There's a bug in my blog, so I haven't been able to post for a while. I just figured how to circumvent it, slightly. I hope everyone is having a merry whatever. I'm not.

okay, so I'm not headlining! Still. I'm "many others".

The St.George's Play House, MindtheGaptheatre.com and PlaysontheNet.com

Present

'Voices of the World - A Night of Poetry.'
A Benefit for Child Victims of Land Mines.

Featuring Green Man, Rana, InnerForce, Isa Schaaf, Joanne Joseph, Jason Grant, Morgaine Gaye, Jo Barrick, Robert Astor, Ralph Pochoda, Stanley Sherman, and many more! Plus selections from John Lennon's 'In His Own Write'. Hosted by Chris Savery.

Date - Wednesday January 8th 2003, start 730pm
Venue - Mod (505 Columbus Ave, 84/85th Streets)
Subways B/C 81st street.
Admission: Free! Donations will be accepted.

I just woke up from the wierdest dream. It was in China, but simultaneously on the deck of my parents' house out in California, and in some dorm/hotel rooms in hideous beige. I was visiting a host family in China, who lived on my parents' deck in California, but it was China in the dream. Everyone spoke English. Almost everyone in the family was black, not asian. There was a lot of cooking on the deck, spicy sizzling foods that I could never seem to eat, although I kept lining up to get them. And the weather was very humid and tropical -- it kept raining suddenly and then stopping. Vegetables, especially, red and yellow peppers grew very fast everywhere. Once some huge white goop rained down and got on everything and no one could figure out what it was. I tried to take a picture of the goop, but my camera just sizzled because it had gotten wet in the storm. I opened up the back to see if I could fix it, and all these vegetables were growing inside it. My best friend in the family was very nervous because she was applying to get a scholarship in NYC. I kept telling her that even if she didn't get this scholarship, she could get another, so not to worry. Then all the family and neighbors went to a soccer field next door, so they could do hang gliding. The hang gliders were very queer, like crude paper airplanes, or deriglebles. The wind was awful so people kept going out of control and having to jump onto the field, sometimes from great heights. But they continued to go on the rides.

Lost California

You miss the blondes.
They were everywhere,
every shade,

like the sunlight everywhere,
glinting off sunglasses
and shining off teeth
and hair that hair
miles and miles of hair
hair with rippling waves
wheat colored

Hair in the wind
as the blondes stand up
through the sunroofs of their cars
while the other blondes drive
down the freeway.

You miss the freeways.
That was when you liked to drive.
Driving with your long blond hair
through those sweet blond hills
driving with the hot wind
and the sound of the grass.

Your left shoulder getting burned
because you always prop your elbow
on the open window
and steer casually with finger.

You miss how the wind
would pull your skirt
up your thighs when you drove.

You miss driving the same streets
nowhere
over and over again

and seeing the same hills with the same
round oaks
over and over again
under the same sun.

The same smell of smoke, grass
and sunscreen.

You miss that smell
and that drive,
that drive that never
ended in California

I am coy! Coy you hear me! coy!