open the eyes and they are there, welcome them! those animated black worms of self doubt that tangle themselves menacingly around your heart when the lover recoils from your hand in the deep dark of night and when your mother's sigh of regret grazes your cheek and your child clumsily feigns concern from many miles away.. come in you say! here are the lock pick tools in a soft worn leather case, here is the cabinet made of skin and bones where i keep my volition- the lock upon it should be easy to break- here, i will lie down on the bed so that you might get beter purchase on the matter. open it, tear it out and put it in your mouth, then lead me into the valley of the shadow of uncertainty.

stephen stole my mom in the nick of time from her job as a roller skating waitress at the bob's big boy in glendale, california which shared a prominent location on the main drag with an unsuspectable auto body shop which hid the depraved actions of angelo buono and kenneth bianchi- otherwise known as the hillside stranglers who began their absurd behavior shortly after the lovebirds made their migration north in the company of 12 cats of various sizes and paint jobs who shared a penchant for shitting in my dad's boots at night. between the bouts of guilt ridden phone calls placed on the sides of lonely roads to panic stricken parents to the colorful explosion of the drugs of youth there existed many tribulations yet true exuberance within each others company. the spinning top of their life eventually came to rest on the edges of an indian reservation in an oregon forest where i came into this world on a night filled with wild thunder and lightening that stole the power from the hospital where my mom laid labouring. outside, the mighty river rose up and swept away many, many young trees.

my dear dad taught me a little something recently about walking forward into life as opposed to lurking akwardly back at those deep edges. we sat together in a dark room and i put my fears on the table before him and this is what he did. took my hand- looked at my wrist carefully, then asked me to find my own pulse there. i did. he said to feel my heart beat for a bit. meanwhile the earth rolled away from the sun and the night slid into the room. he grinned and told me i had found my own personal gratitude button, right there on my own wrist.

several days of sorrow and apathy were rudely interrupted by an irascible flamenco performed on the roof by several crows which startled me from the bedclothes to stumble about but Curiosity offered a hand and led me to the kitchen where i found crust to throw on the roof to feed the pesky dancers who then laughed and shrieked at me as i went rooting through the yard with squinty mole like eyes in search of new dead things.