christian and i sat around in dark last night and we thought about how much our dearly departed rozz would have loved that Body Worlds exhibit where the mad dr. gunther von hagens plastinated all those corpses. they looked like some of his artwork- all stretched thin and dry and untangled till the tearing looked like beauty undefined- .......... i'm thinking how he gave all the clamor up for awhile, realized he knew a lot of words but wished to exist in visual reality and staring into blackness failed to help at all. we all rest uneasily and silence becomes a wish that gets quite frantic. the gift we give him is the curious hope of something- be it the joy of laughing at each other in a darkened room.

the building in which i hold court as an imprisoned jester 10 hours a day sports a view of an old movie theatre which is being reduced to rubble to make way for another blight of condo's to disfigure the surface of the earth. the destruction of this old building is a constant metaphor that keeps luring me to the windows as if i was seeing something not meant for me, like strangers copulating or witches burning. I hate the humanized behavior of the giant claw that has been busy ripping out bushes that the crows used to hide their shiny things in from one another. yesterday, after they had chipped away at the exterior, two men used a rope to pull down the 10 foot high marquee from a very high place. as the men began to pull on the rope, it began to sway, then hum, then fall and the two puppets scattered like flies and ran for their lives and the marquee fell and the sound of it hitting the ground stopped everything within a mile and everyone looked about-wondered for a monkey-mind-second and then it was gone and that spectral fragment of memory of going to the movies for all those years- all the young lovers necking in the back, the mommies and their noisy kids, the loners, the broken families, the blue haired ladies...... and to all, a goodnight. 

when my first and only son was born at home, i remember looking down at him and wanting a whole army of boys. i wanted a large stretch of land in the middle of nowhere where my children could see for invaders on all sides. A wild place with very little rules, ill tempered  farm animals, very loud music and lots of cherry tomatoes in the yard to shoot out of bean shooter guns.  i imagined them checking  the perimeter every dawn and dusk- for if you create a place to  isolate  and recreate your own secret world, well..you'd better keep it safe.  .............i've only one and we have no land but we have the world and it's a plaything..  

Charles Sweeny, the pilot who dropped the a-bomb called "Fat Man"on Nagasaki, died last week at 84. Charles was a plumbers son who after killing over 70,000 people retired peacefully and raised 10 children and was a grandfather of 23. He vigorously defended his and his countries actions and looked upon it as his duty to the 2,000 men who perished in Pearl Harbor. In reference to the 210,000 murdered in both bomb drops, Sweenie's co-pilot commented in 1995, "While thousands died, I feel sure the bombs had to be dropped because, if the Americans had been forced to invade Japan, it would have been a blood bath." So instead of the "bloodbath" this country so proudly gave those people injuries and morbid deaths such as this fat nation could never have imagined. Priests collecting water from the burning lake to soothe the cries of people whose eyes had melted down their cheeks. the flower prints of kimonos burned into womens pale white skin. children evaporated by fire. animals, friends, mothers, teachers, old men.......nothing left whole, nothing left safe or unscathed...this is the work of america, land of the brave.  

EXP, in the boardroom discussing going back east..... we decided we would. ...it was weird. I think the audience wanted to hear the greatest hits but of course , they were assaulted with something they won't forget for quite some time. photographed by the brave Misha.  

this, the sexy pig propped up in the cincinatti airport, larger than a vw van and all ours for the taking if only we had remembered to bring along the dymamite to free it from it's concrete base.  

EXP makes it home in several pieces. Justin, ever calm and true, waiting for his beloved wife. Ace, peering at the ample bosom of the girl in the tight blue shirt and Paris, as always- attempting to frighten me with his sheer dominating and nefarious facial expressions.

whom among us, will spring inside first? whom among us, bless the one run amok? 18 years a maiden, one day a wife, nine years a mother, now i've lost my life. .why the black road, don't you let my little ones run home? every time i find them there dressed in a familiar shade of red. no i won't dig holes anymore in the garden on sunday. ........(hey piggie, why did you close your eyes on april 1) your black trousers swelling, how love is a sore. 18 years a maiden, one day a wife, nine years a mother, now i've lost my life. ...now i only dream of monkeys, sitting in chairs, safely laughing. tipping their soft wool caps, i'm a mother now, but only only in my dreams.. safely- sitting in chairs....... boys were sweet until they found their feet and the war called them and said, hey come to war- we've got a real fun war. you can be mean, you may come home sore but you boys are sweet, pray you don't come home to your mother in a box thats labeled meat, oh boys are sweet, sweet boy, sweet boy..................hey sailor, yes you sailor.. come over here. come and lick........then taste......... my sea, my salty sea.. today. hey, sailor. ..................pica2002 

let's just say i used to work for a very old, eccentric and wealthy man some time ago. now one day, a call comes in from some very nerve racking department of the lapd and the tool on the telly tells me, "oh miss doriandra smith, you are so lucky to be alive! we have this man you used to work for in custody and it looks like he is a serial killer.and we thought he might have killed you." now, mind you- when someone of such "authority" (purchased from a reign of terror having very little to do with reality) tells you you are lucky to be alive, things certainly go through your head. this arrogant imbecile cop proceeded to tell me preposterous "facts" that so blew the old mans character out of proportion that it took on a more and more hysterical angle until i was reduced to utter confusion.the next day in the police interrogation room, the first thing he asks me is" do you know about him killing anyone?" uh, yeah- hi! the lothario then attempted to hit on me while hopping around and fishing for a confession or something to use as ammunition that yeah- i was way in a copacetic collusion with this killer. it took me over a month to reduce the spin cycle of slander these cops fed into my head and to figure out the real story. to make a long story short, this go-getter detective pulled the same hype tactic nonsense on every neighbor, employee, friend and family member of this poor guy in order to build up an opinionated fervor about the horrific nature of his crimes which in turn swayed the judge to remove the 4million dollar bail and let this old man simmer in prison for the last three months while he awaits trial. his actual crimes? setting fire to a neighbors house twice who he had hated because of the punk fuck teenagers who pretended they were in gangs and threw rocks through the old mans windows and tagged their wannabe bullshit all over his tree trunks and sidewalks despite dozens of complaints filed with the police department which went unresolved until the old man snapped and handled things his own way. now they have him on 4 counts of attempted murder, arson, blah blah. the thing i find fascinating is the rather intimate relationship between the hot shot detective and the alleged victim who incidentally just had a judge lock down all property and assets of the "serial killer" in order to claim them in exchange for pain and suffering. this includes the old mans antique car collection, antique radio collection, estate and property. ..................and this is when that all consuming, suffocating, encroaching rage at the powers that be raises it's mighty head.. and sadly, i find myself with very little to do about it.  

........ 

if you meet your lord, by the side of the water. he'll be dressed in shark skin shine and blessed nines. he might tell you that he'll come for you. he might even say he loves you. he'll try to dip your fingers into wine, to soothe you and sway you but just throw up your hands and firmly decline the swine and turn on your heels and run like rabbits.  

i used to entertain maudlin fantasies about self destruction and general spiritual mutilation due to an illustrious childhood spent in a cult. this annoying way of thinking was soon eliminated with the wanton use of flammable things applied to innocent inanimate objects. the real joy came when my kid bought some m-80's from school and we set some off in broad daylight on a quiet street in pasadena. then there was the defective, over volatile m-100, purchased in mexico from a toothless guy wearing a loin cloth and one shoe which when ignited on the beach at dusk (among the strolling innocent families) literally threw my mom, kid and i face down on the sand like some dorky action film where the characters narrowly escape losing limbs by hurling themselves out of the way of the blast.

Meet Janison Animus- the last surviving member of the Salleeb Oom Paugh/Balicoot Zetlotay Empire of Cats (which have graced my life for the last decade) Janison patterns herself after the great and horrible ferret named shredni vishtar in the short story by saki. in real life, she is the essential destoyer of all things paper- lyrics, library books, photographs, checkbooks, paychecks, phone bills, letters from mother, childrens report cards- even the paper casually waiting to be sucked through the printer- nothing is safe, all fuel for her murderous vendetta. she returned one time after being lost for 6 days in a rainstorm and a coyote convention. she leaves her luxurious fur everywhere and can eat more that her weight in a day. at night she will settle down and i will listen to her sigh and she will climb in bed and be my pillow. 

watch out for the dangerous man on the sidewalk belting out the Cohen covers. he is likely to threaten you with a falling apart knife.  he keeps cats with entirely unsuitable names and uses giant rubber bands as room decor.  

I'm in the local trader joes, fussing over what eggplant to pick. i thought i was calm- granted there were bugs crawling uder my skin from the sudden lack of nicotine after 12 years but here comes this small family of parvenues, pushing their baby princess in the grocery cart. now i am a mother, i love children but there was something just so absurdly important about this kid, perhaps the mere wealth it wore from head to toe and the way the haughty wrist of the mother flickered out there before her as she so rightfully plucked the food from the shelves. something in me snapped and in one elegant breath i did the unspeakable. while the mother had her pretty head turned ever so slightly, i leaned down and pushed the word KILL from my mouth and it slithered down and into that little brats ear and it came out her mouth transformed into the most horrified scream that gathered force until it filled the entire aisle. quick as a bunny, i fled around the corner to the sausage section and choked down laughter as the mortified parents crushed her to their bosoms, cajoling, pleading, smoothing and kissing the bothered brow, trying to hush the terrified screams... but alas,..... somethings cannot be mended.