right?!”
“Meaning?”
“You break all the rules of...”
“Yes, but not the rules of courtesy, of common decency, which I might add you’ve always demanded of others but are slow–or loathe, rather–to return, which of course my dear is where you’ve gone wrong in this whole affair, not so much the substance but the form...and there’s no one that knows more about form than me...you owe me an apology. And I mean to have one.”

perhaps I’ll leave the way of picking the bone, I have to pick with her, up to her; woman to woman, man to man, woman to man or man to woman either way the language will frame a negotiating of courtesies as opposed to the more psychologically fraught limits or boundaries though of course the substance is nothing but and has to do with in the end simply being able to enjoy her company whether or not I like her, never mind trusting or respecting her
my objection remains her flagrant disregard, nay outsourcing of the consequence for her behavior

there’s a loose cock in our neighborhood, no really it just showed up out of nowhere like all of a sudden he belongs here, announced himself crowing at the heat of the day dispersing the silence setting the dogs to barking and our tongues wagging the cats didn’t even bother perking their ears
no one knows where he came from or how long he’ll stay, someone thought maybe it was the parker’s, they had a rooster, she said well he’s not really ours, just showed up one day, never left and he’s still here, well just not in our yard

I had my cards read the other day, an old story swords stacked against cups, a host of major arcana not a bit of fire to be had though the world and whatever I wish for is at my fingertips held at bay by my thoughts, not doubts funnily enough but reason, lots of reasons keeping me at sixes and sevens–all my old favorites showed up, the 4 of cups, the seven of swords, well the 5 6 and 7 of swords not to mention the 4 but then again so did the universe; so there it is but for--

in my dream my banjo shaped like a violin had holes worn through the wood which I took in stride and it was fine...the barn burned and now I can see the moon. go to the mountain she said. trust what you see, what you feel what you know what you want, cater the princess she said listen to her anger, put it to use for the good of all

I’ve stopped rehearsing...will speak not so much my mind but my heart. ah there it is, forestalling


the opal went silent

in my dream my banjo shaped like a violin had holes worn through the wood which I took in stride and it was fine...the barn burned and now I can see the moon. go to the mountain she said. trust what you see, what you feel what you know what you want, cater the princess she said listen to her anger, put it to use for the good of all I’ve stopped rehearsing...will speak not so much my mind but my heart. ah there it is, forestalling my dreams are awash in mixed metaphors. I returned the opal

I don’t know where I’ve been, not that I wasn’t where I was but I can’t account for any of it really and a week has gone by and (I feel as if) I have been very busy, not that I haven’t been but I have nothing to show for it here and now except to say I’m back not necessarily well rested though feeling better not that I wasn’t feeling good walkabout chrysalis alternate space-time continuum come to mind and fire walking vision quest breakthrough rather than down coa-lescence rather than ado- or obso-
& not menopause or hiccups

now death to the left nine of swords to the right ten of cups how much clearer than that can it get and the next chapter starts with the hanged man giving way to the heirophant (virgo that I am) grounded by the nine of pentacles
and so the present course is signified by the nine of rods with the enthusiasm and skill of the page read princess of pentacles giving way or in the service of the king of cups got it! I remember now
there’s no nothing and everything no never and always only is and is not

I remember now, the ebb and flow of in relationship, of in relation to other and self, and at each pole having to relinquish the one for the good of the other, and bringing back the remains for the next season; just another version of the oak and holly kings, yes
and the majesty of gray rather than the pomp and circumstance of black and white, yes

at the nexus she pulls for, braces for the struggle, for the brave fight, for a winner

it’s brought to bear the difference between relinquishment and abandonment the difference between maiden and crone

ace of pentacles. the world starts anew each day.

“...I’ve heard a lot about you, not all flattering.”
“I can imagine,” Maggie said.
“I mean...”
“Aren’t you the brash one!” Tiff said, flying into the room. “Do tell. All!”
“Don’t frighten him, we’ve just met,” Maggie said.
“He started it,” Tiffany said floating toward the brown eyes olive snug fitting skin, stopping just short of falling into the very inviting lap. “I’m Tiffany,” she said extending her hand, “enchanté, so enchanté!”
“Sam, Meet Tiffany.”
“Where’d you find him?” Tiffany asked. “She won’t like you much, either,” she whispered.
Sam laughed.

the world. I am of it, it of me. So that damned rooster don’t crow just for the break of day.

“...like what?” Tiffany pressed.
“Who are you?” Sam asked.
“We-ell, if you don’t know who I am,” she said, pointing --with a flourish-- her very long Lee-Press On nails to her heart, “whoever was giving the dirt, knows nothing, nothing I tell you, about our Lady Magdalene. Oh my dear, you are winsome. Maggie,” she rose up, “tell the lad who I am.”
“Oh for god’s sake Tiffany, get down.”
“Honey, not in front of company!”
“You for real?”

the tower. 7 of swords. The hanged man. Steady as we’re going. Is.

“Are you?”
“What?”
“For real. Are you for real?”
“Yeah.”
“You pouting?”
“Maybe.”
“Fair enough. Not sure what you meant by the question.”
Maggie hooted.
“Stay out of this, Mags.”
“Oh, not to worry.”
“Be nice.”
“Don’t know how.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” Tiffany said. “Where were we?”
“I’m lost.” Sam said. “Out of my league. I have no idea, most of the time, what you two’re talking about. Or for that matter what I’m doing here.”
“My question exactly. Mags, what is he doing here?”

5 of cups. 5 of swords. rethinking regret. regret rethinking. lost and found. relativity. remember your dreams she’d said which at the time I took metaphorically though she was being literal and meant to listen to the wisdom that bypassed all my reason --
I dreamt last night the house next door was, had been, on fire and though my house was not fire damaged it had been set akimbo and that john had lent me so tent pegs that were for a trailer and that I’d not yet returned them because they were not so much lost as not found

speaking of relocating the houseboy is leaving and for all the (crowing) feelings everyone was having about that I think this will cast a pall there will be silence while everyone takes a big breath on the other hand I believe ae will feel some sense of confused relief; we are a funny bunch happiest when there is something to squawk about
and my own true love is reminded he’s working less so he doesn’t have to give up any surfing days to or for the good of the whole, I won’t work extra, they’re lucky I’m coming at all!

there it was. not where I am...but rehearsing...struggling which is not the same as anxiety but forestalls just the same...and obviates passion, shit ha, back in sync I found, I connected with the good banjo maker, who as I suspected is in love but will have my banjo ready by the end of November and I am ready to receive it

beware struggle as a fallback position, and it seems at just that moment she is poised for the struggle

I got out of bed last night but couldn’t find the moon, perhaps it was eclipsed, me too

“Why?”
“Because you’ll misunderstand her. Get it all backwards. Be gentle with her when she least needs it and she’ll bust your chops and you’ll feel rebuked and pout. You are cute though, damn.”
“What if I were to say she brought me here for you,” Sam said.
“I’d scream! And then say you are a liar but I’d have to give you, you may not be what you seem.”
“And what is that?”
“What?”
“The what I seem?”
“Easily disappointed. Which means soft as a girl at the edges, unreliable on the brink...girly.”
“And you’re not...?" "Not exactly."

went in the water today first day in a long time, sweet the all of it not too hot not too cold not too big or too small crowd just right everyone was calm relaxed
there was no cool anywhere just ease-y

who’s the best surfer?
the one having the most fun

eight of cups. A story retold and retold and retold
eight of swords. Knowing; even knowing what’s right is no guarantee to action or understanding

cock still loose, annoying as hell fact is we’ll miss him when he’s relocated

nine of rods knight of swords. enthusiasm, breaking free

At dillon beach I passed toilet paper to the woman in the next stall and I giggled. My mind boggles at the silliness of it all, from start to finish. How amazing that this country would spend money to police grown men in a bathroom. How silly that grown men would need to be policed in a bathroom in this country.

Yet, the sheriff finally came today in full riot regalia to post notice in our neighborhood’s tenderloin –unsafe to occupy– Any car found here will be impounded he said, any person living here will be arrested, it’s very clear.